Recycling in Kamakura: A lesson in less

Growing up in Belgium, I’ve always considered myself reasonably eco-conscious. We separate our recyclables, compost when we can, and try to avoid single-use plastics. But nothing prepared me for the level of recycling discipline I encountered in Kamakura, even after I got used to recycling in Tokyo.

In Kamakura, recycling isn’t just encouraged, it’s meticulously enforced. Cans must be rinsed and dried. PET bottles are separated from their labels and caps. Burnable and non-burnable trash have their own collection days, and there’s a detailed guide (often illustrated!) on how to sort everything from batteries to broken ceramics. It’s not just a system it’s a philosophy.

The wire mesh garbage cages in the picture aren’t just for organization, they’re essential. Without them, karasu (crows), tonbi (black kites), and other wildlife would tear into plastic bags, scattering trash across the street in search of food scraps. These sturdy enclosures help keep the neighborhood clean and protect animals from getting sick or injured by human waste. In a place where nature and community coexist closely, even garbage needs safeguarding.

At first, complying with this system felt exhausting. Washing out yogurt containers and peeling labels off bottles was tedious. And let’s be honest, having locals peer into your trash bags and leave (seemingly) passive-aggressive notes when you got it wrong? That part was especially draining. But over time, I began to see it differently. Their scrutiny, while uncomfortable, was also a form of guidance. It helped me improve.

Eventually, I realized something important: this effort made me think twice before buying. Do I really need this plastic-wrapped snack? Is there a reusable option? The inconvenience became a kind of mindfulness practice, one that made me more aware of my consumption.

Now that I live in California, the contrast is striking. Recycling is available, but often less strict, and contamination is common. The Kamakura system, though demanding, fosters a deeper respect for resources and the planet. It’s not just about sorting waste, it’s about rethinking waste altogether.

And here’s the unexpected part: I’ve grown proud of my recycling habits. I actually enjoy doing it now. There’s something deeply satisfying about rinsing out a container and placing it in the right bin. It feels like a small but meaningful act of care.

So this Monday, I invite you to reflect on your own habits. Could a little extra effort lead to less waste overall? Could rinsing a can be a small act of care: for the earth, and for future generations?

It’s not always convenient. But I think it might just be worth it.