Briefly (tried to post this late last night, but no joy), and without spilling _all_ my beans on this here world’s biggest party line, I work in marketing at an agricultural trade publisher and am finishing my doctorate in marketing (I did a little moonlighting as a university instructor and discovered I liked it and had at least some kind of knack for it). I _tried_ chemical engineering as an undergrad, but lacked (to say the least) the maturity at the time to hack it. We live in an inner-ring suburb of Cleveland, nice quiet place, horrendous taxes.

Fun? Coming home at night to my wife and sons, mostly. Teaching is fun, and I hope we are all spared so I can get back to it (well, I hope we are all spared in any case). I hope to inspire some of my students to go work for themselves, and I don’t intend to retire from it, Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise. My research, in professional selling (I am so-so at it myself but interested in seeing it done well, for the sake of wealth creation) and entrepreneurship in business-to-business markets, is fun — sometimes in a bloodcurdling way (at 2 am when the durned SAS program that just flat wouldn’t run finally is fixed, for instance), but learning something new is always worthwhile.

I have an apple tree and a small raspberry patch in the back yard I like to tend, I read a lot, I listen to music (all kinds but mostly classical these days, I can study to it) I fish a little (poorly, but the boys and I have a good time), I cook and bake (quite a bit better than I fish), I play bass guitar, and with some friends of mine play historical miniatures (a 25-cent term for toy soldiers) wargames. Precious little of that nowadays, though — work and school take up just about everything barring what I carve out for family.

I am much interested in making my little corner of the world nicer, certainly. I do what I can. Some days the hill looks steeper than others. I don’t know what to do other than buckle my chinstrap, crouch a little lower, and hayfoot, strawfoot: or as the Russian proverb goes, “Pray to God, but row for shore.”

Without spilling _all_ my beans on this here world’s biggest party line, I work in marketing at an agricultural trade publisher, and am finishing my doctorate in marketing (I did a little moonlighting as a university instructor and discovered I liked it and had at least some kind of knack for it). I don’t exactly have an eye for the main chance

I tried chemical engineering as an undergrad, but lacked (to say the least) the maturity at the time to hack it.

Fun? Teaching is fun and I hope we are all spared so I can get back to it, this fall (well, I hope we are all spared in any case). I hoped to inspire some of my students to go work for themselves, and I don’t intend to retire from it, Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise. My research, in professional selling (I am so-so at it myself but interested in seeing it done well, for the sake of wealth creation) and entrepreneurship in business-to-business markets, is fun — sometimes in a bloodcurdling way (at 2 am when the durned SAS program that just flat wouldn’t run finally is fixed, for instance), but learning something new is always worthwhile. My wife and sons are fun, I have an apple tree and a small raspberry patch in the back yard to tend, I fish a little (poorly, but I can catch ‘em if I can get a little help or a little luck finding ‘em), I play bass guitar, and along with some friends of mine play historical miniatures (a 25-cent term for toy soldiers) wargames. Precious little of that nowadays, though — work and school take up just about everything barring what I carve out for family.

I am much interested in making my little corner of the world nicer, certainly. I am not interested in seeing the boyos grow into serfdom. I will do what I can. Some days the hill looks steeper than others. I don’t know what to do other than buckle my chinstrap, crouch a little lower, and hayfoot, strawfoot: or as the Russian proverb goes, “Pray to God, but row for shore.”

What fun, and some very good points! I was right, you know (she said smugly) you do write very eloquently indeed.

I was judging Mr. Kunstler on what I had read on W&G, and I was the first to point out that his “vision” is impossible. There are two problems: first, people can’t go off and play aging hippie/survivalist/back to nature/whatever the motivations are without an income and quite a bit of capital. The best I could come up with, considering the matter analytically, were:

1. Gramma and Grampa, health and circumstances permitting, find some land out in the country and begin the monumental task of preparing a retreat in the wilderness against time of need. For the fortunate few this would be both possible and enjoyable; or

2. A group of like-minded friends get together, decide who will go start working on Fort Zinderneuf, and pitch in enough to support him, her, or them and accumulate the necessary supplies and facilities. This would take even more committment and the knowledge that if either side defaulted everyone would lose. In both cases, the pioneers would have to learn animal husbandry and farming, about a ten year task to get pretty good at them. It would involve roughing it, because a nice home is the reward for years of sacrifice and building for the future, and the most practical solution would be for each pioneer to provide an RV or motor home. A barn is a lot more necessary! (Where DO you suppose David Koresh and his followers got the money for their enormous “compound?”) After that you’ll need a chicken house…then a work shop…a goat house…shelter for the cow…a way to keep the livestock out of the garden…Pioneer men were known to promise the little lady that she would get a wooden floor before she was a grandmother, if all went well! With luck she got a lean-to addition to the one-room log cabin after children started coming.

