In California there was only so much trash you could put by the curb. Each household was granted one brown bin for recycling, a green one for yard waste and a gray one for garbage. If it was not in the bin they ignored it. What is more, if the lid was more than forty five degrees open because of over stuffing, you were passed by. That was annoying. Now you not only had the next week's junk to deal with, you had last week's too. I will grant that the city we lived in was serious about limiting what ended up in the landfill but with a family of nine it was sometimes dicey to produce no more waste than a single person across the road. 

One time, and I kid you not, I got an angry phone call from a stranger around the corner.

"I found your trash in my can! I will not tolerate that!" I had not the slightest idea what he was suggesting. That I had in the dark of night stuffed my banana peels in his bin? But he had apparently found an envelope with our name on it and figured out our phone number. I assured him I had done nothing of the kind. The only thing I could figure out was that it had been because of the Sanata Anas, which are winds that wail through once a year with enough force to blow armloads of trash down the hill, ending up on an unlucky homeowners' yard. I apologized for his distress and promised to make my junk mail behave. 

Where we live now, the trash collectors are more lenient. Supposedly the limit is five cans but I have seen them take more. Being an early riser, I am sometimes in my sewing room when they whir by. The windows look out on the edge of my lane, and I have a front row seat to their job. If I had a four year old who loved watching trucks that is where he would be. 

When we finished with chickens, there was a lot to deal with. Fencing, wire, smelly boards, broken lumber. I offered all I could to other chicken keepers who took an astonishingly large amount. But there is a limit to resourcefulness and the sheer volume that went to the curb was, well, embarrassing. So when the men came on Monday morning, I crossed my fingers. Would they laugh at my audacity? I did not want them to be able to see me, or ask questions, so I hid behind the door. But I watched. I wished I had owned a periscope. 

They took it all. I did not even hear them curse at the sleeping household. 

"Are ya kidding???"

And just like that it was gone. 

The other day we were with a couple and the woman seemed to need to talk. She went on for awhile about the stress of the past few months, and we listened. There was no need for her to hurry or minimize. When she felt done she smiled. It was as if she had unloaded the garbage that had been littering her attention.

"Thank you," she said. And just like that it was gone.