This afternoon, while taking out some grass to plant some sunflower seeds on the side of a hill here in Maine, my daughter and uncovered a fair amount of broken glass from old jars and the head of an axe, all less than an inch below the top of the sod. I remember that my mother had similar experiences gardening with me as a child back in the 1970s. Across the street, our neighbor describes picking through his yard thirty years ago and hauling out tires, ovens, scythes and various other discarded things. Our lovely lawns sit atop generations of trash.
Enough with the Golden Ages talk. People have always thrown things away. There are just so many more of us now that the bulk of accumulation can’t be sodded over.