A simple lesson

The harvest.

It was a chilly morning in New York one day this week, and a truly integrated cluster of homeless persons slept on a grate as it noisily vented warm air from Penn Station below. Rolled in roiling, tangled blankets, black and white and brown limbs intermingled, seeking warmth from the roaring vertical wind. Passersby rush on, each busily on a mission, with disapproving glances. 

Later, lunching at a well-known chain restaurant across the river in Hoboken, a small, hunched man with a wild white beard and simple knit hat and rumpled, soiled clothing, eats standing up. Looking like a creature from “The Hobbit,” he performs quick, obsessive, ritualistic manipulation of his food and drink, finally eviscerating the sandwich and devouring the filling. He is closely watched but outwardly ignored by other diners, cautiously watchful nearby. 

It is a matter of great, learned, debate, whether God exists, and if so, which one.

But it matters not. These people, the least among us, are equally imbued with human rights. Whether God-given or inherited from the Universe, these are fully human creatures, not less than any of us.

At the other end of the privilege spectrum are the highly educated, the trained, the cultured, the deep thinkers. And they care, deeply. And know that they can improve the lives of us all, if only we’d listen, and obey.

These are they who prescribe, command, compel. The new Ten Commandments. Thou shalt not live on the street. Thou shall not consume large sugary drinks. Thou shalt wear seat belts, and not smoke, and a thousand other things. 

Because they are educated and enlightened. Because the are concerned. And because they think themselves our betters.

But they are not.

This country was a grand experiment, splintered from the regencies and monarchies and religious shackles of mother Europe. It was founded on the principle that "all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness." Sound familiar?

So let us consider one early example of the power of individual freedom. It resonates yet today, though greatly muted.

In November of 1620, a group of Separatists left England on the Mayflower seeking religious freedom and economic opportunity. The first several years were extremely difficult, near famine, with poor crop yields and perilous scarcity.  Nathaniel Philbrick, author of “Mayflower,” takes up the tale:

“The fall of 1623 marked the end of Plymouth’s debilitating food shortages. For the last two planting seasons, the Pilgrims had grown crops communally – the approach first used at Jamestown and other English settlements. But as the disastrous harvest of the previous fall had shown, something drastic needed to be done.”

“In April, [William] Bradford had decided that each household should be assigned its own plot to cultivate, with the understanding that each family kept whatever it grew. The change in attitude was stunning. Families were now willing to work much harder than they had ever worked before. In previous years, the men had tended the fields while the women tended the children at home. ‘The women now went willingly into the field,’ Bradford wrote, ‘and took their little ones with them to set the corn.’ The Pilgrims had stumbled on the power of capitalism. Although the fortunes of the colony still teetered precariously in the years ahead, the inhabitants never again starved.”

A mystery. Or perhaps not – simply human nature. When treated as free persons, owners of their own labor and the fruits thereof, the Pilgrims prospered. And as they prospered individually, so did the colony.

A small, hoary example, perhaps, but timeless.

The lesson is simple. Our "betters" are so only in their imaginations and inflated egos. Let each choose their own path. Offer your advice if you must, but restrain the impulse to impose. As an equal, you do not have that right.

The Winter that Would Never End

Sidewalk buried under "Mount Bronson," County Street

It has been a long, cold, dark, snowy, ruthless winter in New England. It is usually said, given such conditions, that only the skiers are happy. But this winter, even ardent skiers are yearning for spring. And the plow drivers – bless them for having not yet slipped a gear.

In Attleboro, the potholes on Thacher street below the railroad bridge are of a particularly vicious nature. Multitudinous, cavernous, sharp-edged, a recipe for bone-jarring, heart-stopping whacks which test the vehicle’s suspension and the owner’s wallet.  More experienced drivers are aware of the danger, slowing to avoid these chasms . The younger ones, perhaps, with some life lessons to learn.

Persistent winds across the Locust Valley, or in opposite direction sweeping Leach’s meadow, have squeezed Locust Street to barely a lane and a half. Witness to the ineffectiveness of lightweight trucks in achieving curb to curb clearance, and perhaps calling for that Vermont Yankee solution, the snow fence. (Snow fences are temporary structures erected after golfers have abandoned the links and dismantled before the robins return and daffodils bloom). A simple solution, perhaps too old fashioned to appeal.

Repeated plowings from both the street and parking lot sides have raised up a veritable “Mount Bronson” of snow at the Bronson building on Country Street. The “Do Not Enter” sign seems balefully directed at pedestrians, those mothers with strollers and elderly trekkers who are forced to trudge in the busy street. While the city was able to quickly clear the site of the Winter Festival, Mount Bronson has remained impervious for over four weeks. We are apparently following the North Carolina model of snow removal here – “Just wait long enough and it will melt.”

