Recycling, River Lessons, and the Reality of North County
Date: February 24, 2026
For many years, my brother-in-law and I have had an arrangement that has quietly helped support our household. He gathers plastic bottles and aluminum cans that are left behind on the base where he works. If he sees extras in the trash, he collects them and brings them to my house. I then take them to the recycling center and turn them in for money. We have been doing this for about ten years now, although he has worked there for closer to twenty-five years. The recycling center gives us a modest amount for the cans and bottles. I use part of that money to buy stamps to mail our bills, which costs about ten dollars or so each time. The remaining cash goes to my wife to help with groceries. If there is anything left over, we might buy garlic, carrots, or other vegetables from the neighborhood Mexican market. On rare occasions, we are even able to afford fresh homemade tortillas. It is not much, but it helps, and over time it adds up.
This small system of recycling and survival connects in my mind to the larger landscape around the San Luis Rey River in North County San Diego. At first glance, the area appears calm and almost passive, much like certain parts of downtown San Diego along the riverbeds. However, the California backcountry is not something to underestimate. The ecosystem surrounding the San Luis Rey River is rugged and complex. What looks tame from a distance can quickly reveal itself to be harsh and unpredictable.
Over the years, I have observed many aspects of life along the river. There were once roaming bands of stray dogs that had reportedly escaped from the pound, though I have not seen that happen in a long time. I often see a small fox or coyote early in the morning as I head to work, rummaging through garbage cans or circling near a chicken coop in search of food. When I used to work closer to the river itself, I would see wild dogs more frequently, as well as white cranes that would descend near the water. I have not seen those cranes in years, and I sometimes wonder if their numbers have declined or if they have simply moved on. The river corridor also supports creatures such as opossums and other small wildlife that thrive quietly in the brush.
The weather patterns add another layer of unpredictability. When storms come from the south, often as the remnants of small tropical systems, they bring a warm rain that feels very different from the colder northern storms. Northern storms tend to be colder and can cause flooding, but southern systems can also be dangerous in their own way. The ecology of the region shifts depending on these patterns. Although such tropical remnants have been less frequent in recent years, it would be unwise to dismiss the possibility of their return.
The human element along the river is equally complex. North County can appear open and easy to navigate, but that impression can be misleading. People migrate from colder northern parts of the state to the warmer southern regions, and this movement includes members of the homeless community. There is also movement across state lines along the southern border corridor stretching toward Texas. Many arrive believing the climate will make life easier. However, even in Southern California, cold nights and exposure can become life-threatening, especially for those already in poor health.
There are beautiful aspects to the area as well. The pathway connecting Mission San Luis Rey to the Pacific Ocean is an incredible bicycle route and walking trail. On windy days, the air rushing in from the ocean can be bracing and powerful. It is a scenic stretch that reflects both the natural beauty and the layered history of the region.
Recently, I stopped at a McDonald's near the overpass a few blocks from the fire station and not far from the Oceanside Police Department headquarters and jail. My wife and I go there out of habit for coffee. I noticed several homeless individuals nearby, some appearing new to the streets, with clean backpacks and relatively new clothing. As we drove under the overpass, we saw a person camped along the fence, something that happens from time to time before police move people along. There were multiple police cars present, and a covered form on the ground that strongly suggested someone had died. It was a sobering sight and a stark reminder of how unforgiving life outdoors can be, especially during cold nighttime temperature drops.
My message is simple. Do not underestimate the ecosystem of the San Luis Rey River, whether natural or social. What seems easy from a distance can become dangerously complicated. Survival requires preparation, awareness, and humility. As I reflect on recycling bottles for grocery money and watching the movement of people along the river, I am reminded that I, too, am part of this fragile system. I hope never to find myself unprepared, forced into survival mode by misjudgment or pride. Life along the river, like life in general, demands respect.
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