There have always been “privileged” classes, but from time to time privilege gets redefined. A country place (and I’m not talking doctor/lawyer “show off” estates, as we call them around here) is far out of the reach of most, including me. The concensus around here is pretty much that it will become increasingly unsafe to live in metroplexes, so if you can conduct your business primarily over the ‘net or establish a store or practice in a small town, what you get will be far more than what you sacrifice.

This is also a cultural issue, an’ one of these days Miss Annabelle (as I call myself mockingly when I’m being excruciatingly South’n) will hold forth on the leisurely, gracious ways of the old South before the war of Northern Aggression. No, you don’t have to have Tara, although it would certainly be nice. To be “landed gentry” you have to have some land and something to live in and some way to provide for the niceties of life such as dinner regularly, and not get all in an uproar with clocks so long as the cows are milked before dark . As Mah deah ol’ Daddy always said, “You can’t afford to run cattle unless you have a private income!” (He wasn’t kidding, and it is still true.) That’s where the grandparents come in, above: pensions, savings, and the sad knowledge that being Snow Birds simply isn’t possible any more. Besides, if Pops is out looking at fences or replacing old tin he’ll live a lot longer because he won’t die of boredom.

The second problem with Mr. Kunstler’s utopia is that small towns don’t stay that way if the yuppies start moving in bringing tract housing, Block Buster, tattoo parlors, and Red Lobster with them. A fine case in point is tiny Tomball, which is now just another suburban sprawl outside of Houston known more widely as “The Woodlands.” Conroe is a disaster of commuters and FEMA.

Small towns can’t even absorb many emigrants; there are no jobs, there are few vacant houses, not enough apartments to talk about, not enough water, not enough schools…and not enough small towns to take in even a dozen families IF those families had the resources to start businesses, buy houses, and so forth.

DO tell me what your ideas of fun are! Mine are writing and being far from the maddening (sic) crowds, reading, being happy with the man I love and our animals, and enjoying simple pleasures…the sight of our own wood cut from our own trees burning in our own fireplace…laughing delightedly every time Michelle Ma Belle (Obama, the miniature Jerusalem donkey) brays that it would be a very fine thing if someone brought her some fresh, crunchy carrots and a bit of cottonseed cake to tide her over until the next meal, and please scratch her shaggy head while we’re at it. I have to be hauled all but kicking and screaming into town because everything I want and love in life is here.

This IS our retirement plan, because because our two hired hands are devoted to us. Short of some catastrophic disease we can look forward to serene old ages being far better taken care of than we would be in a very expensive old folks’ home, at far less cost, and with a great deal more pleasure.

I have done most of the rest, from being an elected public official to living abroad for over a decade to going to the opera regularly in five cities and while those things are entertaining from time to time, for sheer, exquisite joy give me my lifestyle just as it is now, complete with a box of banty chicks under a light in the kitchen and an incubator full of eggs which will hatch in about ten days. Our idea of bliss is assuredly a great many others’ idea of stultifying boredom and deprivation!

I poked you gently you gently in the tummy to see if you would smile and write a far better letter, and you did. You had fun being clever, but now we’re discussing matters of substance, you see. You just needed a little encouragement? I really enjoyed reading what you wrote this time because you made your points well.

As for what public resources I think should be used to further my own little utopia–why, none at all! All I ask is that the government keep its paws off of what I have built taking it for the purported benefit of others. Other than electrical and telephone services (and I certainly pay handsomely for those), I do not benefit in any way from what the taxes extorted from me are spent on. Yes, the road in front of the ranch is finally paved, but I was just as happy when it was a red clay morass. No, the fire department will not come if there is a fire. No, I don’t think they should be using half million dollar small fire trucks as ambulances, and we don’t need an ambulance anyway; if someone is ill or injured we have ample vehicles to make it into town swiftly. Nobody is protecting the borders…nobody stopped our mailbox from being vandalized a dozen times year before last…have my own water well I replaced the pump on last year…I educated my own children, and think others should bear the same responsibility…I guess I’m just a mean-spirited, curmudgeonly old hag with no social conscience

