By Jeremy D. Wells
Carter County Times
Every now and then I’ll have someone ask me what I do with the old newspapers I collect when I drop off new retail copies. I usually respond by telling them they can have them if they like, and asking what they need them for.
In the past I’ve given them away to veterinarian’s offices for lining crates, and to art classes for use as papier mâché. Folks have used my old newspapers to wrap their glassware when moving, and in commercial cleaning projects for streak free windows. They’ve been packing material for Goose Bridle Coffee shipments. They’ve been kindling for bonfires. They’ve even been shredded into dry bulk material for worm farming. (There’s something about that last one that speaks to the poet in me. In the end we’re all worm food anyway. Why should our words and work be any different?)
Usually, though, I just burn them. Weather permitting, of course.
Because I don’t burn them in a barrel, or a fire pit. No, for the last year and a half or so, I’ve been using my unsold newspapers to reclaim a section of our property overrun by multiflora rose.
Newspapers, bound together in a bundle by twine, will burn forever; almost like a log. But those same papers, spread out over the branches of a living rose bush, will burn up very quickly, killing the leaves and roasting any rose hips on the thorny branches so they won’t sprout new plants when they fall.
I use both techniques, with newspaper logs slow roasting the base of the plant and its roots, and have reclaimed a sizable portion of our property from the pernicious thorns. Enough that I could plant a garden plot, build another small storage shed, or – my preferred plan for this area on the edge of our woods – erect a comfortable hunting blind for deer and turkey seasons.
It didn’t start with newspapers, though. For the longest time I was stockpiling them; waiting for someone to do something useful with them. I practically begged people to take them off my hands, because I didn’t want them to go into the garbage and a landfill.
Recycling? Fine. But we didn’t have the facilities available, and it’s apparently frowned upon to drive an entire bundle of newspapers to the recycling box the next county over.
Then, we replaced the kids’ swing set. The old one needed taken apart, and hauling off. If it had still been useful to someone I’d have given it away. But we were replacing it because, at more than a decade old the wood was starting to dry rot, and we didn’t feel safe with the youngest playing on it. With it in such rough shape, I decided instead of struggling with rusted bolts and busted knuckles, I’d take a reciprocating saw to it and haul it off in manageable chunks. I piled those pieces up on the edge of the enormous rose bush that was slowly encroaching on the far edge of our backyard and – on a day with no wind after a light rain – I crumpled newspapers underneath and set it all aflame.
After that, I started taking every box we’d emptied, along with a week’s worth of newspapers or two, to the rose bush after every decent rain. It took nearly a year to get to the heart of the rose bush, and several weeks’ worth of burning to reduce that gnarled tangle of branches to a blackened stump. But, eventually, the biggest part of the rose bush was burned away.
Now, I’m cleaning up the far edges of the growth, and taking down the smaller clusters growing from the still living roots of the original plant. There’s still plenty of work to do, but it feels good knowing that my words, once they’ve had their impact for the week that has been, can help reclaim our land from these choking tangles of briars – giving back to the thin clay soil all they’ve taken away and building it up for new, healthy growth.
It’s not quite as poetic as worm food, but it’s close. Ashes to ashes, and all that.
Contact the writer at editor@cartercountytimes.com
