It’s not Quite A Dump, with a Million Dollar View

OK, Germantown doesn’t actually have a “dump” per se.  People refere to it as a “transfer station”. The term doesn’t sit well with me.   It sounds too modern, misleading and politically correct.  If I were a scientist or had some other reason to wear a lab coat regularly and produced vacuum-packed refuse and non-recyclable lifestyle byproducts, I might want to transfer it.  I don’t.  Like the Bravo Network, I make Trash, and ‘I own it”.   In that vein, I don’t want to transfer it, I want to throw it out.   Even if I am not actually dumping it into a landfill in Germantown, I do toss it into a dumpster, so I feel ok calling it the “Dump” on a technicality, if not an actuality.  The sign at the entrance dubs it a "convenience station"  which I am not even going to touch, as this all serves to divert  from the main point of this post, since what I really wanted to communicate is,

I Love going to the Dump in Germantown. (or transfer station, or convenience station, for the purists).

This is the first reason.  Our dump has a million dollar view. The perfectly poised farmhouse and fields, with the postcard-worthy panoramic backdrop of the Catskills seldom fails to make me stop in admiration, no matter the season. It is very easy to crop out the modern intrusions into the scene and imagine yourself back 100 years ago (when you could toss your trash out your back door with abandon.

Though not as bucolic, the dumpster in the foreground of this scene, which holds non-recyclable metal castoffs, provides my second reason to love going to the dump, namely – looking at what other people throw away.  And I am not alone in that regard.  On this occasion someone asked the genial transfer station employees to fish out a conical metal object they spied in it, to incorporate into a piece of art they were creating, which reminded me that it’s not just the scenery and light here that can inspire today’s inspiration to Hudson River Artists.

And this is the third reason (fifth prohibited material down).  One cannot be reminded too often not to throw large dead animals out. It does beg the question of what qualifies a dead animal to be “large” as opposed to “moderately sized”, but all in all a good rule to live by.  Fortunately the transfer station’s mascot seems exempt, or perhaps he’s there to serve as a benchmark for the size of your dead animal you are thinking of tossing out.

I usually go on Saturday mornings, when the recyclable sheds often witness a mini traffic jam and seldom fail to run into friends, neighbors or colleagues, all partaking in this ritual.  Another bonus of our dump is having the opportunity to chat with to the two guys who work at the transfer station.  They are always so goodnatured and helpful and embody the best of small town bonhomie.

It makes me feel sorry for those unlucky souls who use sanitation services!