Beach Clean-up Barter?
Coos Bay beckoned for a second visit. I loaded Elmer into the car and we drove six blocks to the Empire Boat Basin, which has proved in less than two weeks to be a superb generator of Oregon Coast stories. Mostly about the homeless people who live in the dunes, willows and woods nearby, but others, too.
It was late afternoon and high tide was beginning its retreat. I counted a half dozen mobile domiciles, including one regular, a battered hand-painted blue-and-white 80s conversion van occupied by a man in his 70s or 80s and his pet cattle dog. Oh, I should also mention the van sports a $10k solar array on its roof. How and why this van and that array came together is beyond my imagination, but if I get the opportunity, I will ask him.
Elmer and I hit the beach. We passed a tent nestled back in the willows. A few feet away was assorted trash left behind by homeless, tourists and what had washed ashore. This trash vexed me, but I hadn't done a damn thing about it.
I'd noticed the tent some ten hours earlier on our morning walk. It was going on two days.
Elmer and I did our beach thing for 20 minutes and then we turned around and headed back to the parking lot.
Two people emerged from the tent as we approached: reedy young man and tattooed woman double his weight.
I leashed Elmer up. Naturally I veered us somewhat toward the tent. That's what I do these days.
The woman remarked how handsome Elmer was. The man asked his breed. I said I noticed a pile of firewood ready for a campfire just down the beach. The man said he didn't light fires because the Coast Guard station across the bay would report it immediately to the cops if they saw it. Then the cops showed up and rousted.
I told them to have a good night and we continued on our way. A few seconds later, I heard the man call out to me. I turned around and he was jogging toward me. He reached me and asked if I could help them out with a few bucks. He stood at my side and didn't look me in the eye. He exuded shiftiness.
I said instantly: “Pick up all the shit around you and haul it to the dumpster. I'll pay $5. You can use that gray tote.”
The tote had recently washed ashore.
I fished out the fiver from my wallet. He hadn't agreed to the deal.
I said, “Take the money and do the work. Call this is barter for your labor.”
He said, “Can you give me your number to I can send you a picture when I finish?”
“No. Just do it and I'll know in the morning if you kept your word.”
“Okay.”
As Elmer and I left the beach, I had a strong suspicion I was going to get stiffed and I hated feeling that way.
The next morning, the tent was gone and the trash was still there.
Elmer and returned to the beach the following morning. The trash had disappeared. So had the tote.
Had the man and woman returned and finished the job? Had someone else come along and cleaned up the beach as Oregonians do all the time for recreation and service?
I would never know, but the beach looked fine.