your momma don’t work here

Funny how we humans can sometimes act.

Today I saw a few dozen folks come out on a bitter cold and windy May morning. Complete with snow flakes swirling and darting across the pale grey sky, to give back to a place they love, Hartman’s Rocks.

There were some new trail projects, some trail maintenance, a bunch of post digging and sign posting, some fence repair and a couple tons of trash picked up. There were mountain bikers of many disciplines, moto riders, hikers and dog walkers out there doing some good to keep our amazing backyard as great as it can be.

Rachel and I spent most of the morning picking up trash. Widely scattered skeet was first. Must have been a hundred of those bright orange clay pigeons shattered all over the ground, some rocks, and a piñon tree. Shot all to hell along with a quart of automotive paint that glopped into the soil making large gooey patties. There was also a good bit of blown up styrofoam and of course a good smattering of broke glass involved in this party. Must have taken an hour and a half of crouching and picking, sweeping on our knees to gather up 97% or so of the trash, in this one spot.



Next we drove around hitting random camping spots I wasn’t sure anyone else would remember. More glass, so much god damn broken glass. Used condoms, old faded bottle rockets, beer cans, arizona tea cans, half burnt sheet music, a floor mat that stunk of poop, and more. Much more.

There is just something weird about picking up after others. It really makes you want to drag those folks out and make them clean up after themselves.

Bottom line is, your momma don’t work here!



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