GOOD DEEDS  

There are some cultures in which land and property ownership do not exist. No one owns anything, everyone owns everything. If you griped about someone stealing your leaf blower, no one would have a clue what your beef was. That philosophy has not taken root in Iowa County.

I am thrilled to own this land. Would I feel the same if I had free rein to wander it anytime but didn’t own it? I can’t say for sure.

Wetlands Interlopers

In my head I argue that at least we make sure the land isn't poisoned, that it's cared for, that developers and people towing tanks of noxious fluids are not allowed. It's a quieter, less polluted place since we moved here. We don't blast geese off the pond or trample nests by racing 4-wheelers through the wetlands. Though we try to share the wonders of nature around us, the place still "belongs" to us in the end. By the way, the law says we own it, but the law does not obligate us to care for it; the rights of property owners are absolute in Iowa County and most other places. (Except for disturbing someone who's stalking wildlife with a Howitzer or vicious trap. But I digress.)

 It didn’t take long for this ethical discussion to take up residence in my head. About two weeks after we moved in, a parade of about 8 pickup trucks and Jeeps tore down our driveway, went around the end of our garage, and ripped through the field down to the pond. I was dumbfounded.

I walked down the path toward the pond as casually as I could manage. Meanwhile, a fleet of good old boys were unloading fishing gear, chairs, and coolers.

“Hello?” To me this meant, “I am here, who the heck are you, and what do you think you’re doing?”

“Hello,” they all grunted. To them this meant, “Hello. Go away.”

“What are you doing?”

“Fishing.”

Okay, I’m quick. I figured that part out. “This is private property. See the house? We live here. This is our yard.”

“Our grandpa built this pond 15 years ago,” one of them said.

“And, yet…”

“You don’t actually mean we can’t fish here, do you?” the leader said, heaving his beer can over his shoulder and squashing the butt of his cigarette under his boot.

This was not a comfortable situation, not for someone who watched an idiot put ugly, over-sized houses on her dad’s farm some years back. I knew how they felt. On the other hand, I did not march into those homes and start running a bath. I got the picture.

I was comforted somewhat when I later found out that the Hatfields and McCoys had had a feud and lost this land because they could not settle a will for several years. A judge ordered it auctioned, and a neighbor bought it out from under them. We bought it from the neighbor. We were carpetbaggers once removed.

Some philosophers say land ownership is ethically justified if you add your labor to the land, like folding an egg into cake batter. You become part of the land and it becomes part of you. This is a really wild guess, but that dude likely was not renting his room.

I didn’t invent this ownership system, but I’ve never fought it either. It’s seems like a bit of a bear to bring down. I do know that it’s very hard to regret the time I’ve spent here, and as we prepare to turn it over to some other lucky people, I can only hope they are ready to soak up all of its delights and surprises and jaw-dropping gifts.

Mama Goose April 15 on the island in the pond
We're gonna have goslings!