Matt Liere: Toasting 55 with a big pile of trash

Inspired by my triathlete friend who ran 50 miles on his 50th birthday, I decided to celebrate my 55th in similar fashion. It had been a month since my last run. The weather was finally decent enough to venture outdoors, and I had some building anxiety to work out.

But I’m no triathlete – more of a realist, really – so I set off on a slow jog that would easily match my third birthday. I made it no more than a quarter-mile before I turned back for home, disgusted.

Our family moved to the outskirts of north Spokane to live in a country setting much like the one I grew up in. We wanted to be free of city lots, covenants and nosy neighbors. Free to plant a monstrous garden and drink water from the earth; to raise chickens and honeybees alongside our children in Mother Nature’s backyard. I built a blind near the stream close to deer and turkeys and found a semiprivate spot where I could sit naked in my hot tub to watch the stars without complaints from unfortunate viewers.

But it’s evident by the number of cheap beer cans and bottles scattered across the roadside that others don’t respect the outdoors in quite the same way.

Eighty-four cans, 27 bottles, five marijuana tubes, one hubcap, a box of wine and numerous fast food bags. That was the collected total of trash picked up over a 1-mile stretch of country road. This wasn’t the first time I’d been out picking up after deplorables. In November, before the heavy snows, I’d cleaned up a larger stretch, netting an even bigger haul. The hubcap is understandable, but the rest was purely intentional. Simply put, it’s the direct result of trash throwing trash. There is no defense.

Bud Ice. Keystone. Busch. Olde English 800. In a can? Who were these people? I’ve never been one to judge anyone by the beer they choose to drink, despite the questionable choices noted, but I will be the first to judge based on what they do with it. Those trashing the land in which I live – quite possibly the same in which they also reside – are nothing but exceptionally ignorant folks, cheap as the beer they choose to drink and throw from the windows of their vehicles. I don’t get it. I have yet to discover any can or bottle that would indicate any respectable characteristics from such offenders, and it makes it easy to stereotype the type of person that does.

Trailer-trash, redneck, ignoramus, drunkard, stoner and punk come to mind, just to name a few. They have no respect for the land, themselves or others, and are driving our country roads drunk, stoned and dumb. Anyone who would disagree with this description also qualifies to be categorized as such. There is no defense.

And for decent folks, there isn’t either. Washington state suspended its Litter Hotline several years ago. There is no recourse other than setting up cameras or physically standing a hidden watch on our local roads. But then what? If we report to the police, with physical evidence, what can be done? Our state penalizes us for not using recyclable bags at the grocery store, but will they prosecute for littering?

On the way back to my dirt driveway, game camera set, I stumbled upon a bottle of Elysian Space Dust IPA, intact and capped. It was soiled but cold, a quality anomaly among the rest. I popped the top with my pocketknife, pleased to hear carbonation escape into the morning air. I raised the beer to the land and toasted my 55th to the Trash that made it all possible.

At more than $12 per six-pack, they were even dumber than I thought.