Lowest Price for Ecofriendly biodegradable disposable Stirrer to Kenya Factory
Lowest Price for Ecofriendly biodegradable disposable Stirrer to Kenya Factory Detail:
The main raw material ingredient extracted from oil and oil resources have been increasingly scarce, all materials are extracted from the oil burning of non-biodegradable will pollute the environment.
The main using starch as raw materials, starch extracted from plants, belonging to the renewable resources is a return to natural environmental degradation products.
Our Biobased cultery:
Our biobased cutlery,”plant-starch” cultery is excellent for hot foods with a heat tolerance up to 110 centigrade.
Compared traditional cutlery made from 100% virgin plastics, this cutlery is made with 70% renewable material,which is a alternative choice.
Our biobased cutlery made from 70% renewable resources, although it is not compostable,but biobased and biodegradable.
The temperature tolerance between -10 to 110 centigrade. Microwave, fridge, freezer and oven friendly.
It is healthy, hygienic, nontoxic, harmless and safty.
Ecogreen has strong research capability and can deal with a bulk quantity purchase order and customized products.
Welcome to contact with us for more details.
Product detail pictures:
To create far more benefit for customers is our company philosophy; customer growing is our working chase for Lowest Price for Ecofriendly biodegradable disposable Stirrer to Kenya Factory, The product will supply to all over the world, such as: Sevilla , Roman , Israel , We offer the great variety of items in this field. Besides, customized orders are also available. What's more, you will enjoy our excellent services. In one word, your satisfaction is guaranteed. Welcome to visit our company! For more information, remember to come to our website.If any further inquiries, you should feel free to contact us.
Chapter 3 of my novel “Strat” copyright 2013, Tony Lee Glenn. Read by Tony Lee Glenn with original art for the cover slate. – Link to Chapter 4 – http://youtu.be/bPv8PGzw6ao
It was a Saturday morning in early November. Joe stood near the corner of his out-building, a stoutly constructed, austere structure he had recently built behind the house to serve as a workshop and office for his free-lance jobs. He leaned a stepladder against the building, and climbed up, carrying his cordless drill in one hand. He tightened the bit and tested the rotation, then punched a hole through the building’s white-painted wall. Soon he would run an ethernet line through the hole, stringing it along a taut supporting cable he had pulled between the building and the house, not fifty feet away. It would connect his high-speed modem in the workshop with a new computer he had purchased for Linda. In recent months, much to Joe’s chagrin, she had become a diehard Ebay junkie.
He paused to adjust the earbuds of his mp3 player. Boston’s A Man I’ll Never Be was beginning — one of his all time favorites.
When he had strung the wire to the eave of his house, Joe drilled an entry point into the attic. As the drill shavings cascaded through his arm hairs he thought about how he dreaded climbing up into the attic to pull the cable across to the computer room. The attic was unfinished, without a floor — just joists spaced sixteen inches apart with the flimsy plastered ceiling beneath. He always worried that he might miss-step and plunge a foot into the living space below. He also feared he would break the rickety pull-down folding ladder that led to the attic — the one with the 225-pound weight capacity.
Joe was a big guy — about 260 pounds and standing a little over six-two. He was not a flabby 260 though. He was a former high school football star — a home-grown farm boy who in his prime could toss sixty-pound bales of hay up into a twelve-foot barn loft. And although he was a voracious eater (the only part of his life he couldn’t seem to control) he believed in working hard and staying in shape as best he could.
Once inside the house Joe put away his music player and went to the upstairs hallway. There he pulled the thin rope that lowered the attic ladder, unfolding it until it rested on the oak flooring.
Immediately the small gray tomcat he and Linda had recently adopted began to scale the ladder. Joe grabbed him by the nape of the neck and tossed him down. Linda would have a fit, he thought, if Jasper got loose in the attic.
Tucking a flashlight in the back of his pants Joe carefully — almost daintily scaled the creaking ladder and entered the musty attic. The only light was a thin line of sunshine that filtered in from the ridge vent. He switched the flashlight on and slowly panned its beam through the dusty darkness.
Having done a good bit of carpentry with his father in the past, Joe appreciated the stick-built architecture of the 1930s and 40s — sturdy hardwood rafters joined together with strips of wood and nails with unusually shaped heads. At the same time, he was always a little unnerved exploring the attic of an old house. He realized building codes from a bygone era probably hadn’t anticipated men of his size trudging above the ceiling.
He carefully planted his feet atop a strip of plywood — one of several he had previously placed in the attic. He had cut the strips a little more than a foot wide and about six feet long, using them to span the floor joists in strategic spots, allowing for some added foot-space.
Old blown insulation lay piled up between the joists, making the attic look like it was covered with six inches of nasty charcoal-gray cotton. Joe stepped off his little plywood platform and onto a joist — its two-inch width digging into the sole of his foot. He picked up the plywood strip, tucked it under his left arm, and took a few careful, measured steps – his nerves on edge as he advanced toward the back of the house, balancing one foot at a time atop each narrow joist. If he fell through the ceiling, it would be ten feet down to the unforgiving hardwood floor below.
Approaching the back of the attic Joe could see old boxes and discarded trash piled up where the pitch of the roof lowered to meet the top of the outside walls. Wonder what’s in there, he thought, though he didn’t on this occasion care enough to investigate. Just past a pile of old twisted Venetian blinds he saw a thin spot of light where he had punched through the wall. Curling through the hole was several feet of blue plastic-sheathed ethernet line he had fed into the attic.
By Jenny 2015-12-14 14:03
We have been engaged in this industry for many years, we appreciate the work attitude and production capacity of the company, this is a reputable and professional manufacturer.
By Andy 2016-6-18 17:47