My wife, the source of all positive change in our household, recently announced that we were “going green.” I was immediately with the program. Between two college tuitions, an aging house, and vintage (old) cars, we were currently “going red.” Going green was an instantly attractive alternative.

But it turned out it wasn’t about cash flow, it was about the environment. Specifically, our flagrant use of plastic trash bags, which languish in landfills and are prophesied to survive all looming dystopian disasters, along with the cockroaches.

The solution? Biodegradable trash bags.

After a bit of online research, the clear choice in plastic bag replacement was what I’ll call Bio Bag #1. The marketing of the bag was impressive and chock full of saving-the-world promises, replete with pictures of plants and animals frolicking happily in a clean-air, trash-free world. Actually, the animals were frolicking happily; the plants were mostly smiling and hanging out in a green, contented sort of way.

I noticed there were no pictures of human beings in this clean-air, trash-free world. I’m not sure how to feel about that, but I digress …

The bags arrived by post to much anticipation. The packaging that housed the bags was festooned with similar non-human, environmentally friendly scenes, and I felt the kind of thrill that only comes from calculating future carbon offsets.

I didn’t know what to expect when we pulled the first bag out for a trial run, but I didn’t imagine it would actually feel, smell, and look like a regular plastic bag. As we started using the alleged bio bags, however, doubts began to creep in as they didn’t seem to be trying very hard to wither away.

So we went back through the marketing literature and this time noticed a very important note in small print. It turns out that the bag itself isn’t biodegradable, or even other kinds of degradable. It’s just a regular plastic bag. It’s only the twist tie that has the resolve to dissolve.

While overall pleased about and happy for the twist tie, this wasn’t the kind of big leap forward we were looking for, so it was back to the drawing board.

Bio Bag #2, our next choice, had similar marketing graphics as the now-disgraced Bio Bag #1, perhaps with a little less frolicking, but still solidly depicting a rubbish-free, void-of-human future world. And the difference was clear when we pulled the first flimsy bag out of the box.

We immediately put it to the test and I’m happy to report it definitely worked as advertised. Even better, in fact. By the time it was full and ready to be moved forward in our family’s trash logistics stream (i.e. taken out to the trash bin), its biodegradability-ness was on full display. Complete with a leaky bottom, drops of something sticky in the carpet memorializing my path through the family room, and a seam-splitting decomposition event in the driveway.

After instituting a formal emptying of the garbage routine throughout the day as our preventive anti-bio protocol, life settled into normal as winter became spring, and spring became summer. Then the real trouble began.

The bio bags, which had stayed relatively cool and collected in the trash bin all winter and spring, now suddenly regrouped and resolved to live up to their name by spontaneously combusting in the heat of the day. And there was also another problem, which came to my attention when I noticed tiny pieces of rice lurking at the bottom of the bin. But the color was all wrong and they were wriggling, and I didn’t recall roaming rice ever being on our dinner menu.

In my life, I hadn’t actually seen many maggots so that I could immediately recognize one. I grew up in Connecticut, which might explain some of it. I’m quite certain that having maggots in Greenwich is frowned upon, for example. But here it was, musca domestica, the real deal squirming right before my eyes.

I remember thinking, “Where did they come from?” and “What do they want?” But I didn’t need to rummage in the attic for my high school biology book to look for answers. The Lord of the Flies and all his descendants were busily buzzing around inside the bin and helping themselves to now-very-biodegraded trash. Truly, the circle of life.

And like all of life’s little problems, this too had a solution. We simply started putting everything into yet another bag.

So to recap: We are saving the planet by tossing our rubbish into an overachieving bio bag, and then putting that bag inside a non-bio bag with excellent anti-larval properties, and then hefting the entire apparatus into our wheelie bin.

Are we greener? I’m not sure. But my wife, the source of all positive change in our household, recently announced our next green project: moving the garbage can further away from the house.

D.W. Palmer and his wife live in West Norriton. His twins attended Norwood-Fontbonne Academy and then Mount St. Joseph Academy and LaSalle. They regularly visit Chestnut Hill. As he describes himself, “I write about relatable everyday things and hope to put a smile on someone’s face to lighten their load just a bit."