On taxes and budgets - our social compact

The fundamental responsibility of state government is to provide a social infrastructure for its citizens. This is accomplished by raising funds via taxation and fees and then developing a spending plan to accomplish these goals.

A budget represents the priorities of the citizenry and includes various expenditures such as health and welfare, public education, judiciary and regulation, administration and finance, public safety, and transportation.

(This column is full of numbers and percentages and rankings. But this is what impacts your pocketbook and provides the services you demand. So pour a cup of coffee and settle in).

It is interesting to compare the spending by the various states (FY2015 – last year all data available).

Of the New England states, Vermont finds it necessary to devote over $9,200 per person while New Hampshire gets along fine spending less than half of that.

                                                Per Capita           National

                                                Spending             Rank

Vermont                                  $9,265                  11

Rhode Island                          $8,426                  13

Maine                                     $6,244                   21

Connecticut                            $5,681                   24

Massachusetts                       $5,372                   29

New Hampshire                     $4,284                   44

Rhode Island, while feeling that it can spend less per citizen than Vermont, is still well above the national average of $6,900. Massachusetts, on the other hand, is a decent bargain at 29^th place nationwide.

One of the brilliant features of our system of federated republics is that the states act as a “laboratory of democracy”. We can see what works and what doesn’t, learning from the best and avoiding the worst. (This is why all Federal mandates have a built-in negative consequence – eliminating the competition of ideas in that particular policy arena).

Vermont and New Hampshire have nearly the same area, though New Hampshire has twice the population. Despite the disparity in per capita spending, Vermont and New Hampshire both have high school graduation rates of 91% (excellent, by the way). They both rank moderately high in happiness, 13^th and 16^th respectively. And they both have a high life expectancy of over 80 years.

In terms of total tax burden, Vermont ranks 12^th nationwide with a burden of 11% while New Hampshire comes in 49^th at 8.5%. (Massachusetts is, again, quite frugal at 9.6%, ranking 40^th).

Vermont and New Hampshire, while at opposite ends of the spending spectrum, yield very similar quality of life results. There are likely some lessons to be gleaned here.

Rhode Island is another case. Its per capita spending is very high, ranking 13^th in the nation. It also comes in 6^th in total taxation with a rate of 11.6%. So what are the citizens of Little Rhody getting for their high tax and spend regimen?

Life expectancy is 79.9 years, only a touch below the New England leaders. But the happiness index ranks 41^st nationwide, a poor showing in exchange for profligate spending. The average public wage is $56 thousand, the highest in the region, but the home ownership rate is the lowest at 57%. And worse, the high school graduation rate of 84% is the poorest in New England. It seems that if Rhode Island wants to attract new businesses and skilled employees, they’ve got a bit of work to do.

Finally, in spite of a past legacy and reputation as “Taxachusetts,” Massachusetts is doing a solid job of fiscal management for her citizenry. Taxes are relatively low (as previously noted) and quality of life indicators are good. Life expectancy is over 80 years, happiness ranks 9^th nationwide, and the high school graduation rate is over 89%. While there is always room for improvement, these are respectable results.

What can you do, dear citizen, to determine how your money is spent? Just two things: inform yourself and vote. You would be joining a very small club of those who do both.

On Human Adaptability

Tallgrass national Praire Preserve

A few days ago, the US Women’s National Hockey Team came from behind to beat the Canadians, 3-2, in Sundsvall, Sweden. It was a great moment for USA Hockey and speaks well of our Olympic prospects in PyeongChang, 2018.

And yet, Canada continues to wreak her revenge.

Approximately 75,000 years thence, the Laurentide ice sheet formed in Canada during a time of global cooling and spread over the Great Lakes and New England. Eventually, about 18,000 years ago, the global climate warmed once again (sans SUVs), and the glaciers retreated.

While we gained such treasures as Cape Cod and the Islands, we also harvested a bumper crop of glacial rocks. Thank you, Canada.

As anyone from around here knows, when trying to dig a hole for a fence post or to plant a shrub, there is invariably a basketball-sized boulder just a few inches beneath the surface. Imagine that multiplied a thousand-fold, as an early New England farmer tried to plow his fields with his team of oxen. He would be constantly turning up rocks, many of which required the efforts of a long pry bar to fully dislodge them.

Then, the odd, early harvest. A team of oxen or draft horses pulls a heavy sledge back and forth throughout the fields as a gang of youngsters and older teens were matched to the rocks they could handle, piling on and dragging them to the edge of the field. It is only natural that this became the raw material for New England’s beautiful stone walls.

And every spring, the frost heaved up another fresh crop of glacial rocks. And does so to this day. It is not a winning battle.

