Introduction: The Magic Behind Dumpster Diving

After the 2004 Republican National Convention protests in New York City, my friend and I found ourselves hitching a ride back to Ohio on a small bus driven by Keith McHenry, one of the original founders of Food Not Bombs. McHenry had taken a stance that food was more important than bombs. He spent hours cooking and serving food outside of St. Mark’s Church for hungry protesters, activists, and artists filtering into the courtyards from all over the country. He was also on the FBI’s “terrorist watch list”.

Keith McHenry wore a straw hat, had a huge gray beard and calm smile. He wasn’t exactly how you would imagine a terrorist. He had a small, reclaimed school bus that he drove around the country to different protests and events. The bus had four beds in the back. It was far more comfortable than taking the Amtrak like we had on the way to New York. He had offered me and my friend a ride after only a few minutes of meeting us at St. Mark’s. We were out of money, and were lucky that Ohio was on his way. He had offered other people a ride, as well. A handful of the passengers were from Earth First. The confident demeanor of many of the people on that bus was intimidating, but no one was threatening. The FBI had seriously gone out of their mind to think that McHenry deserved to be on some “terrorist watch list”. Actually, many key activists in New York that year were on some kind of watch list, so I wasn’t really that surprised.

One of most vivid memories from that trip is the excitement the Earth First members expressed when we came upon a small Midwestern town that was in the midst of their towns yearly summer festival. Strangely, they were even more excited to learn that the festival was ending. They darted from vendor to vendor to ask them if they had food they planned to throw away. Many of them answered no, and then threw the food away as the activists disappeared. The activists had no fear or shame about approaching the vendors. They even began to retrieve what discarded food they could from the trash. Some of the vendors gave them food in hopes that they would stop retrieving it from the trash in front of them. At the time, I was a bit squeamish about the whole idea of salvaging food thrown in the trash, and I even felt a bit of shame about what was going on.

It wasn’t necessarily a matter of need for them to dumpster the food. It was more about wasteful habits, unused food and the never-ending cycle to produce more stuff even though there is already plenty of unused stuff in the world. If they didn’t eat that food — nobody would. If they purchased their own food that would be more energy spent on producing food for them. They were removing themselves from the whole cycle of consumerism. That time period of riding on Keith McHenry’s bus stills seems surreal. Just a few days before, I had seen Reverend Billy and his Church of Free Speech perform at a protest against Fox News. Reverend Billy had danced happily over the sidewalk preaching anti-consumerism and free speech.

Several months later, I was jobless again in Findlay, Ohio. It was inevitable. I had a streak in me that hated working for anyone but myself. My friend had been dumpster-diving cans and bottles from behind the bars in Bowling Green, Ohio. He was returning the bottles in Michigan to make his money, which is now very much illegal. At the time, the laws in Michigan were more lax than today. I decided to help him so I could pay my rent. It was hard work at .10 a bottle, but students kept drinking and that provided us with a part time job.

I’m naturally curious, and I get bored easily if I’m doing the same thing for too long. The cans and bottles were getting a bit boring. Naturally, I began to wander off into other dumpsters. By finding things in the dumpster, I was then able to furnish my home, put new shoes on my feet and actually live more comfortably than I had when I was working a “normal” job. I envisioned that I was always hunting for treasure, and as a result my life began to feel magical. This feeling was magnified when I began to read books about manifestation.

Manifestation is the idea that reality is created from the thoughts we think. If we could control our thoughts, then we could control our reality. I began to experiment with this in a fun way. I was dumpster-diving, so anything was possible. I would find pictures of things I wanted to find in the dumpster, and put them into a box with the words “Magikal Creation Box” written on the outside. I wished for a corner shelf that would help me to organize my tiny apartment. A week later I found a 5-foot tall corner shelf in an industrial dumpster behind some apartment buildings. It was the kind of dumpster that landlords threw old apartment carpet and furniture left behind by students into. The large dumpsters are common around University towns whenever a school year is ending. In Ann Arbor, they call this time of year “Hippie Christmas”. I even tested the limits and wished to find stones or crystals, which I was into at the time. It seemed there was no bounds to what could be found. My stones appeared in the form of a discarded educational children’s set that included descriptions of each of the stones and crystals. Soon, though, the pictures I put in my box were less about stuff, and more about ideas such as traveling, meditating, exercising or gardening. These were all things I loved and wanted in my life.

In the midst of this magical time in my life the idea of “Dumpster Love” aka Croms Well was born. Croms Well was to be an alternate universe where magic ruled, and the main character found his spells, potions and magic in the dumpsters of the citizens of Croms Well. The authorities felt the same shame over his lifestyle — and declared that he had to find a “quest” or risk being put in prison.

