Trash - or treasure?

Barbara Pratt's son now has a glass chandelier over his dining room table. It's gorgeous, she says, and no one needs to know that she found it in an alley, sitting on top of a glass recycling bin. He lives in Chicago, so he doesn't need to know that we know. Then again, maybe we should be shouting this news from our rooftops -- or from our curbs.

It's scavenging season again, and while Pratt is all in favor of decluttering a house, she sees the whole scavenging scene increasingly as a way to help ease the strain on our landfills and our pocketbooks.

"It's amazing what people throw in the garbage -- it's sinful, painful," said Pratt of Minneapolis, who is always on the alert for a "find." "We do have to proselytize about moving our waste stream back into being of use to someone else. Instead of throwing something away, you could really help someone by putting it out for the taking."

Still, remember the lesson of the Elvis painting left at the end of a driveway earlier this year to mark a party's destination. A passerby, assuming it was junk, took it home. Everything was sorted out in the end, but better to look for a "free" sign before opening your trunk.

We asked readers to share their experiences, either as scavengers or as providers. Here are their stories:

Jo Rose, an avid "residential recycler" in Crystal, wrote about the day after her mother died of cancer. "I was stunned, angry, grieving, and I needed to be alone to start to mourn," Rose wrote. "I decided to keep my scavenging schedule and set out Friday afternoon. There were so many things that reminded me of my mom that night: the homes, parks and businesses in the neighborhood I grew up in, the gardens that grew the same plants she tended, the familiar household items that had served some family. I drove slowly, listening to MPR (her favorite) and swinging my flashlight absent-mindedly from one yard to another. The work of sorting, seeking, lifting, loading and unloading was cathartic for me that night. I needed to stop often to finish a good cry triggered by some crate of flowerpots or pile of magazines. It was almost dawn when I pulled into my own driveway, too tired to deal with the last load. But the fatigue was mixed with some closure."

"Driving around in the crisp night air, being reminded of random slices of my mom's life, was a good tonic. I fell into bed for a well-earned sleep, and I woke with achy joints, a clearer mind and a softened heart."

Dennis Garman of Minneapolis is a provider who says the trick is to not put out too many items at once. "My most recent provider item was a small patio-type solid wood table and four wicker seat chairs out at the curb," he wrote. "Within the hour, a small hatchback car pulled in the driveway and hauled it all away. The driver's parting comment was, 'We'll relieve you of your excess.'"

Janet Bedow put out two couches on Main Street in Coon Rapids, only to have the cushions taken without the scavengers ever returning for the frames. She ended up having to pay a premium to have the lunkers hauled away. Later, a friend gave her some advice: Instead of writing "Free" on the sign, write "$5." Then "someone will steal them."

While moving a few years ago, Vicky Frank of Elk River created a free pile with an ancient 10-speed bike, a broken rowing machine, an exercycle and some ankle weights. "Everything disappeared," she wrote. She put out more: a coffeemaker, some framed prints, lawn furniture. As she was dragging out the last lawn chair, she saw the 12-year-old neighbor boys pawing over the goods. Had they taken the earlier pile? Yup, they did. "Are you selling these things on eBay?" she asked. "No," came the reply. "We're building a fort, and we're going to exercise in it!"

"For a true alleybuster, June 1 ranks right up there with Christmas," wrote Bridget Coleman, St. Paul. "Leases are up and students are eager to get home for the summer. A ride down any alley close to a college campus would probably reveal enough to furnish an entire house (perhaps not tastefully, but that's not really the point). Above all, have no shame. We all have way more stuff than we could ever need, and if you can give that bike/chair/serving platter (true story) a better home than the landfill it's destined for, then more power to you."

Lori Burks of Hackensack, Minn., found some kitchen chairs that exactly matched the unusual color of her dinette set. She just needed one, even if it was a little wobbly. A few weeks later, her daughter had a new friend sleep over. When the father arrived, Burks introduced herself and invited him to wait while the girls finished breakfast, only to see him head for the wobbly chair. Not that one, she said, then saw him smile.

"Did you get this from the trash?" he asked. Good grief, she thought, "I have pillaged these people's trash. What will they think of me?" But her confession produced an even bigger smile. "Well," he said, "I have the other two!"

Pride of scavengership is a powerful force. Lisa Miller of Bloomington wrote about the battle that arose between her young son and his friends over a hockey net. "There was no doubt that my son's friend had dragged the net to his house, which made perfect sense as he and his brother had a flat driveway and lived on a cul-de-sac. Nevertheless, my son declared that he had claimed the net when it was first sighted and that his friend only dragged it because my son was already dragging something else. He argued that the net was rightfully his, apparently ignoring the previously established 'You drag it, you own it' rule. The two brothers argued the precedent of 'dragging means ownership,' and also pointed out that their house had the only driveway where the net could really be used.

"I should mention that none of these boys even plays hockey."

To protect the guilty, we didn't press for this contributor's identity, figuring that s/he is not alone. "MP of St. Paul" had a sister who ruined a "perfectly good self-propelled lawn mower by not adding oil. So I pulled one of the screws of the handle so it dangled. Then I cut the pull cord and duct-taped it on top to make it appear to those mechanically inclined that only a minor problem existed and pushed it to the curb." Thirty minutes later, it was gone.

Bill Loushine of Forest Lake remembered the time his father wanted to get rid of some heavy stuff -- a 25-pound anchor, an old washing machine motor, etc. "He loaded them into a wheelbarrow, made up a sign saying free, wheeled it to the curb and went back into the garage looking for more items to give away. On his next trip to the curb, he saw all the items laying on the ground. Someone took the wheelbarrow!"

Kim Ode • 612-673-7185