There is an austere beauty to the wintry hills of western Pennsylvania.

Just west of Pittsburgh, February 2013

Pine Hollow Road

I’m letting  pictures do nearly all the talking this time. Life is busy — good and full of blessings, but busy.

There are stories in these hills, among these trees. I can hear the tales whispering together, a deep carpet of them long in the accumulation, like fallen leaves.

The latest news is that Greenstar has been bought by Waste Management, so technically I no longer work for Greenstar, though it will be a while before all the old logos are phased out. And there are no immediate changes for us temporary workers.

A stream flows beside Pine Hollow Road. We may be looking at the pine and the hollow here!

The foreman, Spider, did something very nice for me last week while sending me out on a special assignment to clean all the scrap paper and plastic out of the long back fencerow. He pulled me off the paper line to do this, which meant it was important, not just a time-killing cleanup chore such as we sometimes have to do when the machines are down or there’s no comingle. (They’re doing all they can to spruce up the place to make a good impression on the new management.) “I know if I send you,” he told me, “I won’t have to keep checking on you.” Then suddenly he asked me, “What are we paying you for? Seven and a half hours, or eight?” I answered seven and a half. “I’ll try to get you eight from now on,” he said — and so he did. The company now calls my days eight hours. They’re essentially paying me for my lunch break, too. It amounts to about eighteen more dollars per week. Very kind of them — good to be acknowledged.

See the little frozen waterfalls (icicles) under the ledge?

I keep wishing there were caves around here. There are a few in Pennsylvania, but it’s not much of a cave state.

And one more:

My boss Frank told me a hilarious story this week. It seems there was a time not too long ago at Greenstar when some of the guys would carry cans of spray paint to work with them, a different color for each guy. When they’d encounter a rat at close range, they’d shoot a cloud of paint at it — so each guy could identify his own rat when he saw it again later. Wow, huh? I’m guessing the rats weren’t too thrilled . . . or maybe they were . . .