Bottlemania

It all began quite innocently, back in 1982.  We decided we were in need of some exercise, so one crisp morning we set out for a brisk walk.  We made our way along Cedar Hill Cross Road and then began the steep climb up Mayfair Drive leading to the top of Mt. Tolmie.

As we passed the deserted viewpoint parking area, what to our wondering eyes did appear but some broken glass and several empty bottles of beer.  

They were right in our path and looked very unsightly. We very carefully picked up the broken glass, placed it safely in the nearby refuse container and then retrieved the bottles, carrying them home to join our own ‘empties’.

The next time we went walking, we were more aware of our surroundings and noticed several more beer bottles enroute.  More a matter of cleaning up the environment than anything else, we tidied up as we went along, once again returning home with three or four empties.

The next week we armed ourselves with a plastic bag ‘just in case’ and discovered that without really looking, we came across quite a number of toss-aways - our bag was bulging.

What started out as a joke became serious business. Soon we were spotting a bottle or a can at quite a distance, their locations revealed by the glint of the sun or suspiciously flattened grass.

Once, my husband spotted something brown In the bushes: “There’s one” he shouted feverishly and lunged forward, startling a wild rabbit into a dash for freedom.

Sometimes we didn’t have to go far afield in our search, as unknown revellers tossed bottles on our front lawn, which bordered a public walkway.  This meant that little effort  on our part resulted in maximum profit.

One morning during breakfast I noticed as I peered out the window something glinting in the sunshine dappling the bottom lawn and told my husband I’d investigate once I had eaten.  To our utter dismay, we witnessed a little old lady, enroute to grocery shopping, stoop and pick up ‘our’ bottle.  The nerve of her!  With baited breath, we observed her movements from our kitchen window and watched as she stashed the bottle under some long grass and continued on her way. 

Just as soon as I finished breakfast I strode down to the hiding place and retrieved ‘our’ bottle.  When the lady returned later for her loot, the look of bewilderment on her face was something to behold and we imagined her saying to herself  “I could have sworn I hid a bottle under that grass!”

But you reap what you sow – the next day while out on an errand, my husband kicked a bottle into hiding, thinking to retrieve it later.  But when he returned, it had mysteriously disappeared. Was the little old lady exacting her revenge?

Another beautiful morning as I worked in the garden I was astonished to see two young chaps blatantly  foraging under our forsythia bush. I called out “What do you think you are doing?” One of them threw me a carefree happy smile “Lady we’re just looking for our case of beer.  We stashed it under here last night cause we couldn’t drink it all’ Quite undeterred, they continued searching till one of them hit pay dirt. Then they sauntered away,  their precious package safely in hand. I called after them “I wish I’d known that was there!” thinking to myself that I’d be weeding more thoroughly under shrubs in the future.

Being raised during the Depression, we always find it difficult to ignore potential income. But now, at ages 89 and 93, the thought of staggering up Mt. Tolmie, retrieving bottles enroute to save a dime or two, has somehow lost its appeal...