Let’s be honest. The only way the poet T. S. Eliot could have ever claimed that “April is the cruelest month” is if he had never navigated the sidewalks of New England picking up litter in December, January, or February.
Strolling through your neighborhood with a litter grabber and trash bag can be downright pleasant in the spring, summer, or fall. Although the dog days of August might be oppressive, you can always cope by walking at a more leisurely pace and staying hydrated. But when it’s late January and the wind chill in a Stop & Shop parking lot makes it feel like it’s five degrees below zero, that same neighborhood might as well be the Siberian tundra. KMB volunteers who venture outside on days like that deserve a Bay State Medal of Honor, personally bestowed upon them by the Governor in a public ceremony attended by Tom Brady, David Ortiz, and Sir Edmund Hillary.
The challenges associated with winter litter-gathering are daunting, extending far beyond the annoying constraint of having to get the job done before the sun sets at 2:00 pm. Consider icy sidewalks. I’ve reached that “mature” age where my doctor’s yearly advice is straightforward: “Feel free to eat all the hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza, and lard sandwiches you want, Mike. But, whatever you do, DON’T….FALL….DOWN.” There’s nothing like hitting a patch of black ice on a wintry sidewalk to transform your KMB journey into a pratfall worthy of a Looney Tunes chase scene.
Making matters worse, there is the temptation to walk more quickly when it’s cold, lest you stay outside too long and end up like the frozen hiker on Everest who’s been discovered by sherpas during the spring thaw. Of course, succumbing to this temptation increases the chances that you’ll launch head over heels into the Land of Hip-Replacement Surgery.
The dominoes continue to tumble. When I walk at a quick pace, I’m less inclined to stop and pick up those really tiny pieces of litter—say, a lone bottle cap—that I might otherwise retrieve. I find myself thinking, “Hey, it’s just an itsy-bitsy bottle cap, not a bottle. What’s the big deal?”
And then it hits me: “That’s exactly what litterers say to rationalize their behavior. Oh my God, I’ve become one of them! I’ve been bitten in the neck by a guy who drinks from nip bottles and tosses them in the street!”
And please don’t get me started on the havoc created by all that snow on the ground, which hides a potpourri of litter that I would normally pick up if only I could see it. If you listen carefully, you can hear the derisive laughter of concealed detritus as you pass those innocent-looking mounds of white stuff. It’s no fun being taunted.
For all these reasons and more, I salute those KMB volunteers who take to the streets in the harsh months of winter, searching for Bud Light cans embedded in frozen slush. You are not intimidated by the prospect of frostbite or being scooped up by a runaway snowplow and deposited in a landfill. Indeed, you embody the winter mantra of Keep Massachusetts Beautiful: “WE’RE COLD. WE’RE BOLD. OUR STORY WILL BE TOLD.”
Be careful out there.
Mike Morris is a retired professor of psychology from the University of New Haven who moved to Framingham, MA in 2022. His primary avocations are satirical writing and pursuing street litter with a vengeance. His humor blog, University Life, can be accessed at https://universitylife.michaeladrianmorris.com.
