Modern freeganism can be thought of as the bastard stepchild of the green movement. Whereas mindful homeowners install batteries of solar panels and opt for high-efficiency washers and dryers, there is a faction of freegans who squat derelict buildings. Earth conscious commuters who seek to avoid fossil fuels pilot space-aged, touch panel equipped electric vehicles, while freegans who drive get around in smelly, greasle-powered scrap heaps. And while so called naturalists, organic enthusiasts, and locavores shop at Whole Foods or the neighborhood farmers’ market, freegans scavenge the waste created by these establishments. It is this latter subset that we will explore in a series of intimate posts that follow a small group of families as they delve into the act of dumpster diving. Read on to learn about their first adventure.
(*The content contained in the post is the opinion of the writers and is not intended as a guide of any kind. All names have been changed at the request of those involved.)
Mary sidles her pushcart up to the gilded Y-shaped hydrant located directly under the awnings of the grocery’s storefront. She is about 60 years old with a full head of curly, mottled, shoulder-length gray hair. The ensemble of layered outerwear seems to weigh on her, bowing her frame into a hunch. Up close she resembles anyone’s eccentric grandma – except for the thin beams of light projecting from LEDs located in her eyeglass frames, a singular dish glove she wears on her right hand, and the deflated suitcase she is carting. It is almost 1AM, and like the other less recognizable individuals lurking in the shadows cast by the security lighting of the supermarket, Mary has shown up to dumpster dive.
Dumpster diving is the main source of food for those who live a freegan lifestyle. The traditional freegan we meet on one of our weekly dumpster diving excursions is difficult to characterize. She, like Mary, might be older and idealistic. He might not have seen his thirtieth birthday but possesses an almost militaristic drive. Most have agendas much larger than the act of plucking expiring grocery items from the trash. And there are those puzzling few who show up, socialize, flex some bag-tossing muscle, but never partake of the spoils. Despite these differences, there is one unifying trait that runs through the small community of gleaners we encounter: None of them are active parents.