Last summer, my limits were tested even further, and I was reminded of Keith McHenry’s quest across the country. A group of us began to experiment with dumpster-diving a local grocery store. I was still a bit squeamish about going into a dumpster full of food, but I stood to the side and assisted those more than willing to jump in. I also did a great deal of the organizing, cleaning and cooking necessary afterwards. Sometimes I would lean over the edge and grab what I could. Each night, this particular store threw away one or two bags of day-old bread, several bags of saran-wrapped vegetables, fruits or berries. Occasionally, we found coffee, chocolate, wine, pies, or cake. Once we found a whole box of olive oil that was thrown away because one bottle had broken during shipping. It made it easy for us that the food was divided into bags, and very clean. Most of the time it was right on top for us to grab. One trip a week to that dumpster fed three households over the span of one summer. Often, we ran into other dumpster-divers that knew about the location, and were living like we were. If one day of dumpster-diving provided enough food for three households — imagine how much food that one grocery store threw away over a span of one year. Our excursions didn’t come out of necessity. Perhaps, some hearing our story would immediately feel pity that we ate out of a dumpster. Yet, we felt magic as we cooked and shared some of the best meals of our lives.

Chapter 1
Streams

Ronin slid into the shadows between the large dumpster and the brick wall. He had to be careful not to slip out of the shadows because Madam Mystiq was especially adept at noticing unusual movements around her house. Her large, imposing home was just on the other side of the dumpster.

The lights of the potion shop had just went out less than an hour ago. She would be in her cozy living quarters at the back of the shop for at least another hour before the lights went out in her home. Ronin had a full night ahead of him, so he didn’t have time to wait for her to go to sleep. He knew the schedule habits of most of the shopkeepers in Croms Well. There was a lot of work for him to do, and little time to do it in.

Ronin made his living by salvaging what was discarded by the shopkeepers. Everything in his home from the furnishings, to the food on the table and the herbal blends in the cupboards had belonged to someone else first. Whatever he couldn’t use he sold to neighbors that couldn’t afford the shopkeepers prices. This usually involved some work on his part to make half-used potions, less than presentable herbs or broken items more desirable.

Croms Well was a tiny planet comparable to the size of Texas on Earth. Most of the people of Croms Well were familiar with Earth, which was one of the parallel universes of Croms Well. However, most of the people of Croms Well didn’t see any need to travel to Earth. Earth was a place of Science. Most people of Croms Well, believing in magic, thought of science as being highly improbable.

Ronin unzipped a large, old backpack he had sewn together from discarded fabrics. The fabric was a special one made from the local seamstress, Meria. A spell had been cast over it to keep it dry at all times. This was especially important to Ronin because not everything in dumpsters was always pleasant. For instance, sleep potions made from valerian root were not pleasant. Old food spells that had gone rancid were also very unpleasant. So, in this regard, he was thankful for his backpack. He was even growing fond of how the fabric, pieces of what remnants and scraps he could find, did not quite match.

Ronin placed the open backpack on the lid of the dumpster. He grabbed the edge, and found whatever piece of metal sticking out he could to leverage himself over the side and inside. The dumpster was full, but not quite brimming. Ronin’s violet eyes danced along the side of Madam Mystiq’s home as his feet jangled some of the glass bottles inside the dumpster. Once, when he was younger he had been inside her home — long before his parents had passed away. He remembered clutching his mother’s hand, and hiding behind her legs to avoid the piercing eyes of Madam Mystiq. Her house struck him as antiseptic, stark and cold. Every room was large and open with only the barest of furniture and essentials. The only thing that caught his interest was the cupboards on the walls of each room. In her kitchen were the Banquet, Dessert and Clean the Dishes potions, and the living room contained Music and Dance potions to entertain guests.

Ronin picked up several of the bottles and inspected them closely. The bottles all had lids on them. At one point, he had thought it useful to collect empty bottles. But Madam Mystiq was one of the most wasteful individuals in Croms Well, and she had the wealth to match. After about a month of collecting empty bottles — Ronin became overwhelmed with what to do with them and vowed to only take the ones that contained something useful.

Ronin placed a half full Banquet potion into his bag. He also found a flying potion that had only about a drink left in it, but was still a great find because it was one of the more rare potions . He was just reaching for a few more bottles when he heard Madam Mystiq’s voice echo in the darkness.

“Who’s out there? I hear you,” she screeched.

Ronin froze awkwardly and off balance. His arm was still outstretched towards another bag of trash. A few of the bottles rolled under his feet and threw him even more off balance. The potential of waiting for her to disappear was entirely gone once the bottles clinked heavily together.

“Ronin!” she screeched suddenly. “I’ll teach you to steal from me! You’ll pay for every little bit of it once the counsel hears about this.”

