Although I have some reservations about the rainbow clad yippies in Denmark - the ones who smile vacuously at you while standing right in the middle of the car bay you are trying to negotiate your way into - I am looking forward to moving there. I get a sense that the psychology of the place is quite different from that of Albany, a more committed orientation to life-style and community. This difference is obvious when you compare the recycling facilities of both towns.
Albany started out strongly, but seems to have been overcome by the council's morbid fear of public liability and keeping things 'safe'. Result - basically there is nothing there because just about everything carries some risk. I go there with great hopes of finding a treasure and always come back feeling like one does after a one night stand - deflated and unsatisfied. Most of the stuff is unusable, broken and not worth fixing. It really is junk and visible evidence of the council's lack of understanding and giving-a-fuck about the philosophy of recycling.
Yesterday we went to the Denmark tip's recycling facility and it was a hive of activity - like a weekend market but on a quiet day. One skinny local wearing the obligatory drawstring-waisted Indian pants and Tai Chi slippers is working on a recycled junk sculpture. The yard is full of neatly organised stacks of recylable building material - windows, carpets, drums, pallets and a dozen cheap barbeques that I have seen on special at Bunnings. Two-fat-ladies and their grandchildren stand sweating in the heat perusing the rows of junk in vague blissed silence, blocking access to the 'shop'. We had met them previously at a picnic area by the river where they had fed our poodles their leftover battered shark, reassuring us that they were 'doggy-people' and regaling us with tales of their brood of Jack Russels. They told us that they travel all the way from Albany to buy these very delicious fish and chips from the Caltex Roadhouse. (Good tip - must remember to try them). My guess is that they also included a 'trip to the tip' as a regular part of the day's activities. What a great day out.
The man who runs the tip at first seems unsociable, or at least socially inept, and I have often wondered if he likes his job - or people. But when I see him engaging in some serious conversation with another skinny local who has turned up with a bicycle to trade I am convinced he thinks it is the best job in the world. Not least because he is able to bring his much loved bull- terrier dogs to work so they can collapse inconveniently in the doorway to the 'shop' (it is quite a mission getting to that shop) As we wait impatiently to get his attention to purchase a door from him I get a sense that I just can't dent this sacred aura of negotiation. Some things shouldn't be hurried. He is so absorbed he is oblivious to us anyway. As we are about to get our turn, another man interrupts and after a quick evaluation by the tip-man, it is agreed, $5.00 for a camera tripod (worth about $80.00) and some odds and ends.
We finally get to talk to him and walk over to a stack of perfectly usable doors. It is agreed that we can pick it up tomorrow, he even half-smiles at our stupid question and I begin to warm to him. How much? What about $10.00? Is that cheap, asks tight-arse me, I have no idea what they cost new. They cost much more than that, he says without taking offense. I believe him and fork out the bucks. Oh by the way, I say, the other day when we unrolled the carpets to take a look at them we found Ratsak. I add quickly so he doesn't think I am complaining, I think you should watch your dogs, I would hate them to get poisononed. He smiles at me, I'll watch my dogs - thanks. He thinks I am OK now.
There is a feeling of hope in all that junk, an optimism that is perhaps naive but refreshing to find. After all, who is going to want the many rain-soaked couches lined up on one side of the yard? But someone might, and excursions like this always carry the promise of the treasure-hunt. It might be an irrational hope, but it is also a demonstration of the belief in a philosophy not adhered to by cynics like me - that against all odds, we humans can turn things around. Why am I so cynical? Because back in Albany, the curb-side collection that we had a couple of months ago, the one for which we were clearly instructed to separate out any items that could be recycled, all ended up in landfill. How do I know, because when Sarah Toa went treasure-hunting full of hope to have a scrounge through it, anticipating piles of glorious junk, that is what she was told. The only consolation is that most of the stuff I put out was gone before collection day. Maybe there is some hope after all.
A 'Day Out' at the Denmark Tip
