BAYFIELD INLET, SITE 9 LANDFILL, RON - DUMP POTION NO. 9

I find myself mindful of where I am and who I'm with when I blurt out,
"TIME TO TAKE OUT THE TRASH"
Excuse me?

I would like to think that one part of my life today is not much different than fifty years ago. Who doesn't like taking something apart or knocking something down. Probably just like fifty years ago, it's when and what you do with the pieces and parts that lay in front of you when you are done that separates the boys from boys, and the men from men. (It took me longer to restore the Healey than it was actually old)

Here I had more than one occasion where my calculations of falling this part of the roof or that section of wall proved perfect, but it was when the dust literally settled that I wondered what the ^&*# now.

Bringing the cottage down is one thing. Making it disappear! I tried to get hold of David Copperfield, but when I mentioned my intentions, POOF, he vanished!

I tidied up all the lumber and wood products. Not much reusable, but to heat the cabin, fuel the hot tub, burn a few smores, we are good for awhile.

I did burn a lot of odd residual material, but even that was limited as most of the time during this demolition, a fire ban was on. Timmins was close to going up in smoke.

The steel siding and misc metal products will be boated to the marina, hauled to Parry Sound where I will get .06/lb for my efforts. I plan on spending my takings ALL at once. Like some gold miner hauling himself out of some gulch in the Klondike, paddling down the mighty Yukon into Dawson City. Bee line to the Can Can show at Diamond Tooth Gerttys. Reckless abandon. I'm thinking more like Dairy Queen. Peanut Buster parfaits and keep them coming.

The rest is mostly a sad story. Sad for me. Not for the garbage. Tar, shingles, insulation, glass...... had to be %^&* packaged, ^%$# into the boat, chugged down the inlet, then I would loose one half hour at the marina explaining to people that no unscheduled disaster had befallen us, unload *@(% from boat into &*@# trailer and then hit the highway to Landfill Site #9. I know my way back to the marina, so I try not to leave a trail of  crumbs.

Ron

 It's maybe because I have gone some periods where I don't see anyone, let lone have a conversation with someone other than on the phone, that I have taken a liking to Ron, the dump guy. There aren't many people who I call my buddy, but Ron is one of them. He's a buddy kind of guy. We talk garbage. The REAL truth of recycling. I tell him all about the Grimsby Landfill. He gives me a break on tipping fees because, "the working guy already pays enough taxes". My favourites are the stories  about the seven thousand volt electric fence. We are in bear country, but you have to love stupid humans. A Redneck drives up to a dump, ...................