But New England farmers adapted and persevered. According to Michael Bell, writing for the American Geographical Society in 1989, “In the late nineteenth century, only 33 percent of New England farmland was classified as tilled or tillable by the agricultural census. The rest was equally divided between pasture and woodland.” So the resourceful Yankees determined that untilled land was more cost effective, and used it as pastureland or woodlots.

While these decisions were utilitarian, they gave us the lovely New England scenery of winding roads, rock walls, pastures, and forests that we see today.

Meanwhile, 1,500 miles to the west, a similar conundrum was faced by early settlers of eastern Kansas.

Much of Kansas was broad and flat, with deep rich soil and free of subterranean rock, making it an ideal granary. Wheat and corn and sorghum were grown by the ton. But in one area, a long rectangle extending south from Topeka into northern Oklahoma, another bumper crop of rocks was found. But for a totally different reason.

The Flint Hills, nearly 10,000 square miles, were formed when the shallow Western Interior Sea covered the Midwest from the Gulf of Mexico to the Arctic Circle over 80 million years ago. Over many millions of years, layers of sedimentary limestone and chert (flint) were laid down. Eventually, mountain building in the continent caused the sea to subside and, as it flowed south, limestone was worn away more than flint, leaving the Flint Hills.

When the settlers first tried farming in the Flint Hills, they found that they could only do so in relatively few creek and river bottoms. Whenever they tried to expand their farms into nearby hills, they found thin, clay soil littered with hard, sharp shards of flint. They quickly decided that ranching was a far better use of the land. Cattle found a favorable home here, and thrived.

The Flint Hills is also home to the tallgrass prairie and reconstituted herds of bison. Because of the thick growth of bluestem grass and nearly annual prairie fires, trees are only found in the creek bottoms. Gentle, rounded hills are covered in dense, tall grass as far as the eye can see. The only sound is the rushing wind, rippling patterns and rustling waves in the grass. No cars. No trains or planes. The buffalo dot a distant hillside, contentedly grazing. It is an intense solitude that heals one’s soul.

Two different geographies, two different geologies. But human ingenuity made the best of both. As we do in all places and climes, and certainly, one day, on alien planets. That is the greatest human trick – to adapt.

There is no fear for our future. We will surely adapt again and again.

A proper New England vacation

Gay Head, Martha's Vineyard, as seen from Cuttyhunk

People come from all over to visit New England in the summer time. Happy vacationers crowd the roads of Cape Cod and streets of Newport, their license plates proclaim the wonders of their home state: Sweet Home Alabama (AL), Land of Enchantment (NM), Sportsman’s Paradise (LA), Beautiful Ohio (OH). And yet, they are here.

We are wonderfully fortunate to inhabit such a desirable region, with brilliant leaves to peep in autumn, mountain slopes to ski in winter, and local maple syrup to savor in the spring. But summer on the seacoast is the main event. So when our yacht club offered the chance to participate in a cruise to the Elizabeth Islands and Martha’s Vineyard, we jumped at the chance. The plan was agreed having these overnight stays: Jamestown (Conanicut), Cuttyhunk, Oak Bluffs (Martha’s Vineyard), then returning via Cuttyhunk and Dutch Harbor, weather permitting.

Warned that, depending on weather and wind and waves, we might have to spend multiple nights at anchor without access to civilization, we plan and shop and stock the boat for any eventuality: ice cubes for the cooler, blocks for the reefer; canned tuna, mayonnaise, onion, and wheat bread for sandwiches; yogurt, fresh apples, bananas, cereal and milk for breakfast. Coffee. Bottled water. Two boxes of spaghetti, several jars of tomato sauce, and grated Parmesan cheese. Peanut butter. A bottle of wine or three. We are ready.

We pass the first very hot night at the club’s marina to facilitate an early departure. Nearly a hundred degrees, we retire to the air conditioned dining room for a light dinner. Later, when the sun has set, a very slight breeze feels cool. With a few trepidations, we review charts, then sleep and dream of calm seas.

Day 1 dawns cloudy, a bit cooler, but a chance of thunderstorms threatens. A parade of seven sailboats straggles from the marina and forms up a line headed south down the Providence River. Calm winds, motor sailing is the order of the day. A few hours later, the sky darkens and the heavens open up. A heavy downpour, accompanied by brilliant lightning flashes and thunderous booms, masks the other boats from our view. But being a typical summer storm, it is brief, and soon after we spy our mates and the Newport Bridge as we continue south. Gathering up, we stream into Conanicut and take our moorings. The water is cool and clear and deep here. Several of us swim from the stern of our boats, then call for the launch and go in for supplies or jerry cans of fuel. Later, as a group, we go ashore for dinner in Jamestown as the day dims. Clam chowder and seafood stew, this is New England.

