In university, I worked for a small environmental nonprofit that was constantly trying to experiment with new things, but had essentially zero resources.
In one project, I wanted to be able to better monitor our solar PV system (which, at the time, was usually not internet-connected). I patched together some random hardware we had lying around, reverse-engineered the control protocol used by the inverter, and wrote a script to talk to it over a serial cable. That became the official data logger for the next decade or so. These days, it’s just a built-in function of any mainstream inverter.
In another project, we wanted to digitally catalog our hundreds of books and 'zines, many of which had no ISBN, having either predated that system or else was put out by small-time publishers who never bothered. With the help of the Dope (Making a 6-digit numeric hash from a string?), we created our own barcode system and indexed them all with an off-the-shelf barcode scanner and a simple script. These days, I imagine that could be done with a trivial smartphone app.
But my proudest “invention” was at a completely different job, where I was doing backcountry trailwork. This was a gig that sent our crew of 20 or so young adults out into the wilderness to build and maintain hiking trails, many hours away from civilization and infrastructure.
Our bathroom was a giant pit in the ground we dug out with shovels, far away from camp and water. It stank, of course, but was more or less fine… on nicer days. But with the frequent thunderstorms, it really sucked having to go poop during heavy rain. There was a small stash of toilet paper up there in a ziplock bag, but in the dark and in the wet, it was very hard to see and manipulate. The roll would frequently end up soaked through and become the texture of paper mache… believe me, that is the last thing you want to deal with after a long, hard day of digging.
One day I was sick at camp with a horrible case of cryptosporidiosis (waterborne parasite causing incredible stomach upsets). It was also raining. I had to make the trek like seven times that day, in the rain, dealing with that mess of TP every single time. I finally had enough and was determined to do something about it.
I looked around our trash pile back at camp… found a Folgers coffee can, one of those giant ones. Some twigs and paracord and a 1970s book on knots later, I had fashioned an outdoor toilet paper holder. It was a simple, jury-rigged solution, but it tremendously boosted morale. Man, the crew wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks afterward…
(AI illustration)