I am Kyle's self-indulgence

It's April, which in Kirksville means it's time for everyone to haul out all of the large trash that has accumulated over the last year and set it on our front lawns. At some time during the week the city trash collectors will come by and pick up whatever oversized trash would go uncollected in a normal week. The unusual thing about it is that we don't know what day they will visit each street, so we all set our trash on the curb on Monday and wait up to a week for it to be taken away.

Follow up:

If you drive through Kirksville this week, you will see stretched along any given streets piles of broken televisions, air conditioners, tree branches, mattresses, children's toys, screen doors, window panes, insulation, chairs, lawn mowers, microwaves, computers, couches, chicken wire, shelves, and kitchen sinks.

The presence of such items on lawns has given rise to a secondary tradition. It's generally understood that anything sitting on the corner is free for the taking, and there are plenty of Kirksville natives who help themselves. This behavior can be surprising to people who are new to town.

When I married Erika her step-mom's father gave us an old lawnmower he had put together from spare parts. The thing was probably older than I was, and it sounded like the motor would die any minute, but we were grateful to have a lawnmower at all in our rental house, and I used it until it wouldn't run anymore. I know nothing about engines or lawnmower repair, and I didn't really see anything in this particular mower worth saving, so I did what any middle-class white person would do: I set it on the curb to be picked up.

Erika said she thought someone would take it before the trash collectors would ever get to it, but I had my doubts. I pointed out how old the mower was, and figured there was nothing of value on it even to somebody who knows a thing or two about these things. The same day we put it on the curb a man came to the door and asked if we wanted to lawn mower anymore. I told him the engine was broken, and there were three or four other things wrong with it. He said, "That's alright. I can use the parts for something."

Since then I've realized how unusual it was for him to even ask. We've had other things taken from our curb since then, but nobody has bothered to come to our door. The fact that this man checked to make sure we were really throwing it away is probably an indication of what a coveted item the lawnmower was, as far these things go.

Since then we've had even less valuable items taken: a broken screen door, some scrap hardware, and an eight-year-old computer I had already picked over for parts and left out in the rain (after it was snatched up I found myself wishing I had wiped the hard drive clean first).

It's important to understand that for the people of Kirksville there is no shame in taking trash from someone's yard. When I first moved into the dorms as a freshman at Truman State University there were huge dumpsters in the parking lot for boxes and any other items students and parents wanted to dispose of. I saw a family drive up in a truck and go through the dumpsters. I remember feeling really embarrassed. I thought I was embarrassed for them, but I think I was more embarrassed for myself--I'm sure that they felt no shame or indignity in what they were doing at the time.

Recently I had a student who was perfectly comfortable telling me that he had gone dumpster-diving with his parents. He said there was absolutely nothing wrong with it.

In Kirksville the practice of reusing discarded items doesn't arise from being so poor that one must dig through the trash for something to eat. I think it's more to do with a working-class culture in which people have learned to take advantage of every available resource, and aren't above taking a broken lawnmower if the owner doesn't want it anymore.