Day 2, very early, we drop the mooring lines at 7am and motor south past the Dumplings on the right, then Castle Hill on the left. A long way to go, out to sea, we turn the corner at Brenton Reef and head for Cuttyhunk, a direct shot 20 miles to the east. Again, calm seas, no wind, we motor along, 6-ton sailboats being the slowest of motorboats. But later, a slight breeze from the south allows us to extend our jibs and pick up an extra knot. Finally, we are sailing. Arriving at Cuttyhunk late in the afternoon, we cruise the inner harbor but find all the moorings occupied. Back to the outer harbor, like magic we find the last seven available moorings. Late, tired, we decide to stay aboard, cook a little dinner on the propane stove, drink a glass of wine in the cockpit, and watch the sun set far to the west. As full dark settles in, a gaudy display of the Milky Way is amazingly entertaining. Then deep sleep and early to rise.

Day 3, again early, a quick breakfast, then we slip the lines and head for Quick’s Hole which separates Nashawena from Pasque Island and gives us ingress to Vineyard Sound. Luckily, the tides are with us and the crossing is uneventful. Tidal currents can be ruinous, but we are not so challenged. Again eastward, up Vineyard Sound, we tack into a northeast wind. The fleet of seven separate, but communicate on VHF radio and keep a very loose formation, somehow all finally arrive at Oak Bluffs within thirty minutes of each other in the mid afternoon. Luxury; a slip, with pilings, a sea wall, and 120V power. Heaven.

Oak Bluffs is very busy, optimized for tourism and hosting folks from around the world. We hear British and German and Midwestern American accents as we amble Circuit drive, looking for a dinner spot. Hot, midafternoon strolls are cooled by circling the Tabernacle in the Methodist campground. Civilization is nice, replenishing our ice and fuel and other ship’s stores - very satisfying. But somehow, the isolation of Cuttyhunk pulls at us.

After three days, including a bus trip to lovely Edgartown, watching the ballet of the twin Chappaquiddick ferries, and multiple fine meals, we are ready to return to sea.

Day 6, we drop our stern and bow and spring lines, emerge from Oak Bluffs harbor, and race a bit to beat the incoming fast ferry as it approaches the narrow channel. As the sun ascends and clouds clear, the wind picks up and we have a brisk north breeze to reach across Vineyard Sound. Finally, the sailboat comes to life and vibrates happily with the wind, curling a white bow wave as we cut through the swells. A fast crossing, we arrive at the south entrance to Quick’s Hole before noon. Again, fortuitously, the tides are with us and we glide uneventfully through to the north side, then turn west again to Cuttyhunk. Entering the inner harbor just after noon, we find enough moorings for our small flotilla.

After securing the boat and donning comfortable hiking shoes, we unship the outboard and mount it on the dinghy. A quick ten minutes later, we are ashore on Cuttyhunk and meet several others from our group. Always, the human tendency is to ascend, so we begin a slow climb. About 150 feet above sea level, the top of Lookout Hill was once a lookout station for WWII sailors spotting German submarines. Now, the pillboxes are nearly buried and prolific wildflowers decorate the heights. The view of the open sea to the south and west is magnificent, and Gay Head on Martha’s Vineyard is clearly visible. We meet another group of sailors up from Maryland – they have been attracted to Cuttyhunk for many years and often make the long voyage.

There is little on the island for tourists – one restaurant, one store, fewer than 100 residents. But one comes for the peace, the 1890s feel, the wildflowers, the wide open sky, and the expansive view of the sea.

Back to the boats, another supper aboard. We buzz back and forth in the dinghies, visiting our cohort, but finally settle in with the dark. Again, the Milky Way, ostentatious, as we sample a nice port and read a bit by camp lantern.

Day 7, up at dawn, a quick breakfast, then drop the mooring lines and gather up as we steam out of the harbor. A long day, we will be sailing about 26 miles to Dutch Harbor in Narragansett Bay. As the sun climbs, the wind gathers strength from the south and we manage 6 knots with engines quiet. There is nothing more freeing than the sense of a heavy boat creaking and groaning and slipping quickly through the sea, a fast as you can jog, all for free. Many hours later, we enter Dutch harbor on the west side of Jamestown and are led to our mooring. After a rest, we join our group and walk into town, finally aggregating a group of sailors for drinks and dinner and the swapping of lies. Nothing could be more satisfying.

Day 8, a little break, sleeping in a bit. Today we don’t leave until 9am, for we are in the familiar confines of Narragansett Bay and have only 20 miles or so to journey. A north wind, wouldn’t you know. But we have all day so tack industriously and gradually make our way up the bay. Finally, rounding Conimicut Point, the tacking becomes tiring and we decide to motor the last few miles. Up the Providence River, dodging a tug-driven barge or two, we reach our home port. With the sun settling in the west, a gentle, almost skillful docking, coming into the wind and backing the prop to kill our momentum, we glide to a stop.

This has been a proper New England vacation, one we are most likely to repeat.