On a Saturday morning in Casco my favorite thing to do is go to the dump.
My second favorite thing to do is blow the leaves and pine needles off the driveway.
When both happen on the same morning, well that’s a great start to Saturday.
Both exercises are therapeutic, cleansing, and filled with accomplishment.
When I was a kid growing up in Casco, everyone called the place we took the trash “the dump”. Today it’s referred to as the “Casco/Naples Bulky Waste and Transfer Station”. But for me, it will always be the dump. When I was a kid that’s literally what you did, you dumped your trash. You’d backup your car right up to edge of the cliff and just toss it all over the edge. All that old trash is still in there, under this big mound of grass now covered with solar panels. Somewhat ironic perhaps. Back then the road to the dump was actually referred to as the “dump road”, which makes sense really, even though, then and now, it’s technically Leach Hill Road. I used to live on that road as well. The dump road.
The Saturday morning drive to the dump is a trip through time for me. I turn right out of our neighborhood and ascend the Heath Road. Along the way I pass the Mayberry Hill Preschool where both our daughters went. Barbara and Kelley still live there and run it (super well by the way). Turning left I descend past what used to be Camp Samoset but is now a horse farm that’s never had horses. There’s something hollow about a horse farm with no horses. Next comes Hoop Camp on the shores of Pleasant Lake. For a time I was the only person ever to be a camper, counselor, coach, and camp director there. Perhaps I still am. Then comes the small hill approaching the village that all runners of the Casco Day road race know well. Our tiny town beach is on the right and the old house I grew up in is straight ahead. Turning left I always look at Aunt Betty’s house. She passed away a good while ago, but it will always be Aunt Betty’s house to me and others. When I was in college I once addressed a letter to her using only “Aunt Betty, Casco, Maine” as directions. She got the letter. Across the street is the Casco Inn then Casco Days Park. On the left is the house where my dad grew up and where my grandparents lived, right beside the old white church. My brother and I used to play one-on-one wiffle ball against the wall of the church. Hit the building on the ground, it’s a single—in the air, a double. Hit one above the big church windows, well that’s a triple. Break a window – run! Hit one onto the roof, that, of course, is a home run. Across from the church is the community center which used to be Casco High School where my mom and dad went. When I grew up it was Casco Middle School, and I rode my bike there. Turning right we are on the Leach Hill Road, but I still call it the dump road. Halfway up the hill is the old farmhouse where the big dog “Buster” used to live. When I was a kid riding that hill Buster would chase me. Going down hill was no problem. Coming up hill was.
Four houses later on the right is the other house I grew up in. It looks out across the field at Mt. Washington. A few more twists and turns and you’re at the dump. Today you throw the trash in a giant cement and metal machine that compresses it and fills trucks that haul it away. I like it but I miss the old dump where you just backed up to the edge and threw your trash.
Anyway, that’s why I love going to the dump on Saturday morning. I feel like I accomplished something and also traveled back in time.
