Different Human Species

Clarity from a moment with NZ Compost

Finding the compost bin at the industrial campground was thrilling. Oh, right, I’m in New Zealand. Compost in public places happens here. And in a way that I actually believe that there is usefulness in the efforts - composting. Recycling. Resource management. They all feel manageable in this small country. 

I heard and felt my curiosity generator start up…here we go. Hope you’re ready…

Down the rabbit hole. Or maybe up. Sideways. Who really knows. Or cares. Which way the rabbit hole goes that is. Wait, do rabbits actually live in holes?! I’m pretty sure they live in Dens. At least the ones in the BlackBerry thicket at my Olympia Stonehenge lived in Dens. Above ground. Bold little critters they were, especially the little, young ones. Do they not know there are hungry and agile hawks around searching for an easy meal? Maybe they know and accept their role in the circle of life. Respect the food chain. Or I suppose it’s most likely they’re just like human kids, beautifully, appropriately oblivious and playful. And, I do recall being amazed at the number of little rabbits. Safety in numbers I guess. 

But, back to that other point, the one regarding me beginning to create the story about how the compost works here.

Then a burley New Zealand mate walked in, with an Oakland A’s hat on. Clearly he doesn’t have one of those generous New Zealand nephews who is not a New York Yankee fan. He opens the refrigerator. Offers a loud, generous, wildly grateful sound to the world, in one of those even crazier than usual New Zealand accents, part of which I deciphered, mostly because of the glass bottle now in his hand, as “Coke”. He was thrilled at his treasure.

He screwed off the top with intention, unleashing one of those commercial worthy releases of carbonation that apparently (kudos to the marketing teams research) makes peoples mouths water. Takes a gulp. Opens the lid of the compost bin, that so delights my ecological bias, and boasts in BIG BLACK letters that say, right on the top in both American and New Zealander, “Food Only” and deposits his recently removed metal lid right into the bin. The compost bin.

He swivels. And exits stage right. Super satisfied with his bottle of coke, that fresh carbonated sound he released, the refreshing feeling on the skin of his hand from the cold beverage, and boosted by his first gulp of sugary liquid.

Wow, he’s pretty agile for the New Zealand version of an Oakland A’s fan, I think, and he’s wildly, I might say, impressively oblivious.

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In most, or at least many years past, I’d be judgmental. Angry. Critical of people who display moments of disregard.

I’m now clear that the solution is much different than I ever imagined.  And way simpler.

Not all humans are the same species.