Better Off_ Flipping the Switch on Technology - Eric Brende [105]
One thing, though, has me scared. The majority of people in this town—only recently emerging from the deep past—want a Wal-Mart. They were delighted when, recently, a Hardee’s arrived. To them, the historic charm and convenience is passé. They want a new, wide bridge that cars can take at fifty miles per hour over the river. They drive to the post office, recently relocated to the outskirts. The mayor and city council didn’t show up at a single workshop session when the state downtown revitalization organization held a conference here. The city administrator, who appeared for twenty minutes to give opening remarks, used the occasion to make cryptic, apparently demeaning comments. But that wasn’t the most distressing thing. The small grocery store in the center of the village has recently decided to become a supermarket on the fringe of town, eliminating the walkable shopping we have enjoyed for six years.
The only hope seems to be a greater influx of outsiders who can see and appreciate local treasures. But they haven’t been moving in fast enough.
Fortunately, we never enshrined this place or made it a panacea. What we saw in it can be transported; principles are lightweight and easily carried about. We can bring our religion with us too. The rickshaw may be just the thing to tote them along.
Epilogue
Recipe for a Leisurely,
Laborsaving Life
The main three ingredients of technological liberation are a pinch of muscle, a sprinkle of wits, and a dash of willingness.
The longer Mary and I have lived and worked in this village, the more we have relied on these three inborn capacities. Pedaling the rickshaw has been largely an effort of brawn; the idea to transform our lower level into bed-and-breakfast guest rooms was an effort of brain. Soapmaking took an initial introduction from friends and has been fine-honed through practice; it involves dexterity at both levels, physical and mental. Only one of my income sources—music—has taken skill for which I trained intensively. I play at occasional weddings and have given a few piano lessons. But this learned ability pays little in comparison with the forms of income we have generated through spontaneous use of body and mind. This spontaneity, this flexibility to changing circumstance, is fundamental to the others, a kind of leaven. It lightens, if you will, the whole effort.
To return to these native capacities is, in itself, to regenerate the human community. Manual effort craves collaboration. As the Minimites put it, “Many hands make work light.” Even in a city or sprawling urban area, crafters spontaneously seem to congregate, share ideas, and barter merchandise. I know because I have attended several craft shows in the nearby metropolis and found a thriving sub-culture of creative tool-users. I also found sections of the city, generally older, denser, and more walkable, where persons of this leaning tend to congregate. The areas are gradually becoming more popular.
If Mary and I were to relocate, we might well go there, with little change in our ways. As the future of our small town clouds with doubt, these pockets of low-tech urbanity promise greater vitality: they boast proximity to cultural opportunities our town never had, such as a symphony orchestra. (I have a weakness for music.) Residing in a dense urban pocket is not very conducive to growing one’s own food, true, but on our small hillside spot Mary and I have done little of that anyway. We have remained busy enough with our various other household endeavors and can easily exchange the proceeds for fresh food at the store. The neighborhood we admire in the next city surrounds a thriving farmer’s market—a visible link to the countryside.
But make no mistake. Whatever the future holds,