He heard her fumble with some bottles in the entranceway. He could only imagine what kind of potions she had waiting there. He grabbed the cold, rough metal edge of the dumpster with his backpack in his other hand and jumped over the side in one single swoop. It was a high jump for him. Her dumpster was especially tall. The soles of his feet stung as he hit the ground, but he was still able to disappear from Mystiq’s property before she could come back out with whatever attack potion she had.

The streets were quiet as they always were at this time of night. He mostly slept during the day. As a result, his life seemed much calmer than the days when he participated in the hustle and bustle of the daytime. Ronin was ready to plunder a more laid back dumpster. He hated going to Mystiq’s. There were always complications and risks, but she was the only potion maker. Potions were essential to life on Croms Well. Mystiq had a habit of throwing away potions that weren’t completely empty. There was usually more in her dumpster than he could handle in any given night. What Mystiq thought of as trash was extraordinarily useful to Ronin.

Ronin grabbed some scrap fabrics from the side of the seamstress, Meria’s, dumpster. Meria was actually glad that Ronin found use for her scraps. She saved him a lot of work by leaving a bag of her discards by the trash for him to pick up each night. There were other seamstresses around Croms Well. Their work varied as much as the styles changed. It seemed there was always some fashionable new magic to wear. Meria was especially talented to adding charms to fabric. She had dresses and coats that could make you invisible. He once found a square of the fabric just large enough to make one of his hands disappear, but it was otherwise rare because she was very careful about conserving it. The charm was too difficult and lengthy to waste. Ronin badly wanted the fabric, which would be useful against Mystiq. But he couldn’t allow himself to spend actual money on something new, and besides that the fabric was very expensive.

Next, he found a bag of discarded herbs at the apothecary that he could use to make his own potions. However, as much as he hated to admit it, Mystiq was really the master at potion making. He could smell the different herbs as he pulled them from the small trashcan from behind the apothecary. There was definitely a hint of the dream herb, Calea z. Also, there was a waft of some basic herbs like rosemary, mint and lemon balm. All of which, were very useful plants — if not tasty.

Finally, he made his way to the Machineer’s. Wilson, the Machineer, was the maker of magical machines. Ronin couldn’t help but peek into the windows every time he passed Wilson’s shop. There were all kinds of strangely shaped machines that looked somewhat rusted, beaten and ancient. Each of them was endowed with the most cutting edge magic available. Wilson was a genius. The machines looked ancient because of a spell he cast over them. He preferred his machines to look aged. Wilson, on the other hand, was very old. In a few years he would be eligible for a position on the counsel, the main governmental body of Croms Well. The average life span was 100 hundred years on their planet; however, the minimum age was 150 to be eligible for the counsel. New members were given a potion that allowed them immortality until the next person reached the required age to take their spot. The oldest member was then allowed to retire, which usually meant retiring from life since the potion kept them alive well past their life span.

Ronin climbed into Machineer Wilson’s dumpster and pulled out a strange box that looked much like a jute box. There were at least a dozen, rusted knobs along the front panel. Ronin gazed at the knobs, eager to play with them and see what magic they conjured. He climbed out of the dumpster with the new gem clutched under his arm. He fumbled with its awkwardness, and noticed that Wilson had just walked into the front area of his home to sit down to his morning cup of tea. He glanced up at Ronin and gave him a nod and a wink. Ronin nodded back, and then slipped off with his treasures to his home.

Ronin lived in a cabin at the edge of Alquinon Forest. The forest was the only one in all of Croms Well; however, it also spanned across half of the small planet. Everyone depended on the forest for the raw materials used to create their magic. When there wasn’t a potion available, they also depended on the forest for food. Many of the people that lived along the edge of the forest, like Ronin, went into the woods to gather herbs and plants to sell at local markets. It was rare that any of the magicians or shopkeepers gathered their own plants. Which is fine, because it guaranteed a meager; yet, guaranteed income for many of Ronin’s neighbors. Ronin liked to forage. It was a lot like dumpster-diving in that he felt like he was treasure hunting.

Ronin liked the Machineer. He always threw away interesting toys for Ronin to find. It was a puzzle to figure out what each machine could do. Right now, the question was how was the object powered?

Ronin opened the door of his cottage, and laid the contraption on the large, and heavy kitchen table in the middle of his home. His walls were covered from floor to roof with shelves to store his found treasures. He peered over them thoughtfully.

“Aha!” Ronin mumbled.

“Yo ho!” Someone chanted from behind him.

Ronin turned around quickly to
see his neighbor, Masis’ friendly face beaming at him.

“What toy do you got there?” Masis chimed.

“I’m not sure,” Ronin beamed
back. “It’s a beauty, ain’t it. I just started fiddling with it. Got it this morning during my hunts.”

“Machineer’s?” Masis asked.

