No, too many years ago, the idea of separating garbage 

 — plastics, bottles, newspapers and cans — sent me into a 

 sanitation tailspin. I wanted my trash in one tidy place, 

 covered and out of sight. 



Today, on the cusp of Earth Day's 25th anniversary, 

 I can say that I am recycling-redeemed. Not that I am 

 without wasteful eco-sins, but I don't mind rinsing 

 and separating anymore. There is certain satisfaction 

 in knowing that I can make a difference, that I'm 

 reducing my share of the 4.4 pounds of trash each of 

 us creates daily. 



In this respect, waste management experts say I'm 

 pretty typical of most North Carolinians, especially those 

 lucky enough to have curbside recycling services. But the 

 state is still only a small fraction of the way toward its 2001 

 goal of reducing by 40 percent the waste that enters landfills 

 and incinerators. 

 Clearly, we need to reverse an old maxim by making a molehill 

 out of our mountain of waste. That goal won't be met by recycling alone. 



So just as I'm getting the hang of recycling, taking cardboard to the 

 collection center and harping on setting aside plastics, paper and aluminum, 

 I have to consider some other options. 



Precycling 



Let's go shopping. 



The grocery store is perhaps one of the best places to explain 

 "precycling," another word for reducing and reusing the wastes that I let 

 through my front door and stack on my office desk. The principle is simple: 

 The more I manage to avoid wastes through front-end decisions about what I 

 buy, the less I have to recycle, compost, landfill or incinerate. 



The Environmental Protection Agency says precycling should be top 

 priority when Americans make their trash disposal decisions. So I had to 

 begin rethinking my shopping choices, weighing prices and personal 

 m preferences against the amount of packaging an item is wearing. 



h^iTf^CW int fu As I steer through grocery store aisles, brand names compete for space 



I II \J\ in my cart. They offer convenient single-serving containers, layers of 



brightly colored plastic, cardboard and coverings in tinfoil and shrink-wrap. 

 In the pasta section, my eye catches a display of tasty-looking multicolored 

 shells. I notice, a few steps closer, that they're layered sparsely over a slab of 

 foam plastic and enclosed in shrink-wrap. So I reach instead for noodles 

 bound in cardboard, a renewable resource. A few aisles down, individual 

 servings of chocolate pudding glimmer from plastic containers, sealed with 

 a tinfoil cap and bound in a cardboard carrier. I stop only to study the 

 By Jeannie Faris packaging. In the refrigerated section, I whisk past lunches of cheese, 



crackers and ham served in plastic containers and encased in cardboard 

 boxes with plastic-film windows. 



Examples of overpackaging are at every turn. Why do some plastic- 

 contained deodorants still need cardboard coverings? Why are hairbrushes 

 sold in plastic and cardboard packages? I'd never thought about it before. 

 Cosmetics, too, seem to carry a lot of baggage. Scented soap is sold in a 



A First-Person 



Eco-Sins and 

 Redemption 



I O MARCH/APRIL 1995 



