Beyond Straws

“Plastic will be the main ingredient of all our grandchildren’s recipes.”

Anthony T. Hincks

In April, I wrote about a lizard I saw sunning on a plastic bag. That little green creature triggered changes in my life that are still unfolding. First, I started becoming more mindful of my use of plastics. That mindfulness has slowly evolved into behavior changes.

Like many people, I hadn’t paid much mind to the ubiquity of that manufactured, malleable product in my life. But almost everything I consumed arrived at my home ensconced in it. Soft drinks, condiments, shampoo, hand soap, liquid detergent, cheeses, paper towels, napkins, deodorant, produce, meat, snacks. Even things packaged in cardboard were often stabilized within the box by plastic forms. (And of course, straws. My husband and I had already been asked to give up plastic straws by our marine-biologist son. “No straws, please” became our mantra when ordering drinks.) At least we recycle, I thought. But as I watched the plastics pile up in our bin, I became curious about their recycling. What happens? How does it work? 

Did you know that plastics are usually downcycled? That means that the resulting product from the recycled plastic isn’t as structurally sound as the original. And more times than not, the new product can’t be recycled at the end of its life. Most plastics tossed in our blue bins used to be shipped to China to be manufactured into something else. Since China has recently refused to take any more, our recycling centers here in the states have no option but to send most of that detritus to landfills. 

I’ve seen a landfill from the highway. On the drive to visit my parents in Florida, across the flat landscape of the central part of the state, we pass a mountain. But long before we spy it, we’re alerted to its presence by large, black birds circling above. By the time we reach the mountain, the sky is dark with vultures. Our windows are closed, but I can imagine the stench. It’s no news flash that when I throw something away, it ends up poured atop a huge pile of garbage like that one. And yet, until I saw “Garbage Mountain,” I hadn’t considered the consequences of my “just toss it out” mentality.

How big will that mountain be by the time my future grandchildren drive by it?

I began to hate the idea of contributing to the growth of any landfill. When I discovered that there are already about 13,000 active and inactive ones in our country, I slowly started making some changes. Here are a few small things I do now:

• In the trunk of my car I carry a coffee mug, a cold-drink cup, silver cutlery, a cloth napkin, and reusable take-out containers. When I have a to-go order of almost any type, I’m prepared: I ask to use the container I’ve brought. I was a little uncomfortable the first couple of times, but now it’s second nature. And everyone has been kind and accommodating.
• I take my own bags to the grocery and often buy my produce loose. 
• I buy in bulk whenever possible, filling containers I bring from home.

There are more actions I can take, I know. But I want to celebrate and acknowledge the transitions I’ve made so far. These behaviors are becoming habits, new practices. Less convenient? Maybe. But it doesn’t feel that way. Every time the barista fills my brought-from-home coffee mug, or I spoon beans from the bulk bin into one of my quart jars, it feels good in a way I hadn’t expected. That’s one less item I’ve contributed to the heap, and one small act that strengthens me for larger ones.