Just down the road from our farm and through the forest is a retired landfill, what we affectionately call, “The Dump.” The front of the enormous property is a buried trash mountain with white pipes protruding from the ground. The back of the property, closest to our farm, is the giant grassy hill (where these photos were taken), the back fill from digging a grave for the garbage. This hill is our favorite place to watch the sunrise, a solar eclipse, and shooting stars. It is also the best sledding hill in the county – a multi-tiered slope, with berms like belts sectioning the incline into zippy downhill runs.
I love almost everything about raising children – (or have come to love almost everything) – but I especially love how they invite me to play with them in the snow. I never feel like foregoing my spot by the wood stove to layer on my snow pants and extra socks, but I’m always glad when I do. Sledding at the dump in a foot of snow was more workout than roller coaster — (it was like walking with weights around my calves, it was like climbing an icy staircase, harder than hiking a sand dune — but it was spectacular, and the few runs we made were the perfect speed for me, and the bed of snow eliminated the opportunity to catch air off those berms (which is preferable for this middle-aged woman!).
I like to think that the dump – that vibrant ecosystem of grasses, birds, rocks, deer, insects, sky and earth – appreciates our visits. That after decades of watching us fill the earth with our rank trash, this afterlife, which bears witness to the thrill of gravity and snow, which offers those who are willing to look, a beautiful and expansive view, this afterlife offers some kind of humble atonement for the desecration that gave this landscape its unnatural form. I see the earth, here, doing what many of us do with hurts that have altered our internal and external landscapes. She keeps soaking up the sun, taking in the rain, steadily offering nourishment, life and beauty despite it all.