It's 5 o'clock somewhere and a few driven young men are finishing there worldly obligations so they can return to there respective dwellings. Where they can be present with the labors that they love.
I'm a 30 year old man. Raised by a Homeopathic Doctor of medicine in the great state of Vermont. My father choice to raise his family just below the dairy farm he owned and help his brother George operate. My father acquired the land I was raised on for $1 from his father. He had his Cousin build him a house where he could have his Veterinarian practice in the basement. We would live above his practice. He had three children and a wife. No white picket fence. Still Quite a lovely dream.
My father was a man of hard work. He was a man who enjoyed to labor and appreciate the business he had built for himself. He would rise early and go to bed late. He was a wealth of knowledge. There was no text book he could not decipher. No ailment he could not treat. My father was old school. He labored hard most days because he didn't know how else to enjoy his time. He gave me to the age of 6 before he would ask; "Willy do you want to pick some rocks this weekend?". The answer was always "no". See I was a child and trying to catch frogs in the stream or laying under a tree in the shade was much more interesting than prying rocks out of the ground. It wasn't long before I started to want things and my old man helped me to understand money. If i did things he would pay me. That's the way it was.
It also didn't necessarily matter if I wanted to pick rock or not as I got older. Eventually my father would end up proclaiming "Ohh, Willy quite your bellyaching it ain't gonna hurt you to pick rocks a few hours, I'm paying you and i don't want to listen to your whining." So that's the way it was.
My father was a fairly quite person. So anytime he spoke I was always attentive and would do my best to listen to the man. I have never trusted anyone in my life like I trusted my old man. He was the rock he was my DUDE, that guy was D-A-D. The man of the house. I love that guy
He taught me to pick stones. He taught me to cut wood. From him I learned to appreciate the work that makes you sweat. This is how my old man introduced me to the dollar. It represented work, it was heavy lifting, getting your hands dirty, maybe you came back to the house with blisters and Doctor Pa would have to bandage you up. Its curious now having dealt with the passing of his life and not inherited any of his land. I'm perplexed by the value we place on dollars.
I wonder what father is happier he taught me. How to pick stones and tend a field so livestock can eat well. To cut my own wood and prepare my own fuel to heat my dwelling for the winter. I wonder if dad taught me those skills because they are useful. They make a man self reliant and a self reliant man takes care of himself and has energy to help his neighbors. I wonder what he would think about how driven I have become at making money.
I live in a world where I have to be devoted to my business for 60+ hours a week for many years. So I can hopefully have the right to be in debt to some bankers I don't even know. So I can have rights to a house, those bankers have never been in. So I have time to pick some stones and hopefully cut my own wood.
Capitalism owns more of my soul than I may ever. Some days I know I'm working so I can afford to buy my own time.
That my friends, is our community.
I'm curious whats the real value of a dollar is? For after being a Dr. in the town my father grew up in for 30 years. He still could not afford the best medicine when he was sick. Whats the value of knowing the stones have to be picked? Did Poppa teach me to work because of money. Or did he teach me to work because I'm an inhabitant of the earth?
I see a society of busy bee money makers. So busy working to pay a mortgage and property tax. Its hard to have the time to cultivate the earth, to grow your own veggies or cut your own wood.
This my friend, is part the problem.
For a better world,
~~Wilhelm