Yes, they deliver the mail, but I’d just as soon they didn’t. FedEx and UPS did a better job and still made money. I’m in favor of toll roads, but I guess one could charge that that’s because I seldom go anywhere. With private roads, you have a choice: pay what the builder wants to drive on one, or use whatever tracks you can find. Nope, don’t need food and health inspectors after a lifetime of handling food and cooking for others without a single instance of illness…I’m thinking, don’t rush me. Don’t need the court system, don’t need people diluting pyrethrins so that we can’t kill flies and mosquitoes…don’t need bureaucrats telling me that I have to put in a ten thousand dollar aerobic septic system that isn’t as efficient if I have it done “professionally,” but at least there are no restrictions if we do it ourselves. So we will fire up the ratty old back hoe, dig a hole, line it with concrete, lay pipe, and make a better model that will be good sixty odd years later.

That’s the real truth, Ken: I’m a stubborn little goody who gets a kick out of solving problems herself, figuring out very cost-effective ways to get what we want and need, who loves the idea of being self-sufficient and cosseting those I love…I like the pioneer spirit, standing on our own two feet, and offering a hand up but never a hand out.

I would love to know what you do professionally. I have a partiality for engineers, because they have such fascinating minds. My Charles is one. If I coax sweetly will you tell us what you do with your finite amount of time? What is it you WANT out of life? What are you working towards? It may be a work in progress, but I finally have a pretty reasonable approximation of all I ever wanted out of life. I earned it. I’ll be 69 in May, and I expect to be rilin’ things up at least for the next decade, and possibly two. And doing a lot of good in my own quiet way. That’s a big problem: I think that we, you and I and our friends, are the ones who should be making our own little corners of the world very nice places. Government doesn’t do it very well.

My point was “sauce for the goose.”

“If I start by telling Mr. Leader that in the annals of business seldom has any one person made such a botch of a very simple project, is he going to read far enough to find out how to do the next phase correctly?”

That is _exactly_ what Kunstler does, though. “You’re a bunch of flabby overfed Wal-Mart/Disney sucking clowns! Now shaddup and listen while I and my New Urbanist friends explain to you how you should live.”

But Kunstler himself can be paid in like coin: “Let me get this straight: Your claim to fame is pandering to the refined literary (for given values of refined and literary) sensibilities of latte-and-National-Public-Radio-swilling would-be hipsters. I should listen to you _why_? Now shaddup while I tell you your business.”

(As an aside, visit newurbanism.org and ask yourself whether anyone should listen to him/them _at all_. Neither Rand nor Epictetus are much in evidence in the New Urbanist Vision Of What Is Best For Us.)

The point: Both are equally valid–which is to say not very valid at all–forms of argument. As is true of your Mr. Leader example, jeremiads can be entertaining for the person delivering them, but there is a nonzero chance of communication failure.

As for rewriting his article: I’ll keep my own counsel on what constitutes “fun,” thanks (also, on what is the best use of my finite time), but in any case merely excising the references to suburban sprawl and American Idol would improve it materially.

I’ve got no use for American Idol, nor for strip malls and McMansions where were once soybean fields and apple orchards. That said, “suburban sprawl” may or may not be unsustainable, and I would be unsurprised to find that it does prove to be unsustainable, but it is next to impossible to untangle the substantive argument from Kunstler’s obvious personal animus. Which brings me back around to the New Urbanism. They are entirely silent on how the Vision Of What Is Best For Us will be made manifest, which suggests that it’s either handwaving (“here a miracle occurs”), or coercion.

Kunstler has already called in so many words for the use of public resources to implement the New Urbanism. I invite you to consider what public resources are; frankly, it tells me everything I need to know.

Your argument to eschew stereotypes would have made more force had you done the same yourself. I haven’t the least notion what is in the Atlantic Monthly, and the only rolling stone I know about is the one that has no moss on it. I am passionately fond of piano concertos in minor keys, bag pipes, chamber music, opera, and, in reasonable doses, country-western music. At present, the three books I rotate amongst include Ron Paul’s “Revolution,” a sci-fi alternate universe volume, and the Kennedy brothers “The South Was Right.” While I realize that title is a tautology, the book has some very interesting quotes in it. (Gary, may we PLEASE have “rich text” before this Editor has a nervous breakdown?! How can we possibly stave off the end of civilization when I can’t even underline book titles?) How’s that for being anti-stereotypical? The lady with the goats and cattle is an analytical project report writer, a former concert-grade pianist, and virtually never turns the TV on for anything other than the weather. She reads and writes Egyptian hieroglyphics and couldn’t name all the signs of the zodiac on a very large bet.

