The sex log

 Before

This log is on the slope, or what I now think of as The Slope, leading up to Rick's Place (the asters of the previous post grow at the top). There are two formal paths leading to this ridge, approaching from each side, but this steep ground has become riddled with informal tracks. Undergrowth and perennials stand no chance, and the trees are under threat, according to our learned leader.

It is an extremely active area as far as sexual activities go. Each tree base is littered with condoms, wrappers, soiled tissue, lube, etc., as well as the inevitable packets and bags and bottles and cigar wrappers and gum.

After

This is the only place where I don't feel comfortable working alone. I have never been or felt threatened, but because of the lay of the land one stumbles upon people unexpectedly, startling all parties, which is never a good idea. So I prefer to work The Slope with someone else, and I try to make as much noise as possible, to announce myself. Maybe we should wear bear bells?

This time I was alone, as I'd approached from the top, which is more exposed and feels less creepy. The sex log was the worst I have ever seen it. Its usual wet patch was there, nice and fresh at the base (you can see it above), proving the log's popularity,  but the trash was amazing. Obviously there had been a party.

All the St. Ides malt liquor bottles and styrofoam cups and Pink Berry cigar wrappers spoke of a mass purchase, and the bottles, their black plastic bags and the cups and the wrappers were tossed behind the log, into the brambles. I stopped counting after  a while. My garbage bag had to be dragged down the slope afterwards, being too heavy to lift.

Check back again for the rest of the litter we found, and beginnings of a fence, to help these paths return to woodland floor, where plants can actually grow.

I know. I wish.

[Thanks to Effed in Park Slope for the link love and support!]