Looking out my Backdoor: Life before the wood pulp industry

I’m not the least bit enamored with “the good ol’ days,” which, to my mind, were rather rugged. Hard, one might say. I suppose every age is hard in its own way.

You might think I’m crazy and perhaps you are right.

A few months ago I was standing over the ironing board, dealing with the aftermath of cotton clothing sun-dried on the clothesline, letting all kinds of thoughts ramble through my mind when it seemed as if some of my notions coalesced into a decision without consulting me.

The consultation part of my decision came along gradually, a bit at a time, another aftermath.

I thought about how much stuff we surround ourselves with, how much we throw away, don’t fix, buy new, don’t need but buy on whims. I thought about how much cost of everything is going up and if one has a limited income, one must consciously pare down wants and even needs. And since I had an iron in my hand, I thought about when I was a child, learning to iron handkerchiefs. Which thought led to the wood pulp industry.

In another lifetime, in the ’70s, and believe me, the ’70s were another lifetime, I worked for the Kimberly Clark Company. The Kleenex people, among other various paper products. I got to tour the plants in Neenah, Wisconsin. I saw the vats of fuming wood pulp churning away at one end and rolling out paper at the other.

This was the ’70s. I was from Montana. Never gave a thought to the chemical aspect, or any other. I still prefer Kleenex even though I know I’m wiping my nose with wood.

When neighbors go to Guadalajara, they always ask, “Need anything from Costco?” Pretty much the only items I buy from Costco are laundry soap, coffee and paper products, uh huh, Kleenex, paper towels and toilet paper.

It also happened to be trash pick-up day. I saw how much paper, not recyclable paper, but soiled paper, was in my trash.

Like I said, these threads of thought got together, formed a committee, and made a decision.

Immediately I began to pare down my use-and-discard paper products. I began this transformation with real handkerchiefs. I wanted it to be a thought provoking process so I hand hemmed several squares of cotton. Voila! Handkerchiefs. Know what the hard part was? Making a habit to grab a hankie instead of plucking a Kleenex from the box.

Next I whipped out a stack of napkins. I’ve always used cloth napkins. When I had guests. Now I am my own guest, a napkin in my lap instead of a section of paper towel. Ha!

Paper towels, amazing how many little chores can be done with a cleaning cloth or paring carrots and onion husks into a washable dish instead of onto a disposable paper towel.

My favorite new thing is re-usable muslin coffee filters. Work like a dream.

On trash pick-up day, I am amazed and pleased to see how my bag of garbage has dwindled in size.

I laughingly call my little experiment “Saving the planet, one tree at a time.” I’m not a crusader nor an evangelist. Most of my neighbors have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t expect a following. What I do myself is what is important to me.

A friend asked me if it made me feel righteous, this new way of being. “A little,” I replied. “Virtuous.” Said with a grin.

That leaves the other large paper-product purchase. I had to give this one some extra thought. I grew up, not in poverty, but in a cultural situation in which we did not have indoor toilet facilities but walked, marched, trudged, or ran down the path to the out-house, depending on the urgency and climate.

Sometimes we had rolls of toilet paper. Sometimes we didn’t. We always had the Sears catalog. But what did people do before Sears? That was my question.

Those Sears catalogs were pretty wonderful. They provided dreams and inspiration for an entire year. When the next year’s catalog arrived in the mailbox, heavy and colorful, the old book went to the outhouse, still useful, page by page.

We’ll always have uses, needs, for disposable paper. For me, I intend to follow the rule of less in the trash is one more happy tree growing out there on the edge of the clear cut. And, no, I do not want another trip to the outhouse, ever.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].