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Why I Treasure Trash in My Retirement
A recent retiree explains why she gets down and dirty collecting trash on Saturdays
Recent retiree Kim Clark spends her Saturdays picking up litter in her hometown of Havre de Grace, Maryland.
Matt Roth
As I was preparing to retire earlier this year, I asked an older friend for advice. Don’t volunteer too much too soon, he told me. Even in retirement, your time isn’t infinite, he said, so don’t overcommit. You need to be picky.
Well, I am picky — literally. I pick up trash.
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Every Saturday morning, I stroll my 66-year-old retired self over to a coffeehouse in my community, the quaint Chesapeake Bay city of Havre de Grace, Maryland. There, I meet up with a group that ranges in size from 10 to 30 people, depending on the weekend. We’re a mix of retirees (with past job titles that include teacher, nurse and drug counselor), folks still in the workforce, and some high school and college students.
We are the Citizens Against Trash!
We schmooze for a few minutes, catching up on one another’s news. Then we each pull on an orange CAT Club baseball cap, pick up an orange bucket and a trash grabber, and fan out across town in pairs or gangs to pick up litter on streets, in alleys and along the shoreline of the Chesapeake Bay.
Why do I do this? The first and most important reason is that I really hate litter. It saddens me whenever I see garbage blighting the landscape. Research shows that litter lowers property values and creates an environment of disrespect that can actually lead to increased crime. What’s more, litter in my hometown eventually flows into the Chesapeake Bay, polluting the water and killing crabs and fish. So keeping our neighborhoods tidy makes my daily walks a delight, preserves the value of our home, improves community safety and helps local businesses that depend on a healthy bay to attract sailors, fishermen and other visitors.
Clark (in the purple shirt) chats with fellow Citizens Against Trash outside Concord Point Coffee in Havre de Grace. Realtor Al Peteraf (second from left) started the CAT Club in 2013.
Matt Roth
But there’s more to it than that. As we CATs clean up neighborhoods, sidewalks and the shoreline, we build personal connections beyond our common hatred of litter. We commiserate over the struggles of caregiving and worries about layoffs. We celebrate a CAT’s new job or a student who landed a role in a school play. And we chat about all sorts of goings-on in our city. The roadwork that’s been happening for months downtown — when will it ever end? After Gordon Ramsay did a makeover of a local restaurant in an episode of his new TV series, did the food there get any better?
It can be hard for retirees who have lost contact with former work colleagues to find new tribes. But I’m thrilled to be making friends with community-oriented people of all ages and backgrounds. Anti-litter activists are a great crew.
I especially appreciate the way my fellow CATs show our neighbors that politically divided Americans still share many fundamental values and can work together to improve our communities. At a time when the country seems split between red and blue factions, our orange CAT Club hats give me hope that we can transcend our divisions and cooperate for the greater good.
Our CAT Club is also a wonderful example of how one or two people can inspire many others to improve their communities. About 15 years ago, a handful of local citizens started picking up trash on their own. One of them, Al Peteraf, recruited friends and fellow local businesspeople in 2013 to formally create the CAT Club, which has since grown to more than 100 members. AARP awarded Peteraf its Maryland Andrus Award for Community Service in 2022.
Picking up litter is a perfect long-term activity for retirees. You can make it as physically challenging or as gentle as you want. I generally put in a couple of miles each Saturday and have spent some of them scrambling in and out of garbage-strewn gulleys. At the same time, one of my fellow CAT Club members, who uses a wheelchair, does a great job of maneuvering around a marina parking lot to pick up fast-food trash that would otherwise blow into the bay.
Litter-grabbing may sound like a tedious activity, but I don’t find it boring. On nearly every outing, one of us has found something interesting, including scuba gear, weapons and money. I once found a safe that someone had carved a hole into, presumably to steal what was inside. To prevent myself from feeling overwhelmed by the infinite supply of litter even in our little community, I practice a little mantra: That’s one cigarette butt that won’t wash into the bay. And another one. And another one.
Clark says she's motivated by the thought that each piece of litter she picks up is a piece of litter that won't end up in the Chesapeake Bay.
Matt Roth
Picking up litter is also good for the ego. Many people stop us on Saturdays to thank us. I was out on a walk one recent evening, wearing my CAT Club cap against the sun, when a stranger stopped me and pointed at me, shouting: “You!” I was befuddled since I didn’t know who she was. “That hat!” she shouted. “Thank you!”
If all this sounds like a good activity for you — and I hope it does — you can be what Peteraf calls a “stray CAT.” All you need to get started is a grabber ($10), a bucket ($4) and, if you like, some simple safety gear, like a high-visibility vest ($8) and a pair of gloves ($7). Start cleaning up your neighborhood on your own, and you might inspire your friends and neighbors to join you. Who knows? Maybe that will be the beginning of your own community’s CAT Club.
All I know is that when I’m feeling especially distressed by what seems to be worsening divisions in the world, I put on my CAT cap, grab my bucket and picker-upper, and wander around town to do a little good deed for my community.
I look forward to a day when we’ve figured out planet-friendly packaging and people dispose of their trash responsibly. Until then, I encourage everyone who tells me of their worries and despair to try picking up trash. Doing that uncovers real treasures: hope, civic participation and community — not to mention cleaner sidewalks.
AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.
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