The Pick-up

by Thaddeus Greenson

The town was a thing of beauty—picturesque to say the least. It lay in the lush foothills of a mountain that crept towards the sky until engulfed by clouds. A bumpy dirt road snaked uphill through town, connecting clusters of sheet-metal homes that stood in glaring contrast to deep, natural green. The local vegetation, a thick and matted jungle, seemed to explode from every opening. Hearty bushes burst from slim gaps between homes and their neighbors. All the fences in town stood encased in a blanket of green moss, and even the power lines hung low under the weight of thick vines.

I came to the town of Nueva Hortencia , Costa Rica as part of a volunteer group which placed students from the United States in rural areas of developing countries. I was there to teach English and environmental conservation in the local school. Having joined the program knowing little Spanish, and even less about environmental science, it seemed a daunting task. Before coming, I had been far more interested in what this town could teach me than what I could teach it.

When I arrived in town I had a couple of days before I had to start teaching the lesson plan and generally get accustomed to my new surroundings. Completely stumped as to what to teach, I set out exploring my new surroundings and looking for some kind of inspiration. While walking around the town and thinking about ecosystems, biodiversity, and other basic environmental concepts, inspiration struck. Walking on the town's main road I began to notice there was trash everywhere. Plastic candy wrappers lined the dirt gutters along with cigarette butts, plastic bags, and plastic straws.

I returned home distraught from finding this natural oasis which I found so beautiful being trashed. It seemed that this was a very logical place to start my environmental conservation lessons. I spent the next day doing some research and found that the gutters along the road emptied into the same river the town drew its drinking water from. Meticulously, I crafted my first lesson. I carefully scripted everything that I was going to say, which was a painstaking process entirely dependent on my Spanish-English dictionary.

Massive butterflies circled my stomach as I walked into class on that first day. I looked at the students—about 15 first-through-fourth graders. They were adorable, all in blue and white uniforms, looking at me with curios and excited eyes. I began the lesson by having them draw their favorite place in the natural world. They drew beautiful things. Some drew waterfalls, some mountains, and others drew the forest. I asked them to share their pictures and explain why they chose their place. The kids offered a plethora of heartwarming stories of family outings and exploring with friends.

Sensing my moment, I then asked why none of them drew any garbage. Where were the candy wrappers and straws? They stared at me in silence, not knowing what to say or why I was asking such an odd question. After a moment of silence, a skinny, wiry-haired boy in the front of the class raised his hand. “Because garbage is ugly,” he offered. The rest of the class eagerly nodded in agreement. I pulled out two glasses of water that had been sitting behind my desk. One was clean and the other had a cigarette butt and some plastic from the street floating in it.

“Which glass would you rather drink?”

The students responded much more eagerly this time, pointing to the clean water and giggling at the silly question. I then explained that the town's drinking water comes from the river, and that all the trash from the street's gutters drains into the river. “We have the benefits of filters so that we don't get cigarette butts and candy wrappers in our water,” I explained. “But animals don't have the advantage of water filters.”

I told them about how this garbage might affect the fish, frogs, monkeys, sloths and other animals that lived around town, who also depend on the river as their water source.

My excitement grew at an exponential rate as I saw what I thought to be understanding and concern growing in their eyes. “If we clean up the garbage in town, we can help all those animals and make the town more beautiful,” I said, but my suggestion was met with luke-warm enthusiasm.

Sensing the lack of excitement, I moved quickly to the bribe. “We are going to pick up garbage in town, and I will give each of you a piece of candy for every 10 pieces of garbage you pick up.” This roused some excitement, as the prospect of candy always will with children.

I led my class out into the street, standing tall and proud at the difference I was surely making. Determined to set a great example, I eagerly set to picking up trash. The gutters seemed to be where most of the trash piled up, so I started there. The students milled around watching me, not entirely sure where to begin. In the gutter I saw a metal can and picked it up in the manner of a showman for all to see. The kids watched curiously. As I tossed the can into the receptacle, a burning sensation erupted in my hand. I looked at it quickly to see a small armada of tiny red ants swarming over my hand. I ran to the only salvation I could find, the slow trickle of dirty water in the gutter. Franticly, I splashed the water over my arm until all the ants were safely returned to the gutter. My hand was red and beginning to swell, still burning from the venom of those little red devils. As the shock and surprise began to wear off I noticed that the children were giggling and pointing at me. Yes, I was the silly gringo who had just learned about fire ants.

The children dutifully spent the better part of the hour picking up garbage until the gutters throughout town were relatively free of litter. We reconvened at the school where we counted out every piece of trash and lapped praise on its collectors. While doling out the candy reward I was sure to thank every kid on behalf of the neighboring animals. When everyone had their candy I dismissed the class and sat down in front of the school, enjoying a sense of extreme satisfaction.

The kids poured out into the street roaring with laughter and delighted at their bounty of candy. I watched as they began to tear off the wrappers and stuff their beautiful little faces. Then my stomach turned and all my satisfaction turned into a sense of bitter defeat. The children were throwing their candy wrappers into the street that we had just cleaned! Their wrappers fluttered to the ground like little butterflies, each one a little dagger plunging into my heart.

I knew enough not to yell at them. Thoroughly defeated, I got up and walked into the street. The children were beginning to head off in all directions and took little notice of me. On my knees, picking the candy wrappers out of the street, I wanted to cry. Feelings of impotence, betrayal, frustration, and just plain anger swirled from my head to my gut. As I reached for a wrapper a small gust of wind blew it just a bit up the street. I was startled as a little hand darted in front of mine and picked up the wrapper. Looking down at me stood a little girl from my class, her tiny hands filled with wrappers. Her eyes were a warm brown and gazing into them instantly alleviated all my pain and frustration. I held out the garbage bag and she emptied her hands.

Giving me a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts, she trotted off to join her friends. I got up from my knees and made my way back to the school, simultaneously admiring how clean the gutters were and pondering my next lesson.

--the end

I grew up in Oakland , Calif., and lived there until I was 19.  After a high school career that can only be described as frustrating, I decided to educate myself through travel and reading.  The next few years brought me to Costa Rica, Panama, Peru, and Mexico, where I studied life, people, and culture.  These experiences traveling, combined with all the wonderful things that I read during and between stints of travel, left me with a thirst for knowledge that could only be filled through returning to school.  I decided to come to HSU because of the natural beauty of the area as well as the university's low teacher-to-student ratio.  I am currently a junior, majoring in English and Journalism.  I live in McKinleyville with my amazing wife Lisa, our two lovely cats, and our remarkably handsome dog.