by Dan Hiland

Created on: May 21, 2009

Perfect Mason

This morning our neighbor asked if we canned. When I replied that my wife does, she handed me a paper sack full of jars.

As I struggled to hold the sack so it wouldn't tear open, I looked at the containers. They were gleaming, clear glass, and as I walked back to my house, I marveled at their heavy, substantial look- and I found myself suddenly grateful for all things glass.

I guess plastic has its place. It's lightweight, doesn't break easily, and is convenient. Maybe it's that convenience- the selling point for most things temporal or spiritual these days- that accounts for its allure.

But I wonder how much we lose as a culture, feeding glass to the gods of Recycling as fast as possible.

Sure, it's somehow comforting to think about how much "they" can do with glass after it's smashed up or melted or both- but there's a certain allure about glass, something intrinsic, that plastic doesn't have.

It may be hard to melt glass at home, but plastic is more than willing to do so. Problem is, plastic also burns at the drop of a hat, while glass does not. In fact, I don't think glass can be burned. Plastic will every time. Seems like a character flaw...

Think of all the things glass has been replaced by, in the name of convenience.

Plates, for example. I haven't seen a plastic version yet that looks as good as glass. Just as engraved paper is more aesthetically pleasing that lithograph, so is glass versus plate.

Glass plates handle the heat better than their poor cousins, more willing to retain warmth than pass it on.

They also clean up easier. It's as if dirt and grease and burned food know they have no business trying to hang around the glass neighborhood, whereas a porously uneven plastic surface is more than willing to accommodate.

When you get right down to it, plastic must know it's not glass, that it's convenient but never permanent.

This point was driven home to me a few years ago while digging post holes in my back yard. At some point the shovel tip something- in this case a piece of broken glass from a bottle or jar. Digging down further, I discovered more objects, some metal, others wood, but most glass.

Soon, a gold-fever mentality took hold as I dug up one bottle after another, many of them intact. Before it was all over, I had unearthed a goodly pile of stuff, much of it over 100 years old. Evidently our yard had long ago been the site of several outhouses and a small dump.

And while much of the junk was just that, there

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