By the third day, Spine had fifteen full bags piled in a stack. not necessrily out of the way, with intention.

She also made signs.

Three of them — hand‑painted on scrap plywood, letters big enough for a fisherman to read from his truck:

“Fishermen — help haul these bags.

I cleaned the river for your spot.

Let’s keep it clean together.”**

She nailed one to the cypress by the bend, one to the oak near the pull‑off, and one to the pine where the road curves.

Then she stepped back, looked at them, and nodded.

That was her kind of diplomacy — plain, fair, and visible.

A few days later, she went to the sheriff’s office to meet with Earl’s supervisor. She also used the chance to encourage the sheriff's department to take part in the cleanup efforts.

“Hey Bucky,” she said, “I’ve been pickin’ up trash down at the river.

Fifteen bags. Took me three days. I made signs for the fishermen to help haul ’em off. Could y’all send someone to pick up what’s left?”

Bucky perked up like a man who finally had a problem he could solve.

“Yes ma’am, absolutely. I’ll send help right out.”

And he meant it.

He really did.

He wrote it down on a sticky note.

He stuck the sticky note to his computer monitor.

Then the sticky note fell off.

Then Lula called.

Then Earl got confused about a dog complaint.

Then someone reported a suspicious cooler that turned out to be bait.

Then Lula called again.

And the river trash?