In the Dumps

Touching heaven

Life is so different for kids now. When I invite one of my grandchildren to go to the dump with me, they don't seem nearly as enthused as when their parents invite them to the mall. But then again, the real dumps are no longer available to the public. All you get now is a sterile "transfer station."
To me, the most fun I could have was riding in the back of my Uncle Louie's 1950 Studebaker pickup truck and going to the dump. You might think I couldn't do those two things at the same time, but Uncle Louie was clever. Knowing how much we loved the dump, he always invited  a couple of kids to ride in the back and hold the trash down.
We would have already picked through the trash he had packed, but we were giddy with excitement over the treasures we might find. In those days, the dump was a landfill at the edge of San Francisco Bay, and you could smell it long before you arrived. It had seagulls and other creatures picking through the garbage. Everything was mixed together: rotten food, used medical supplies, broken toys, batteries - it was heavenly. On a good day you might find some usable wood, maybe some steel pipe or a broken umbrella. I was fond of collecting soda bottle caps. I wasn't known for being very bright.
Now, whenever I fly over Redwood Shores, California, a lagoon-laced,  affluent community south of San Francisco, I see the dump, and Uncle Louie, and that magnificent truck. Under those million dollar homes lies great treasure,  and some precious childhood memories.