RUDIMENTS, pt. 202
Making Cars
There was surely something
special to me about walking
around 12 acres that were
somehow mine - titular and
contractual ownership of land,
per se, is a weird thing. It's a
feeling no one can understand
until they too perhaps experience
it. Like having a tattoo, after which
you constantly want another, and
another, owning land is particular
to the 'self.' Like owning a piece
of the moon. I have known people,
and still do, who are constantly
on the prowl for whatever adjacent
acreage becomes available. Even
as in Pennsylvania often, some old,
run-down homestead or shack sits
upon it - of no real use any longer,
or abandoned, roof wide open,
walls soaked and floors sagging
(I've seen this a hundred times),
they take it, just to get the land
beneath it. The building can
crumble, or it gets removed, as
a hobby - selling old wood and
fixtures to auctioneers or buyers.
Trees may be growing through
the main stairway, but no matter.
That's the essential and strong
difference between the country-guy
and the urban folk. To them what
counts is the structure - grab that
house, save it, re-do it, bolster it
up, bring in a modular if need
be, but live there. The country
person, seeing only space and land,
and already with a domicile of his
own, cares nothing for what's left
around. Whatever songs and stories
that old place may have or may
have once sung, that's all gone
now and no sentiment here.
Big difference. Curious too.
John Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism,
all that. Things must be good
for the common run of all people,
every man must benefit?
Well, I guess.
-
There's reality, and then there's
'concept' reality. This is concept
realty for sure. And that concept
is : I own the 'abstract', I own the
premise of this idea of ownership
- my land and my space and the
rights for whatever goes on beneath
it. What structure(s) are erected
above that are temporary and, in
any case, changeable, unfocused,
and far less specific than the land
itself. Generations change and die,
and that can be attested to - 'Grandpa's
farm used to be over there, he grew corn
and potatoes, but no one's done that
for years, and we live here now, in
this other house we built when
Grandpa's old place burned.
-
After a while, I found that the ideal
amount of acreage seemed to be 175.
Most people got really content if they
could reach that level - surely the
size of a small village. I once thought
my 12+ acres was a veritable kingdom,
but it was a joke. The usual starting
point was 30, and that mostly happened
for one of two reasons, and sometimes
both. An old farm goes bust. And/or
the old person or family has finally
died off and survivors are elsewhere
and just want the place turned into
money-by-sale. So a 250-acre working
farm gets broken up. The house and
barn and all the fringe things around
the house, maybe 30 acres, that
becomes one parcel, the big main
one. Sold, lets say, for $375 thousand.
Then, depending on the forestation,
tree-coverage, meadow and
flatland coverage, streams and
river, bogs, swamp, rocky lands,
the remaining lands are broken
into segments, 10, 15, 20 acres.
Sold like that, 40, 50 thou., each,
and later a modular home, or a
trailer, or something simple gets
put in. But you have to remember
the needs too, and that gets
complicated - water access and
septic, at the least. If one is lucky,
neighbors are far afield and only a
few basic, rough drive-way roads
are cut in. Unlike suburban areas
where swaths of land get covered
with 'development' style homes,
back then that did not happen out
there. I don't know about now,
but I have seen, I have to say,
groups of new houses looking as
if they'd been planted and grown
there. One bare house after the
other. Bad scene. Those who
move to that and still call it
'Pennsylvania' or country living,
are way wrong - and concomitant
with all that come roads and highways,
plazas and shopping centers, and
then eventual hordes of trashy and
junky small and local businesses.
The entire range grows like a
traffic-snarled plague - fast-food,
car-dealerships, adult boutiques,
vast hardware mass merchandisers,
restaurants, faux-hi-tone or not,
police and ambulance services,
phone stores, and the rest. Pure
trash. Fortunately, even today,
mostly once you get past
Honesdale PA., along Rt. 6,
that all stops. Bradford County
way is still pretty darn pristine.
-
These broken up parcels then
become little homesteads of their
own - local kids need housing,
many large families can only
hand the main, manor, house
over to, usually, the oldest,
and the rest of the kids either
end up leaving or take smaller
'tenant-farmer' homes or get
their own spread, or buy one
of these. Then they too have
a million kids, and that brings
school needs. It all gets complicated,
because then you begin needing a
localized political structure to
go with all this, and all the local
double-dealers start coming
around for that. It's a mess before
you know it. Then zoning and
controls, regulations for lighting
and water, trash pick-up, inspections,
and the rest of the tax and money
crowd goes wild. Honey Hollow, PA,
before long, becomes just like any
other Holy Hell, USA. Plus, of the
older, original, local families, a
of people just disappear - maybe
military or schooling, or hospital-job
services, trucking, industry, take
them away, and they never return.
The next thing you know Jerry K.,
younger brother of Buddy Jr., is
off somewhere in Utah, working.
-
I had taken, and intended to live for,
my own personal release, as totally
serious business. Even as an outsider
and a newcomer, I played it tough
when I had to. One time a neighbor
guy a mile or so off came by to chat
and tell me he was thinking of opening
a snowmobile business on the nearby
hill, close enough by and visible
to, my house. He said it would mean
some lights and lighting, paving for
truck access, and the erection of a
'store' and a storage and workshop
buildings. He asked what I thought
of it. I was instantly stressed, to the
breaking point. Fortunately, after I
had my say, for good or bad, it never
got built. I'm sure my opinion wasn't
the breaking factor, and he could most
probably see through my fear anyway,
but I never found out why he stopped
his idea. Another time, someone had
rough idea of putting two ranch-style
homes on the hill - quite visible -
straight out across from me. That
too made me unpleasant, and I
was worried about that each time
a Springtime came, for new
construction. The funny thing is,
now when I go back, both of these
things have happened, and more
- I'm told mostly it was because
kids had grown up and needed places
to live, and to stay local. There's even
a small new gravel road off to the
left which had not been there before,
and at the end of it are two really basic
homes. Nothing's really changed, and
that snowmobile place appears as
nothing but really just a shed and
a sign, but, still, I'm glad I wasn't
around for any of that.
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