Back in the summer of 1979, I learned about an unsung social hot spot in Maine. Shortly after arriving in the border town of Vanceboro, I was invited to a popular Saturday night activity: “Let’s go to the dump and watch the bears!”
Sure enough, several well-fed black bears browsed through the debris while we watched from our cars.
Today, bears are not usually part of the picture. Now it is we humans who do the browsing. In fact, many people are more excited by what they might bring home from the dump than by what they’re dumping off — thus the term, “transfer station.”
A few readers of “Conversations With Maine” responded to my call for dump stories with enthusiasm. The dump is a great place to meet neighbors, get a chore out of the way, and find great free stuff.
Will is a regular at the Winterport transfer station and “second time around” shop. He has gained some renown as the guy who finds something for everyone at the place he refers to fondly as “the Winterport mall.” Not only has he found his own bargains, he also has supplied friends in need with strollers, appliances, and even a 1940s tuxedo that would have ended up in a landfill.
“The dump shall provide. That’s my motto.”
Tom is another regular browser for refuse you can’t refuse. He told me the story about the fun he used to have on weekly trips to the dump with his young son. Over time they acquired two children’s bicycles, scrap wood for projects, and a Leatherman tool.
One day, two distinguished guests from the Philippines were visiting Tom’s family. They all sat at dinner one evening, discussing plans for the following day. Tom’s son, unable to contain his enthusiasm, burst forth with a suggestion, “Let’s take Mrs. Chua to the dump!”
Tom had always done his best to make their dump trips seem like an exciting outing. Little did he know just how successful he was.
My husband and I had our own unexpected dump encounter that warms our hearts to this day. One sunny morning we arrived at the dump and glanced at the construction debris area. We were amazed to see a piano lying on its side, keyboard ascending to the sky. Both piano players ourselves, we lamented such treatment of a noble instrument. We went to take a look.
A few notes played sideways sounded OK, though it was awkward. As we pondered the situation, others gathered around.
“Yeah, they dropped that off a few minutes ago. Just dumped it right off the back of their pickup,” someone said, joining us in our consternation.
A couple of people helped us set the old girl upright, and I started to play. A few notes were sticky, but it played passably well. A little Debussy, some Beethoven, the Charlie Brown theme song. More people came around with smiles on their faces.
“Concert at the dump!” one person exclaimed. “Didn’t expect this today.”
That was it; the piano was coming home with us. We couldn’t leave this thing behind. Look how it brings people together. What’s the worst thing that can happen? We’ll just “transfer” it one more time.
Moving a piano, even a small one, is no easy task. But we had a small moving crew by now, all of whom enthusiastically chipped in to load her up into our truck. It was like finding a home for an abandoned animal, and everyone seemed to find great satisfaction in their good deed for the day.
Happy spring cleaning to all — and may you be blessed with unexpected treasures of every variety.
Robin Clifford Wood is always happy to receive feedback and suggestions. You also can get on her mailing list for future “readers write in” stories by sending a note to: robin.everyday@gmail.com.