The Essential Things
Atlanta, GA
March 28, 2020
This week Cobb County instructed its residents to “shelter in place.” The City of Atlanta was placed under lockdown a few days earlier.
Our wise overlords have ordered us to stay home, excepting trips to the grocery store, pharmacy, or vet. If we had a pot dispensary nearby, that’d probably be fair game too.
Otherwise, expansive parks are as verboten as crowded watering holes. Boards cover small business windows. Locks click on Mom & Pop stores, many never to open again.
Our central planners deem none of these to be “essential.” But how do…or could…they know? The economy is a vast lattice of activity that no single person or entity could possibly decipher.
Shutting a business or industry has unpredictable, and unknowable, impact beyond the specific entities Labor Department wonks happen to count among its members. As Leonard Read once noted, no one knows how to make a pencil.
If nothing else, the neighborhood auto shop is essential to its owner. But it is also essential to the nurse whose car breaks down en route to the hospital. And where does that mechanic get the parts to fix her car? And where does the parts supplier obtain his wares? And who extracts, smelts, molds, and mixes the raw materials into tools and dye?
And what of similar divisions of labor and chains of supply providing air conditioners, ventilators, food, clothing, and beds? My employer is struggling to find and distribute medical supplies because “non-essential” businesses have been shuttered across the globe.
The web of economic activity is intricately tangled, beautifully harmonized, and continually woven. But when nefarious pests mess with individual threads, the productive hive get stuck.
Back home, schools remain quiet at least thru April, and perhaps till August. Lessons persist online, but this timing is a great disappointment. Classes can continue remotely…but senior proms and spring concerts do not work well over Zoom or Skype.
Alexander is being deprived of these highly anticipated activities and lifelong memories. Unlike the Olympics, they can’t be postponed till next year. Like an empty seat on a departed plane, our son’s opportunity to reap those benefits is lost forever.
He also has postponed flight lessons we had arranged with the Georgia Tech Flying Club. Because his parents are alums, he was able to join. Through it, he can pursue his private pilot license at less expense than other options. With luck he will be able to do so once the cloud of contagion lifts.
For the time being, we are still allowed to sit on our outdoor deck and to wander our backyard. The weather over our house is beautiful, with pollen more problematic than pestilence.
Spring is in bloom. My wife has added touches of floral color and botanical charm to the deck. In the yard, we are planting phlox, re-distributing hostas, and tending azaleas. Birds frequent their feeder like air traffic once descended upon Hartsfield.
Indoors, within our suburban bunker, we are making do. Each day, the wings of Mercury take flight on the wheels of brown trucks, Prime vans, or personal vehicles. Their drivers are a source of sustenance. By these angels we replenish perishable essentials…fruit baskets, lettuce heads, beef patties, and wine racks.
Our habitual shopping patterns are also bearing fruit. We have for years padded our purchases with a few extra items that won’t soon spoil, that we’ll use anyway, or that we know we’ll need eventually.
Paper towels, napkins, and toilet paper last forever. Or so we thought. Incremental bags of rice, cans of beans, boxes of oatmeal, containers of flour, or cases of prime vintage old vine Saint-Emilion Grand-Cru are diverted to a spare pantry, and rotated out as new supplies arrive.
We always viewed these practices as prudent, precautionary…and simple. We’re shopping anyway. Why not pick up a couple extra. They’ll keep.
It was also something of an investment. Consumer staples don’t generally decline in price. The extra boxes of tissues we buy today are likely less expensive than they will be in a year. The rate of inflation becomes our rate of return.
The commodities on which we subsist most are coffee…and routine. We are of course working from home. If conference calls were an antidote, this virus would have as much chance in our house as a tax repeal in Congress. The parade of calls stretches from dawn to dusk, necessitated by changing priorities and plans during an after the pandemic. Our sons complete schoolwork each morning, with afternoons spent on reading, chores, or goofing off. Friendships and dates are entirely virtual.
By night, and on weekends, we try to relax…and to decompress. Plague and uncertainty breed anxiety and stress. Neighborhood walks and family time are valves to relieve pressure. We also resort to books, movies, and hobbies. The realm of the mind remains essential, and must not be closed.
As a kid, I had the odd hobby of drawing city maps on large poster board. This may be more misplaced pride than worthwhile accomplishment, but I’d have placed my maps of Tampa against those of Rand-McNally any day.
These days, my ambitions, aspirations, and abilities are more modest. But we still like adventure, and I still like to draw. Where those interests intersect, we find a map.
Today we consult it, and plan our weekend travel:
JD