I LOVE to write, so when I am doing an analytical project report I just let the words flow. Then I go back and take all the life and fun out of my work, and what is left is icily pragmatic. It tells my client what went wrong and how to do the next project correctly, and I have been known to cause very senior Vice Presidents to turn red in the face and begin stuttering, “Who tol’ you that little lady? Who tol’ you? You don’ unnerstan, it’s jes’ bidness, little lady, jes’ bidness.” I understood perfectly, and nobody told me. I figured it out all by myself by working out contradictions I found in differing accounts.

You might make your point more clearly if you keep your jests to yourself, lest they fall as flat with your audience as the one above did. I can’t appreciate your wit because I don’t know what you were talking about.

MY idea of amusement is thinking “That bunch of clowns wandered all over the place falling into every pot hole in sight and digging quite a few of their own,” but WRITING “The team explored the parameters of the project thoroughly.”

It is necessary to sugar coat the pill. I KNOW that what the client really wants to hear is, “This wonderful group of…mildly competent, come to think of it, people…succeeded brilliantly due entirely to the splendid, far-sighted leadership of the incredibly charismatic leader who commissioned this report. Did I mention that leadership was the sole means by which disaster was averted?”

If I start by telling Mr. Leader that in the annals of business seldom has any one person made such a botch of a very simple project, is he going to read far enough to find out how to do the next phase correctly? I don’t think so. I am forbidden by contract to tell you of the firms I have worked for, but I can ask if you think anyone brighter than a tumbleweed could fail to realize that delicate custom equipment should be installed AFTER the sheetrock work was done, not before? My, my, what a mess sheetrock dust makes in the electronics. Had to pull it all out and pay double to have new equipment built and time and a half to have it installed again.

How about…should the advertising run before the stores are ready to open for business and the crews are trained? It seemed pretty obvious to me, but from start to finish that never occurred to anyone on the project. Caused a lot of hard feelings, and the project achieved 40% of the goal at what I’m pretty certain was double the budget.

Just for fun, why don’t you rewrite Mr. Kunstler’s article? You’re clever and you’re intelligent, so show us how you think it should have been done, please. You do that, and I’ll go get a fire extinguisher in case the mobs mistake Mildew Manor for a hedge bird’s nest or have it in mind to steal my chickens.

There’s a reasonable point in there, but I think Kunstler could probably frame his argument much more effectively without stuff like this (and a lot of people I otherwise agree with would be well served to drop the “sheeple” talk, too). After all, there are those here among us who think much the same of Atlantic Monthly and the Midlife Crisis Bongwater Review…’scuse me, I mean Aging Stoner…jeez, what’s the matter with me today? I mean Rolling Stone…as Mr. Kunstler thinks of American Idol and Disney World.

See how easy and fun it is to do that, in lieu of actually trying to communicate?

Thanks, Tony, for the encouraging words! We all work better with “Attaboys!” We feed off our support of each other and grow stronger.

Roy, there IS hope, and I see this much as I do my one-lady crusade to save illiterate children one at a time, something I have done for over two decades. Some day we will get to “each one teach one,” but lack of many following our examples is no reason to give up the struggle.

Go find Ron Paul’s website. You are NOT alone, and salvation begins with each of us making preparations to care for our families. Charity DOES begin at home, as does wisdom. I believe so strongly in what I am doing to protect myself and those I love that I am always glad to share what I have learned–frequently the hard way!–with others. If you want to write to me at ranchLT4@aol.com I will be glad to tell you about what we are doing and why and help you work out the best plan that your economic circumstances and geographic location allow, and the same holds true for you Tony, with a cordial invitation to come visit us in Texas!

Chuckle…Maggie is out there bawling, “Maaaa….Daaah…where yum-yums? Where nice peoples? Where cottonseed cakes and head scratches?!”

