A Philosophical Rant
We leave stuff scattered about everywhere we go. Like Pigpen, in the Peanuts comics. Today, in 2022, we notice that "out of sight; out of mind" sometimes doesn't work out so well. This summer's wildfires in Slovenia have set off explosions of buried ordinance from World War I—from over a century ago. About 8000 acres have been burned, causing about 500 hidden bombs to explode. That's 1 bomb hidden per 16 acres. That sort of thing happens all over Europe. And it happens with buried, ignored land mines in nearly every conflict region in the world.
Of course, this doesn't apply just to old ordinance. I have found chunks of some of my plastic plant markers from a decade ago turning up when a garden bed is tilled. (This morning, on my bedroom dresser top, I unearthed the bright blue mounting card from a small pack of batteries that went to a camera that I have not used for 15 years. Just in case. I still have that camera—and it is broken.)
After 50,000+ years of human's leaving stuff behind—midden heaps, cave art, pyramids, tumbled ruins, you would think that we would notice. And it can even be cherished stuff. My crowded, cozy study holds over 3000 books. Once I kick the bucket, all of that just becomes stuff for which some disposition must be made. (During the 1950s and 1960s, visits to my Great Grandmother's house revealed that she had horded over a half-century of glass bottles and jars, in boxes outside the back door. Why? When she was a young woman, those empty bottles and jars were valuable to homemakers. She just never noticed that they had become ordinary, worthless stuff.)
When plants and trees leave stuff behind, they at least have the courtesy to make sure it's all stuff that will be useful to other life, and will eventually disappear entirely. In some regards, we are not as smart (or as courteous) as plants and trees.
Bob
We leave stuff scattered about everywhere we go. Like Pigpen, in the Peanuts comics. Today, in 2022, we notice that "out of sight; out of mind" sometimes doesn't work out so well. This summer's wildfires in Slovenia have set off explosions of buried ordinance from World War I—from over a century ago. About 8000 acres have been burned, causing about 500 hidden bombs to explode. That's 1 bomb hidden per 16 acres. That sort of thing happens all over Europe. And it happens with buried, ignored land mines in nearly every conflict region in the world.
Of course, this doesn't apply just to old ordinance. I have found chunks of some of my plastic plant markers from a decade ago turning up when a garden bed is tilled. (This morning, on my bedroom dresser top, I unearthed the bright blue mounting card from a small pack of batteries that went to a camera that I have not used for 15 years. Just in case. I still have that camera—and it is broken.)
After 50,000+ years of human's leaving stuff behind—midden heaps, cave art, pyramids, tumbled ruins, you would think that we would notice. And it can even be cherished stuff. My crowded, cozy study holds over 3000 books. Once I kick the bucket, all of that just becomes stuff for which some disposition must be made. (During the 1950s and 1960s, visits to my Great Grandmother's house revealed that she had horded over a half-century of glass bottles and jars, in boxes outside the back door. Why? When she was a young woman, those empty bottles and jars were valuable to homemakers. She just never noticed that they had become ordinary, worthless stuff.)
When plants and trees leave stuff behind, they at least have the courtesy to make sure it's all stuff that will be useful to other life, and will eventually disappear entirely. In some regards, we are not as smart (or as courteous) as plants and trees.
Bob
