Ultimate Recycling

A visiting city relative once pointed out with a superior sniff that at her house they have recycle bins, while our house has none. Her definition of recycling, like that of many folks, is to sort things into labeled bins and then cart them off to the recycle center.

My definition of recycling, like that of most country folks, is to keep using things until there’s nothing left to recycle. It’s a good thing, too, because as of January 2018, the main purchaser of recylables — China — stopped importing “loathsome foreign garbage.” Recyclables are now mostly burned or buried in landfills. We user-uppers don’t contribute to the problem.

My best inspirations for recycling were my aunt Frances and my maternal grandmother. Aunt Frances had four daughters, the youngest of whom was slightly older than me. When my oldest cousin needed a dress or a new coat, Aunt Frances bought the best quality she could afford. As my cousin grew, her like-new clothing went to the next oldest, and on down the line. Until it came to me.

Aunt Frances saved money by spending money, and I ended up with lots of nice things I would otherwise not have had. When I outgrew them, they went to my grandmother.

She cut the still-good parts out of dresses, blouses, and skirts and used them to make patchwork quilts. Looking at one of her quilts, I would delight in pointing to each familiar fabric and talk about where it came from. I have some of her quilts and still enjoy “reading” them.

My grandmother cut coats and other woolens into strips to braid into so-called rag rugs. And she tore apart worn sweaters to hook into tapestry rugs, using patterns from recycled greeting cards and backing fashioned from recycled burlap chicken feed sacks.

One of my grandmother’s rugs is now a treasured family heirloom. Being far too nice to wear out or soil by walking on it, the rug hangs on my wall — a tribute to the ultimate in recycling.