The Dump

Turn onto the Bickleton Highway at the edge of Goldendale and you’ll soon see a sign that says “No Services for 65 Miles.” Halfway through that 65 miles, and you’ll be in Bickleton. No services simply means no gas. But the no services sign means much more to its residents.

There’s no mail delivery service. There’s also no garbage service.

I had no idea that I’ve been spoiled my entire life by having someone come and pick up my garbage from the curb. When you live in an apartment community you throw your trash in a large dumpster and have no idea how much garbage you actually create. But in Bickleton what I see as an inconvenience, local residents see as something they get for free. No garbage pick up means no garbage pick up fees.

Instead of traditional garbage pick up services, we take our garbage to the local dump. It’s the fourth largest landfill in the country and since we live in the same county as the landfill, we are allowed to dump our garbage, even large appliances if we want, for free. The catch is that we have to take it there ourselves.

We were told that it’s a “short drive” to the dump. I’m beginning to think that the locals think anything less than an hour is a short drive. When you have to drive almost an hour to find a couple of stores, and an hour and a half to find most the places you actually want to do your shopping at, I guess anything less than an hour is a short drive.

But first you have to find a place to store your garbage in between dump runs. We bought a large plastic tote that takes up all the space in the back of our car to keep our garbage in—this also solves the problem of not putting the garbage directly in our car.

Thankfully, the tote has a lid to contain the smell. I’m even more grateful for the garage and large storage space that we have so that the garbage doesn’t have to stay in our living area. Particularly those bags of soiled diapers which become so potent after a couple days of sitting that they almost knock you out. I suspect that we will have to make a trip to the dump much more frequently once those diapers are sitting in the summer heat.

It’s not as easy as when we lived in Portland, but we still try to recycle. We have to sort our plastic, glass, metal, and paper recycles now. For now, we burn our paper garbage in the fireplace. But I can’t imagine that will be as much of an advantage when it’s hot out and we’re trying to keep the house cool.

Since we have to deal more closely with our own garbage, and since we don’t have a garbage disposal, I’m grateful that my husband bought a composter. I put food scraps in a large bowl as I cook, he transfers that to a bucket and as that fills up, he takes it out to the composter in the back. I almost feel good about throwing stuff away in the compost—I feel like I’m doing something good, as well as keeping some really stinky stuff out of the garbage that we have a much closer relationship with now.

I’ll be honest. I’m still a step removed from the garbage that I create. I don’t take it out to the tote, and I’ve never been the one to exit the car at the dump and throw it down the chute. Thank goodness for my husband and the traditional role of him as the one to take out the garbage. In the back of my mind, I worry about what I would have to do if he ever goes out of town and the garbage fills up while he’s gone.