The paragraph below is from “The Grapes of Wrath” written by John Steinbeck and originally published April 14, 1939:
“And it came about that owners no longer worked on their farms. They farmed on paper; and they forgot the land, the smell, the feel of it, and remembered only that they owned it, remembered only what they gained and lost by it. And some of the farms grew so large that one man could not even conceive of them any more, so large that it took batteries of bookkeepers to keep track of interest and gain and loss; chemists to test the soil, to replenish; straw bosses to see that the stooping men were moving along the rows as swiftly as the material of their bodies could stand. Then such a farmer really became a storekeeper, and kept a store. He paid the men, and sold them food, and took the money back. And after a while he did not pay the men at all, and saved bookkeeping. These farms gave food on credit. A man might work and feed himself; and when the work was done, he might find that he owed money to the company. And the owners not only did not work the farms any more, many of them had never seen the farms they owned.”
This passage reminds me that property ownership is simultaneously an imaginary man-made construct and a practical reality. Property ownership (if and when it comes about) is a temporary gift that should be nourished with respect and hard work. This is personally relevant as this week I am considering making an offer to buy a house. It is an old house (built in 1836) with much history and character. It needs work. I believe the hands-on effort this house would require will help me to stay connected, but still, as a lifelong renter who with every chance rails against property ownership, its underlying mechanisms and its consequent divisiveness, I am hesitant. In 1754, Jean-Jacques Rousseau wrote:
"The first person who, having enclosed a plot of land, took it into his head to say 'this is mine' and found people simple enough to believe him, was the true founder of civil society. What crimes, wars, murders, what miseries and horrors would the human race have been spared, had someone pulled up the stakes or filled in the ditch and cried out to his fellow men: 'Do not listen to this impostor. You are lost if you forget that the fruits of the earth belong to all and the earth to no one!'"
With all that said, I really like this house and the community. The house sits right across the street from a small college reminding me of the community I grew up in where I lived only four blocks from a similar small college. Walking through the campus, sledding its snow-covered hills, Saturday afternoon football games, all the students with plans and a purpose; as an elementary schooler it was my first introduction to the wider world. It feels appropriate that now 60 years later I might (in a sense) return to my childhood.
Though our search for a house started as an exercise in capitalism, this house has reminded me that I do not want to buy property as an investment; for the sake of owning property. Unfortunately though, because my whole life I have prioritized learning and growth and experience and (perhaps most damning) dreams over the attainment of wealth, I am likely unable to afford this house. We are hearing from the real estate agents that the owners may potentially be open to any offer, but the last thing I want to do is insult their parents’ legacy. Perhaps it may count for something that I am interested in taking care of not only their decades with the house but nearly 200 years of history and character. Perhaps it may count for something that I see this as a potential labor of love and as a possible legacy for who knows how many generations to come. Perhaps it may count for something that I am still dreaming…
