This is not city life. This is not small town life. The life we have chosen, even though town is only about 7 miles away is out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere life. The patterns and rhythms that we breathe to become more natural and make more sense to me as time distances me from the urban life I knew for my first 43 years.
Trash does not get picked up at the curb or from cans in back alleys. It does not get picked up at all.
Eggshells and fruit and vegetable scraps are added to our compost piles, eventually transformed into a helpful addition to the gardens.
Plastic, cans, cardboard, paper and anything else that can be recycled is sorted and bagged and when the bags are full, taken to the nearest recycling center.
What's left is non-compostable food materials and paper scraps like mail that may contain confidential material, address and phone information or account numbers. This goes out to the barrel in the back of the yard to face the flames.
Watching the smoke this morning I found myself pondering the wisdom of returning our garbage back to ashes instead of holding on to it. Much like resentments, hurts and bitterness, when the fire has competed its work, nothing remains to be picked up again.
Is there anything you're hanging on to today that God is urging you to toss into the fire?
Stop by L.L. Barkat's Seedlings in Stone to see what Mondays are like for others