When I was a kid, attending Saturday morning training to be confirmed in the faith as a Lutheran, we would take a break at mid-morning. The second year of this training was led by the pastor of this brassbound Missouri Synod congregation (someone else took the first year), and it was held on the site of the new church that was being built, farther out in the suburbs. (The new church building, which dwarfed the old building on Peach Orchard Avenue in Oakwood, was Orwellistically known as “the chapel.”) So pastor’s idea of taking a break was for us kids to scour the fields around the building site looking for small stones that would get in the way of groundskeeping. This was known, without euphemism, as “picking rock.”
I never finished confirmation, but how much this exercise had to do with my decision is hard to say.
Anyway, now I am an adult, and what do I do with my Sunday mornings, “for fun”? Pick trash out of the stream floodplain, and maybe look at some birds along the way.
We had a full team this morning, so I sent Myra and Jennifer on up to boxes #6 and #84 while I scrubbed the western bank of Barnyard Run as it opens up into the wetland. I pulled a small shopping bag of stuff out, mostly bottles and cans and broken bits of styrofoam, but also a very weary basketball. A lot of this is litter by thoughtless people, but much of it also is just escaped rubbish—an animal tears open a trash bag, for instance—from the housing subdivisions along South Kings Highway that finds its way downstream.
Not much new happening in the boxes yet: just #7, which is now incubating. Myra found a couple of Brown Thrashers and the first Tree Swallows of the season.