Animals, domestic and wild, are having to persevere. The deep snow pack and tall, plowed banks are channeling dogs and their walkers into hoary canyons. This has the effect of concentrating the inevitable detritus of dogs, only some of which is picked up by diligent human attendants. Ah, well, a problem to be dealt with only if the thaw ever arrives.

Squirrels have been notably absent for weeks, in semi-hibernation as food sources shrivel. Only recently have they slowly reemerged to do battle with the birds twittering about the feeders, scattered black oil sunflower seeds, their common pursuit.   

Who knows where the deer and turkeys have gone? Huddled, perhaps in a deep piney  copse or thick swamp, desperate by now for a buried acorn or tuft of dormant grass or a low-hanging cedar branch on which to nosh. The next few weeks will be tough for them, as the snow pack slowly melts enough to reveal hidden nourishment and, eventually, sustain new growth.

All in all, we should pat ourselves on our collective back. There are millions of people in our broad land who have never had to deal with such a winter. But we have done it, with some aplomb. Residents with snow blowers and plow drivers honchoing big machines have done a credible job of keeping an enormous amount of snow at bay. Roofs have been cleaned, fireplugs unburied. Exercise enthusiasts are seen jogging (mostly in the streets), and many have resorted to cross country skiing or snow shoeing as hearty alternatives.

The sun is much stronger now, we can feel it. Higher in the sky, brighter, hotter, closer it seems. Even on frigid days, the ice is beginning to melt from long-encased driveways. We will survive, with stories extolling our strength and virtue to mock our snowbird friends as they make their eventual, fainthearted return. (Although, perhaps not so secretly, we envy them).

Yes, we have been tested and have risen to the challenge. There is only one imperative thing we could have done better.

Let’s clear the sidewalks. Pedestrian lives matter.

Of hungry ducks and private property

Diving duck (scaup)

Consider the scaup (diving duck). On an early February day at low tide, upper Narragansett Bay, the duck is diving for clams, oysters, and mussels. Each time spending fifteen seconds or more under water, swimming and foraging vigorously, he often comes up empty. Only to take a deep breath and go down again into the icy depths.

This is an application of search theory. Search theory is claimed by several fiefdoms of bright scientists. Economists think it has to do with buyers or sellers who can’t immediately engage a trading partner and are thereby obligated to search for one. Military strategists are certain that search theory pertains to locating enemy submarines or finding the black box from a downed aircraft. Biologists use it as a tool to describe foraging behavior in species as disparate as early humans, wolf packs, and herds of elephants.

They are all right. Search theory has to do with optimizing success while minimizing time and energy spent in the search. And searching for food is fundamental to all living organisms.

Diving ducks employ search theory to locate mollusks, their primary sustenance. Honed by millions of years of evolution, their search techniques are polished to maximize results while minimizing time and energy expenditures. The outcome is mortal. If they expend more energy in searching than they gain in prey, they will perish.

This particular scaup, on his fifth dive, is successful and surfaces with an oyster in his beak. And is immediately accosted by a marauding seagull who steals the oyster and flaps off to enjoy his purloined meal. The scaup, its energy expended and wasted, must initiate a new search. This could be deadly, as each unsuccessful search in the frigid water drains his vital life force.

Which underscores the importance of private property. In early human times, weaker tribes were plundered by stronger and had their livestock and stored grains stolen. The result was often a gruesome death by starvation, especially if this occurred in the depths of winter. 

In the Middle Ages, the hard life of peasant farmers was one of overwork and difficult survival as they were forced to give up most of their production to feudal lords. This was a long, dark era with much poverty and little to recommend it. It all began to change with the Magna Carta in 1215, when the rights of the king's subjects began to be recognized.

The evolution of individual rights brought stability and countered these lawless expropriations. Individuals and families and traders were able to benefit from their labor, storing the fruits thereof and building a strong community capable of withstanding severe winters and occasional droughts. Governments began to enshrine the concept that producers owned the product of their labor, motivating them to produce more.

As technology developed and surpluses increased, protected by private property laws, society was able to spin off musicians and artists and sculptors, as not every individual was required to produce food for everyday survival. Private property encouraged the production of surpluses, and protected them. But it also required that consumers must purchase foodstuffs from the producers.

A bad bargain? No, unless you’d prefer that each individual spend all their waking hours producing food for survival. That would be turning the clock back 10,000 years.

The next time you hear the concept of private property vilified, imagine competing with your neighbors to pick the local apple trees bare and hunt down every rabbit and deer in the nearby woods and fields. Bare knuckle brawls and all, as you struggled for your family’s survival.

The anarchist movement, such as  Occupy Wall Street who eschew private property, want to take you for a trip in the way-back machine. Might not be as delightful as you think. At least the scaup doesn’t think so. If only he could get a restraining order on that seagull.