Note: quotes may not be 100% accurate, but the events in this story did indeed take place.
When I was around 5 years old, my father used to take me dumpster diving.
At the time, we lived off-the-grid in a cabin at 9,000 feet in the Rocky Mountains with no running water, solar panels for electricity, an outhouse, a wood stove, and a bucket for a shower. If you pulled the carpet up in our living room, you'd find dirt underneath. It was an old, broken down mining cabin from days past. My father didn't make much, so we scavenged as much as we could from places that threw stuff away.
One such place was a bread factory in Boulder, CO.
We typically 'hit' this factory at night, which provided us with cover of darkness. One night, we backed our yellow Subaru up to the back gate as usual, shimmied through the fence, and snuck over to two dumpsters. No lock, no guards, no cameras (that I can remember). The air smelt good, like sourdough just coming out of the oven. My father, opening one of the dumpsters, grabbed 5 or 6 loafs, then asked what I wanted. “Cinnamon raisin” I whispered. My father handed me 2 loafs and we started back, arms full of bread and smiles on our faces.
Nine out of ten times these loafs were completely fine, except one slice might not look right or one might end up being slightly over-baked. Otherwise, they were perfectly fine loafs of bread - completely edible, totally yummy, and worth the risk.
Bread was a big part of our diet, along with powdered milk, ramen noodles, and the dreaded dinner of beans and chard. With batteries for electricity at the cabin, we didn’t have a toaster, so we’d plop slices of bread on the wood stove. It worked like a charm and was a common way we cooked and reheated food. Start a fire, throw a pot of whatever on top, then wait patiently - an oven that was always on. It provided much needed warmth and an easy way to heat up anything edible. That wood stove was the center of our cabin, in more ways than one.
"Hey, what are you doing?!" someone yelled...
Survival instincts kicking-in, we went from walking to sprinting in no time at all. After getting skinny once again through the fence, we packed up the car and sped off before the guard could grab us. My father looked at me and started laughing. I followed suit, heart pounding, eyes wide, and slightly shaking. The adrenaline was powerful, yet felt satisfying at the same time. After a few minutes and finally relaxed a bit, I picked up a loaf of cinnamon raisin, plucked a slice out and had myself a getaway treat.
Soon after, the bread factory upped their security and we had to stop, but I learned a lot from that time that I still hold true today.
Living like that imbedded a frugality in me that I (admittedly) didn’t cultivate until years later. Lessons of not being wasteful, fixing things rather than throwing them out, buying used books rather than new ones, eating leftovers, buying used cars (10% of it’s value is lost the moment it’s driven off the lot), shopping at thrift stores (still working on this one), recycling, and generally starting to be more cognizant of what I purchase.
With a little ingenuity, life can be lived fairly cheaply while still owning and doing the things you want. It just takes a little creativeness and the willingness to look.
All the best,
Perspective is important! Thanks for sharing! What an adventure! I usually get my clothes from thrift stores bacause I love cotton, and most retail women's clothes now are slinky and nylon. We have a recycling deal with our trash guys, but I always wonder if the recycling really happens... I would say, over all, that I am not very thrifty.