Yesterday afternoon we got back to Chicago after a week in Asheville, North Carolina. In so many ways, the two places couldn’t be more different, and I know I’ll be struggling for some time to readjust to life here in the Midwest. In the meantime, I’m slowly processing my photos, remembering the incredible places we went and the native plants I mentally catalogued, and burning souvenir sticks of balsam fir incense that, wondrously, smell exactly like Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Almost as if the digital gods decided to smile upon me, today my feed was filled with glorious photos of sunset cliffs and gleaming blue alpine lakes, locked up with quotes from the Thoreaus/Carsons/Muirs of our shared ecological history. It’s Earth Day. Which, to be honest, I had forgotten because I generally avoid looking at calendars when I’m on vacation. And though I couldn’t celebrate the day from the backcountry, at least I was able to reminisce about my own recent outdoor excursions and bask in the unabashed naturelove of my friends’ friends.

The other way I celebrated this day was by picking up trash. Standard fare, I know, but important nonetheless. Upon returning to Chicago, my eyes blinked new again, remembering and noticing the vast array of street garbage piled against business facades and below residential gating. So I grabbed the paper bag blowing down the sidewalk (the one my faulty vision originally registered as a wild bunny) and filled it with trash until the handles broke and the corners threatened to burst.

The lesson here is: use what you’ve got before buying more of it. Especially in light of how traditional Earth Day cleanups may actually be creating more garbage. Either way, I’ve found the best garbage bag is the one tumbling down the street right in front of you. And you don’t have to wait until this time next year to organize your own foraged cleanup. Wherever there’s a littered bag, there’s likely litter nearby begging for a home.

And so was born my Earth Day dispatch. Tomorrow will bring more green thinking and probably more garbage grabbing because I just can’t help myself. This place, Chicago, is home, even with its litter and noise, but its long-awaited turn toward spring and warmth is undeniable and finally upon us. Still, simultaneously, I’m thinking fondly of Asheville and trying to hold tightly to the clear evening light and the tree leaf rustle and the specific music of the birds outside our temporary home.