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In
Praise of the Right Tool
Much
of my “free” time has been occupied by gardening for the last
several weeks. I’m trying a number of tactics to keep up with
the garden tasks this year, the details of which I won’t bore
you with. But one of my more unexpected successes was buying
gardening gloves.
I must say that it’s a little difficult for me to admit that
purchasing a new pair of gloves covered in some waterproof
purple rubber/plastic substance turns out to have been an
important part of implementing my plan to spend more time
outisde, learn more about growing my own food, and commune
with the seasons. It’s even harder to admit that several weeks
later it still makes me grin to put them on. I grin because
they fit so well (thank god for extra-smalls, especially ones
that aren’t pink and flowery) and because I’m glad that I
got over feeling silly about wanting them in the first place.
I did feel silly about it. I mean, wasn’t “getting my hands
in the dirt” part of the joy of it all? Was I becoming one
of those uptight people who is afraid of getting mussed? Was
I next going to find myself never walking in the rain without
a plastic rain bonnet like my grandmother? Was I going to
start spending willy-nilly in search of other stuff
that would make magically it easier to do things I’d had trouble
setting time aside for in the past?
You may say I was overthinking a wee bit. Just maybe. After
all, it wasn’t that complicated to acknowledge that there’s
a difference between being afraid of dirt and recognizing
that having my hands and nails caked in it after hours of
gardening ends up feeling dry and unpleasant. The simple little
addition of my gardening gloves makes the whole thing more
appealing and less of a production, and if I’m to keep up
my several-visits-a-week schedule, those are helpful things.
Why the concern?
My small-scale angst reminded me of the wise Wendell Berry’s
distinction between consumerism and materialism. Consumerism
is focused on buying things, having new things, having better
things than someone else. Materialism is focused on caring
for the things we have and appreciating their value as tools,
made of the “stuff of creation.” Environmental writer Alan
Thein, referring to Berry, says “A true materialism cares
for things—it emphasizes elegant functionality, durability,
repair.” Far from being too materialistic, said Berry, our
current culture is not materialistic enough.
Appreciating the value of a good tool, taking care of it,
and learning how to fix it or mend it, these are good materialistic
values. Disposability, brand over quality, and trying to replace
skills and community entirely with things, these are the hallmarks
of consumerism.
When I went looking online to confirm my memory that it was
from Wendell Berry that I first heard this distinction, I
noticed that most people are still using the two interchangeably,
or usually in tandem, as in “our consumerist, materialist
society.” Much thanks to Madonna, I’m sure.
That’s too bad, because I think Berry’s definition of “materialist”
is useful. It’s too easy to hear calls to reduce our consumption,
tread lightly on the earth, and reduce our eco “footprint”
and think that means a return to the stone age, or at least
that it means a kind of passive interaction with our material
goods, accepting whatever bits and pieces come our way, but
not wanting to put too much thought or energy into selecting
particular ones. That might be too much concern about things
for our eco soul. It might start us down the slippery
slope to the belief that catalogs full of recycled-material
tchatchkes will save the world.
But humans are tool-using critters, and going without appreciation
for the right tools often yields dysfunctional, grubby, and
awkward results. Besides, I’d wager, it’s often just as resource
intensive anyway. I know that for my family, a set of good
pots and a few other well-cared-for kitchen implements are
a key part of being happy to regularly make home-cooked meals
based on local ingredients rather than packaging-heavy prepared
foods or take-out. (To be fair, at the moment, having structured
our family life so someone has enough time to cook still makes
more difference. Good tools don’t erase the difficulties of
prioritizing our time.)
I am, I know, a long way from being a good materialist. I
don’t know the first thing about fixing my car, and hardly
more (with far less excuse) about fixing my bike. I got a
lesson in darning from my mother-in-law last Christmas, but
I haven’t really tried it yet. Of course that’s largely because
we only recently were given a darning egg—a wonderful light-weight
egg-shaped bit of wood passed down through the generations—and
I haven’t yet tracked down a darning needle. Sometimes it’s
all about the right tool.
—Miriam
Axel-Lute
www.mjoy.org
www.albanyplanningblog.org
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