Providentia
Monday, January 25th, 2010
The sustainability gardens are doing well this season. We’ve the resources and time now to do the proper planting. A few of the master gardeners are slowly teaching the rest of us how to grow our own food. The canned supplies and dehydrated goods are running out like we knew they would, but they gave us the crucial two years needed before we could see the splendor of our own effort. Last summer we didn’t have anyone that could grow corn, tomatoes, cucumbers; we’ve transformed these folks from single-heat-lamp-in-closet pot growers into actual farmers. I tasted one of the fresh berries yesterday and almost cried.
I feel like I’ve really done something here – made an impact. All of this was my idea, but I can’t take any real credit. Everyone involved has been essential to rebuilding, creating, defending our little city. We were very lucky to have the few skilled tradesmen join us and help to teach former gas pumpers, desk jockeys and assorted cog capitalists how to do real things – things essential to survival. They are the seed from which we are beginning to grow.
When someone new joins our collective, a sour taste builds in the back of my throat. Most often they have absolutely nothing to offer. In the first few months, they are useless; they only take. I was the same way back then, and it’s taken all this time to practice and learn the basics. The taste I feel is my disgust for the way things were before the collapse, before my little experiment. Most of us were just like that overwhelmed new face. We took and took, benefitting from the labor of others without a thought, and we were happy to do it. Textiles from China, cars from Japan, fruit from Mexico, furniture from Sweden – we didn’t do anything except move money, handle accounts and service one another. It may have worked, capitalism, if motion was perpetual and growth unlimited, but there came a time when we had nothing to sell save our currency. The empire makes no clothes.
The sustainability gardens are doing well this season. We’ve the resources and time now to do the proper planting. A few of the master gardeners are slowly teaching the rest of us how to grow our own food. The canned supplies and dehydrated goods are running out like we knew they would, but they gave us the crucial two years needed before we could see the splendor of our own effort. Last summer we didn’t have anyone that could grow corn, tomatoes, cucumbers; we’ve transformed these folks from single-heat-lamp-in-closet pot growers into actual farmers. I tasted one of the fresh berries yesterday and almost cried.
I feel like I’ve really done something here – made an impact. All of this was my idea, but I can’t take any real credit. Everyone involved has been essential to rebuilding, creating, defending our little city. We were very lucky to have the few skilled tradesmen join us and help to teach former gas pumpers, desk jockeys and assorted cog capitalists how to do real things – things essential to survival. They are the seed from which we are beginning to grow.
When someone new joins our collective, a sour taste builds in the back of my throat. Most often they have absolutely nothing to offer. In the first few months, they are useless; they only take. I was the same way back then, and it’s taken all this time to practice and learn the basics. The taste I feel is my disgust for the way things were before the collapse, before my little experiment. Most of us were just like that overwhelmed new face. We took and took, benefitting from the labor of others without a thought, and we were happy to do it. Textiles from China, cars from Japan, fruit from Mexico, furniture from Sweden – we didn’t do anything except move money, handle accounts and service one another. It may have worked, capitalism, if motion was perpetual and growth unlimited, but there came a time when we had nothing to sell save our currency. The empire makes no clothes.
