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So...I know I had a dirty job ahead, but was resolved to get it done. With the property cleaned up on the outside, I needed to make sure the inside of the garage did not look like a giant litter box for a Transformer. I decided to head in to the lake late Wednesday, then head to Grafton first thing Thursday morning. I made the Denton to Storm trip in exactly four hours leaving at 7:00 and arriving at 11:00. I loaded the truck with my power washer and brooms, and mops and buckets and degreaser and hoses.

Though I hoped my tenant Charlie would have gotten rid of the huge black garbage bags, they were still there when I arrived. I had texted Charlie to meet me there if he could, but he has had some illness in his family so I understood.

I decided I had to get rid of all the junk first, so I loaded up all the bags and boxes and pulled out bicycles my daughter Monica had back in the 80's and an umbrella we had on out outdoor furniture and just a LOT of junk. Had to get on my hands and knees to pull it all out of behind things, but I got 97% of it on the truck. Now where to take it?

I headed in the direction of the former Foley operation, a guy who was a salvage yard and refuse collector. He no longer runs it I understood, but a more modern firm took over. Modern meaning, "We don't take that...or that... or that." I was determined to find what they DID take. Funny, but on the way down the narrow country lane I thought I had found Foley's place. Old cars, a jet ski, a washing machine and a host of assorted paraphernalia scattered all over the yard. This HAD to be the place. It wasn't . It was one of those stereotypical West Virginia hoarders place. I had half a mind to stop and see if they had a hankering for any of the stuff on my truck, but thought I might get shot.

A few more yards down the road here comes a pickup with fancy lettering on the side. I flagged him down and pulled up along side. Waste Management Ltd. it said. "Just the guy I was looking for," I told him. "Like to help you, but we only the household trash." "Well where did you think I got this stuff? From Walmart? It came from my house." "Nah, you gotta take it to the landfill over in Bridgeport. But you better get a cover or they won't let you dump." He gave me the directions to the dump at Bridgeport, 23 miles away, so I headed to Bridgeport after stopping at Walmart to pick up a cover. Tied it down good I did.

I drove the 23 miles to the landfill hoping against hope that they wouldn't see my Maryland Plates and tell me, "No you can't dump here, you from Maryland." I was planning to explain that no, I did NOT bring all this crap from Maryland, it was West Virginia crap from my West Virginia property. Fortunately they couldn't see my plates when I pulled up to the scale, just my load covered neatly with a brand new tarp. I headed to the prescribed location, threw all the bags, and bikes, and umbrellas and bed rails in the dumpsters and feeling 343 pounds lighter paid the lady and headed back to the garage.

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