The suburban city where we live and where I grew up has had, for some thirty-five years, trash receptacles for residents unlike any I have ever seen elsewhere. They're underground. And what's more, I remember when city workers and their equipment came around (I believe in the early 1970s) and dug the holes for installation. The holes have lids that look like this:
Pretty bad, I know. It should be totally green and wholly intact. But it's a great system. You walk to the curb, step on the petal, and drop in your trash bag. Inside the hole there's a large metal trash can that can be lifted out on pick-up day by using a swing-over handle, sort of like a child's sand bucket. Animals can't get to the garbage and make a mess. (There was one time that I found a possum -- not an opossum -- in the underground can, but that's a story for another time.)
We got word at year-end that the city planned to end the underground trash pick up, would issue residents the rolling cans, and would eventually come around to each neighborhood, remove the old cans, and fill up the holes. Like everyone else, the city is having to trim its budget, and the new, rolling cans can be picked up and emptied by a truck, and not by a human being. Plus, they're larger than the in-ground cans, so we'll have service only one day a week instead of the two we now have.
So, that's why I'm feeling nostalgic over trash cans. Sad, isn't it. James is feeling sad too, but for a different reason, and if you've ever been to our house, you'll know why. City ordinance prohibits leaving the rolling cans at curbside except for the evening before, and the day of, trash pick up. So, once a week, he'll have to roll/push/pull the can up our driveway to the street. And I do mean UP! It was hard for me to get a good shot of the incline of our driveway, but this will give you an idea.
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