Lessons in Styrofoam
Last weekend, I joined a beach cleanup with the San Francisco chapter of the Surfrider Foundation. I have been getting a lot of joy from California’s coast lately, so I thought I should try to give it some love in return. Through much of January and early February, California has been drenched with rain, and the coasts have been hit by large swells and high winds. Consequently, a lot of trash has washed ashore, and the beaches look a bit battered. On Sunday morning at 10 am, I joined several dozen volunteers at Baker Beach, on the north-western edge of San Francisco. We were each issued a single glove, a bucket, and a trash picker. We were instructed to separate cigarette butts and plastic shotgun wads, which the foundation is collecting data on. And we were asked to be back by 11:30 am, to beat an impending storm. It was bright and sunny in the Bay Area, inviting folks to don sunglasses for the first time in days, as gulls dried their wings and sage wort, wallflowers, and other dune denizens soaked in the sun. Dogs ran free, kicking up sand, the luckiest ones finding a sea lion carcass to roll in. The northern end of the beach, a clothing-optional section, was devoid of nudists, with temperatures a touch low for immodesty, but was otherwise peopled with beachgoers, and at the southern end of the beach, a colony of surfers bobbed in the waves. Above it all towered the Golden Gate Bridge, casting a giant shadow on the headlands to the north. Reveling in this kindred, coastal community, I made my way down the beach, picking up junk: busted tent poles, a beer can, a tube of lipstick — and way too much Styrofoam. From quarter-sized, to pea-sized, to even smaller, this was by far the worst trash on the beach. I felt like I was watching micro-plastics being built in real time. And picking it up was tedious, Sisyphean even. It seemed impossible to get it all. As I knelt in the sand, back tightening, picking up ball after ball of the stuff, I started getting flustered. And then I heard approaching a group of three girls, all with pickers and gloves, giggling as they went about their cleanup. “Remember,” one said to the others, “every little bit helps.” What a reminder! I took a deep breath and gave myself the same advice: Every little bit helps. Any piece I pick up matters. As does any piece of plastic I forego. Little decisions add up. With the world’s woes lately seeming infinite and insurmountable, it’s good to keep this in mind. Bit by little bit. That’s the only way things get better. See you at the next cleanup.
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