Saturday Morning Dump Runs

For most who have visit our home and photography studio, it's abundantly clear that my wife and I have collected an eclectic collection of unusual treasures. Old signs, furnishings and things that have been used just once or one hundred times throughout the years. Rumor has it there’s a classic husband laying around somewhere. Carol calls him vintage which is a term somewhat more flattering than antique. Occasionally he's used for something but I can't recall what that is at the moment.

Many of the items in- and outside of our house came from my parents and their parents. Everything else, it’s my fault unless it’s possible to blame early childhood brainwashing. You see, every Saturday morning in the 1960s included two activities. First was an early run to the dump (now called a landfill.)

My earliest memories are of the trash dump off International Airport Road (near Minnesota) and then near Merrill Field. We’d cross over the scale for a weight of our load. Then, we’d toss the trash and drive the ’63 Ford Town and Country Station Wagon and trailer back over the scale on our way out. In at least one instance, the load master scratched his chin, reset the scale, weighed us again and said the readings weren’t matching up. For some reason, our load weight was heavier going out than it was going in. Dad gave a perplexed look and couldn’t give him an answer. It was one of those “That’s not my problem” expressions. We paid the ‘minimum use fee,’ went home and unloaded the used lumber, hardware and other 'found' riches that caused our car’s axles to bend.
After the dump run, we headed out for a couple hours of garage sales. It wasn’t a Saturday without this tradition. If we hustled, we could catch the auction house off Seward Highway (better known today as Old Seward Highway.) I remember the popcorn, folding chairs and intense competition. We four kids had no worries until it came time to cram the good deals into the wagon.



Anyway, I try to take responsibility for my addictions. I won’t blame my parents because I’m capable of making my own decisions, including my monthly visits to Good Will, Value Village, etc. Sometimes I’m looking for a specific item such as a prop for puppies, kittens or humans. I rarely come home with what I was searching for. But it’s all justified when a photograph brings everything together in a beautiful way.



Today, I entered Good Will on a whim. I walked to the furnishing’s aisle. And there it was, a nearly new 6’ tall kitty tower for just $24.
 I think the store’s spotlights were shining on it with a “Take me, I’m yours” soundtrack playing through the Muzak sound system. Nothing else mattered. It was mine and soon Sassy would be climbing a new perch in our home.

I carried it to the Subaru and scratched my own chin while thinking it might not fit. Beau and Sandi looked at me, somewhat concerned as I decided “I can do this.” It reminded me of my mom and dad forcing furniture or dump finds into the car six decades ago. Four kids squished together with a door knob, cabinet, chair or table leg poking us in the heads and bellies.

Beau and Sandi hopped to the front passenger seat. I made some adjustments to the seats and eventually patted myself on the back for managing to fit Sassy’s new cat tower fit in the Subie.

I hopped into the driver’s seat and Beau looks at me with a "where the heck" am I supposed to sit expression.

I looked him in the eyes and said, “Sorry, Beau. That’s not my problem” and drove home with our latest treasure.