My GPS Camera Phone

No really. They’re IN the road.

What happens to all of the trash on the road? Some of it gets picked up, some of it gets washed away by the rain. But some of it – usually small and metal – gets compressed into the asphalt.

Aside from all things photographic, what makes this photo interesting to me is trying to determine the origin of the debris. What does the key unlock? What drink was contained by that bottle cap? How many nails were picked up by the tires of unsuspecting motorists before the rest decided to stick around? How old is all of this stuff?

I suppose that might be a weak argument to some, but I can rationalize my intrigue with road debris through mystery. With mystery, there is potential for a much more robust story. Without mystery, there’s a better chance that there’s no amazing story. (OK, maybe there is, but it’s not nearly as compelling to me.) A mildewed and worn dining room table on the side of the road is far less interesting and mysterious than a key embedded in asphalt. Maybe it’s the metal and the endurance. Maybe it’s the timelessness of it.

Maybe I’m just crazy.

…deep thought…

…deeper thought…

Yes, that’s must be it.

In this picture:

• bottle caps
• a key
• washers
• aluminum can
• nails
• screws
• nuts and bolts
• a paperclip
• other bits of unidentifiable metal

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Traveling is one our favorite things to do. Beaches, camping, road tripping, whatever. It’s fun to pick up and get out of your circle of concerns every now and again. Of course, we like to bring home a souvenir or two to remind us of the good times we had. Instead of buying a T-shirt or refrigerator magnet, we bring home rocks and garbage.

No, really.

This is a photo of our little front porch garden, which used to be a garden of weeds. Undeterred by the ugliness, we decided to dig out some of the dirt, lay down a sheet of weed block, pour in a base of plain old lava rocks and then start covering that with shells from our beach trips. What started as an ordinary shell bed has become a scrapbook of our travels.

This photo is a showcase for a trip to Key West, not long after the hurricanes blew through a few years ago. The sponges are real sea sponges that washed up when the roads were flooded by the storm surge. There’s the wine bottle we found caught in the mangroves while kayaking, cradled in a piece of bamboo found on the same trip. Coconuts are a must, so we grabbed a few, along with some driftwood and other stuff. The worm-eaten piece of driftwood on the right is about seven feet long. I dug it out of it’s mangrove prison and attached it to my kayak. It was extremely heavy and waterlogged, but well worth the effort.

Most of the shells come from St. Augustine’s Anastasia State Park, arguably one of the best beaches on the east coast of Florida. Dare I say even better than South Beach in Miami? If you’re going for beach quality over traffic and ego quality, then yes, I dare.

Not seen in the picture: an orphaned, blue sandal from Anastasia Beach; an orange, plastic boundary marker from St. Simons Island in Georgia; a small, brown bottle with a rusty cap that floated in from who-knows-where; a Volkswagen Beetle headlight from the Key West mangroves, turned green on the inside from algal growth; a rusty railroad spike found by the tracks running through a small Florida town; the broken pieces of a Circle of Friends candle holder from our old house in Clearwater.

The point is that while it is normal to buy souvenirs, consider that they are usually made in another country or that they only last as long as they fit you. Shells, bottles, driftwood and rusty spikes hold meaning on many levels other than where we got it. Who originally drove that railroad spike in? Where did that brown bottle come from? What did the kid owner of the blue sandal look like? How the hell did a headlight get stuck in a mangrove? Questions like these linger, while reinforcing the original memories of your trip.

Take a piece of your trip home and you’ll see that the memories last longer than any hat, shirt or plastic cup.

NOTE 1: Do not take stuff from areas that disallow it, like National Parks. Tread lightly.
NOTE 2: I almost always make a pitch to “leave that crap here,” but Nancy usually gets me to agree, knowing that I’ll appreciate it once we get home. And she’s right, I really do.

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One man’s trash is another man’s photo opportunity. Or woman’s, in this case.

Once again, my lovely wife has provided me with some material for your enjoyment. By the way, she has the exact same phone as me, so her submissions are sticking to my self-imposed guidelines of this site. When I did smoke many years ago, I always wondered why people would ditch their butts out the window or on the ground. I’d sometimes witness these same people dropping a butt and then recycling an empty soda can. I don’t get it.