“Yup! Great handiwork, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, just make sure it doesn’t give you the hiccups like the potion last week!” Masis laughed.

Masis was referring to the flying potion he had retrieved from Madam Mystiq’s dumpster. It was labeled as a flying potion, so Ronin drank the whole bottle. He loved to fly, and he had planned to spend the whole day flying over the forest of Alquinon.

Unfortunately, someone had switched the potion with a hiccup potion. He spent the rest of the day trying every crazy idea his neighbors told him to get rid of the awful things.

“Hey, come on. You know that was a set up! Madam Mystiq has always hated me. I wouldn’t doubt she did that on purpose. She wants me to stop diving her dumpster.”

“Don’t they all,” Masis sighed.

“Besides — who would ever want to buy a hiccup potion,” Ronin said. “And you’re wrong. Wilson doesn’t seem to mind me dumpster-diving his trash, and plenty of others don’t give two hoots.”

“Well that’s just because Wilson likes to see if you can solve his puzzles.”

Masis was a small man with bright beaming eyes. He smiled most of the time. A thick mop of red hair flopped from one ear to the other, and then curled around his neck.

“Can you hand me that crystal? Top shelf by the door,” Ronin asked.

“This one?” Masis said as he held up a round crystal ball that fit perfectly into the palm of his hand.

“That be the one,” Ronin said as Masis passed him the crystal. Ronin slid the crystal into a small chamber at the front of the machine. An indigo colored light lit up at the top.

“Sweet, looks like it works,” Masis said.

“They always do. I swear that Machineer just throws away things so I can play with them,” Ronin said.
“Whereas, I think Madam Mystiq is trying to kill me.”

“Awe, come on. A little hiccupping never killed anyone,” Masis chuckled.

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” Ronin answered. “You have no idea how painful it can be after a couple hours of that. I would have much preferred flying.“ He turned his attention to one of the dials along the front panel. “Let’s see what this baby can do.”

Ronin gave one of the dials a quick turn to the right. Immediately they heard static, and then distant drones. Ronin gave the dial another sharp twist to the right.

“Practice, practice — practice make perfect,” came a voice through the static.

Ronin gave the dial another twist. “Shhhh…trrrr…,” it hissed.

“Mix one batch of cattails and one batch of Solomon’s seal and…”

“Shhhh….trrr…,” it hissed again as he turned another dial.

“Each passing ripple….each passing ripple… no, no that’s a horrible way to start a poem.”

“Shhh… trrr…”

Voices seemed to intermingle between the drones and static that came out of the box. Ronin began to turn several of the knobs together.

“… I can’t believe he was poisoned. That’s ridiculous….three this month…”

“Shhh…. Trrr…”

Ronin turned another knob, and yelled “Hello!” at the box as if someone might hear. He looked up at Masis, who eyed him inquisitively and then stepped back as if the box might explode.

“He said hello when I stopped by the other day. There was a look in his eye…” the drones whispered back.

“Shhhhhh… tr….”

“Hello, hello. There are my arms, my feet. Am I dreaming?”

“I got it!” Ronin jumped up.

Masis jumped backwards as if the box had exploded, and then spied something on the side of the box.

“Wait, what’s that big knob there,” Masis said as he pointed to the side of the machine, and then gave it a big twist. The two glared back each other as they recognized the voice.

“I’ll show that driveling idiot that he can’t go around doing whatever he wants,” said Madame Mystiq’s voice through the static. “I work hard all day. The little thief should have to pay for my potions.”

Another voice seemed to be very near Madame Mystiq’s, as if they were talking about the same thing but unaware of one another.

“Why does she keep wasting my time. The counsel has better things to do than chase around some silly misfit,” said the other voice through the static.

“Hey, wasn’t that Madame Mystiq?” Masis asked.

“Well, it’s her thoughts at least,” Ronin answered. “And one of the counsel members, also. This thing seems to tune into thoughts, ideas, dreams — subconscious stuff.”

“Why does Madame Mystiq get the big dial?”

“Well, I think that’s the main stream. Everyone ultimately ends up in that stream at some point, but some people live in it. I suppose parliament is in the main stream. All the other dials seem to be substations, sub streams — somewhat more creative. Who knows? This seems like a pretty complicated machine.”

Ronin gave a wry smile to Masis.

“So, which stream do you want to hook to? The main stream will reach everyone, but there are always a bunch of rules. I think the other ones could be more fun to experiment with.”

“Huh?” Masis gave Ronin a blank stare.

“I’m just saying that we can probably find our thoughts somewhere in this machine,” Ronin said. “Hey! I could see what you’re thinking right now.”

“I think your full of it,” Masis spat out sarcastically.

Ronin reached for one of the dials. “Well, let’s just see about that.”