My son and I were discussing the provenance of various household items when the conversation turned from family heirlooms to my extensive collection of reusable grocery bags, part of which had been dangling from the front door handle since my last trip to the grocery store (if there’s no Guinness category for that sort of thing, there should be).

“They have a story, too,” I said after he acknowledged removing them because they make it ridiculously annoying to get the door open. He kindly refrained from rolling his eyes.

“I’m sure they do,” he said.

Some are cloth or canvas or cloth-like, some seem to be a mix of cloth and plastic—sturdier plastic than the carry-out grocery bags, but plastic nevertheless. They have various logos and messages touting worthy and not-so-worthy causes. The very first one I bought about a million years ago has a tree and the words “Save a Tree” on it. I remember it was advertised as the “Save a Tree Shoulder Bag.” Who knows if any trees were saved.

I’ve purchased bags as souvenirs, some come in the mail after I’ve donated to one of those worthy causes, I’ve picked up a few at conferences, and my sister made me a couple from pillowcases. Some of them, even the ones touting worthy causes, probably have a good-sized carbon footprint. A factory somewhere is churning them out. They’re not really that easy to pack groceries in, as most are soft-sided and just slump over on those racks that are clearly made for plastic bags. I always feel bad for the cashier as I’m flopping my diverse assortment of receptacles down at the bagging area, and assure that person that “I can bag.”

Most households have the ubiquitous bag of bags. Or several. Mine, the one for the filmy plastic retail store carry-out type, is a plaid cloth affair that a friend made. You stuff the bags into the top and pull them out from the bottom. Grocery stores in this country began using plastic bags in the early 1970s. They were cheaper than paper bags, weather resistant, and they had handles. The one-piece polyethylene bag had been developed in the mid-1960s by Swedish engineer Sten Gustaf Thulin. He didn’t envision them as single-use, and he thought they could replace paper bags which would, in turn reduce deforestation. He was partially right. They can be reused—think liners for garbage cans (albeit small ones), the signal for “my car is dead, please don’t tow it away” when the bag is left flapping in a rolled up window on a roadside, or a handy wrapper for keeping a paintbrush from drying out—but they are definitely environmentally dodgy and usually end up in landfills or blowing across a field. One factoid I came across: it can take 500 to 1,000 years for a plastic shopping bag to decompose, this after an average use time of twelve minutes. New York passed a law in March of 2020 banning plastic carry-out bags from distribution by anyone required to collect NYS sales tax. And since 2018, thirty (maybe more by this time) Pennsylvania municipalities have passed laws eliminating one or more types of single use plastic.

But, then there are the benches, and an opportunity for a redemption of sorts.

Here in Wellsboro, and likely in other places, too, there are big bins in some of the stores where you can return your plastic grocery bags. Tops and Weis are two of those places. What happens to the bags after that? Jim Paxson, a member of the United Methodist Church of Wellsboro, has the answer. He explains that the church also has a bin for collection of recyclable material—#2 and #4 plastic. The numbers refer to the type of polyethylene—#2 is high-density and #4 is low-density. The church bin accepts plastic bags as well as other soft plastics like Ziploc bags but no plastic milk or laundry jugs.

“We try to encourage people to recycle,” Jim says.

So when the bin gets full, “we weigh it and take it up to Weis,” Jim continues. From there the bags and other plastics eventually end up at a facility in West Virginia where the plastic is repurposed into benches, decking, and other useful things.

“We donate them [the benches] to the borough—the benches we’ve received are at the pool,” said Jim. “So far we have seven.”

For every 1,000 pounds of plastic sent in, a bench gets shipped back in return, though the exact amount of plastic to make those benches is unknown. Similar projects are ongoing in other communities. This one is a collaboration between the Wellsboro Rotary and the Wellsboro Ministerium.

The answer to the “paper or plastic?” question can be tough. In an effort to encourage you to bring your own bag, or to remember to bring your bags into the store rather than leaving them hang on the door knob, some stores charge for paper bags. It’s not a lot, but maybe it’s the principle of the thing. Or you can buy one of their bags. Free advertising for them, and one less plastic or paper bag to produce and dispose of. I really like my bag I got from the state store, only it doesn’t say “state store” on it, it says “FW&GS” which is an acronym for fine wine and good spirits. Good marketing, right? Makes me feel fine and good.

One more bag memory. Mom worked at Fisher Price, and carried her lunch to work in a small paper bag. She’d bring it home with her, folded neatly, and reuse it the next day. Sometimes she’d use the same bag all week, and by Friday it would be soft and wrinkled. Sometimes she’d even start out the new workweek with last week’s bag. My sisters and I would tease her about it. “Mom,” we’d say. “It’s OK if you have a new bag.” She’d say something back like, “Oh, hush,” or maybe, “Never mind.”

Guess who now reuses every freakin’ bag that comes across the pike?