The basic difference between the North and the South is still exactly what it was over 200 years ago. We South’ners are for laissez faire, being close to the land, taking care of “our” people, and a devotion to both self-sustaining activities AND leisure time. We know that “wealth” lies in the land (“The land, Katie Scarlett! The land!”), friendships, correct behavior, our relationships with God, fulfilling our obligations, taking responsibility for our actions, and enjoying life and being hospitable. We are NOT shopkeepers devoted to extracting the last penny from our customers. The preponderance of the country, geographically, feels that way, but the seaboards, the vast metropolitan areas, and DC override our thoughts, between the 14% who profess liberalism and the votes they have purchased.

I’m a prime example: I do not WANT to keep enlarging my herds past the point where they are all I need with ample to spare for charitable good works and selling just enough to meet my horrendous feed bills. The Lord has a great sense of humor, so I know that He understands just what I mean when I say I don’t want to own the cattle on a thousand hills! Well, yeah, sure, if they make enough for other people to take care of them and treat them as I do my small herds. My point is that knowing my girls personally and loving them as individuals is so richly rewarding that I don’t want to depersonalize them. I don’t want mere money more than I want happiness. I don’t value accumulating sheckles above all the joy life has to offer. There isn’t a thing wrong with my life that losing 40 pounds and having big government go away wouldn’t cure!

Money is lovely stuff, but it only buys nice toys, it does not buy happiness. Charles just came in and asked me, “How goes the battle?” I leaned my head back against that beloved man, and said, “Read the nice letter I got!” and showed him yours, Tony. He agreed, “Yup, what we have is pure joy.”

Politically America is still struggling over the basic dichotomies, big government vs. small, taxes, tariffs, self-reliance vs. the Nanny state, philosophy vs. emotion, principle vs. every dog for himself so long as he goes about it in reasonably principled ways. I resent viciously the concept of “a level playing field.” That MEANS “rigging the game.” I figured out once that the portion of the taxes we paid for “social” purposes supported a second “family” of four…but that woman did not iron my husband’s shirts (Neither did I! He preferred to take them to the laundry and I wasn’t about to object.) She didn’t fix his meals, or sleep with him, or run errands. In the unlikely event her children excelled, we did not see it. If they needed discipline and guidance, we were not there to provide it. We got NOTHING for all that money, and the recipients got only habits and money which lead to destroying all inititive.

No, we cannot protect ourselves at present from punitive governments at all levels that rob us to support lives of idleness and crime, but we can follow John Galt’s examples. We can withdraw our fire until men take away their vultures. We can settle for the basics instead of pumping money into the coffers of those who will do evil with it. We can refuse to spend money on useless consumer “goods,” and stay with the premise that if Iwe can’t use it to feed ourselves, protect ourselves, or store intrinsic value, we won’t put our blood in an immoral system. Does it HURT not to buy hundreds of flowers to beautify my surroundings as I did for at least four decades? Yes, it does. That is something I have had all my life, and I dislike having to deprive myself of soul-satisfying beauty to fight an evil system, but my “payment” is in knowing that I have acted correctly.

I am a follower of Ayn Rand and…Epictetus. I don’t sound much like a stoic in many ways, do I?! However, Epictetus is ALWAYS right. “In all things say, ‘You’re a filthy external and you are nothing to me.’” Rolex watches? Ludicrous! A hundred thousand dollar Hummer? Nonsense! A $150,000 RV instead of one of the same size that is twenty years old for $3,000? Not in this lifetime.

“It is better that my child should be bad than that I should upset myself.” It is BEST that my child should be good, but that is beyond my control. (I have two great kids! And one so disastrously bad that the dream of the family is DNA testing that shows that the wrong child was sent home from the hospital. She had every advantage and turned into welfare scum with a rap sheet that would wrap around the Sheriff’s desk, of her own volition. She has a college degree and high intelligence, but she prefers to live in squalor on food stamps and “disability” because of purported “bi-polar” “disease,” which is what the rest of us call “Manic-Depressive,” and can be controlled by medication. The truth is that she thinks the world owes her a living, that her wits will procure that at the expense of “lifers,” those so dumb that they actually go to work every day…pathetic.)

It is BEST that I live by the philosophy I have developed over a long lifetime and devote myself to caring for myself and my extended family, although I take time and energy to exhort others.

Yes, there IS hope, friends. Hope in the renewed cry of “States’ Rights!” Hope in those of us who are becoming self-sufficient and those of us who devote time to knowing what is going on and fighting back.

God bless both of you and your efforts. Linda