Give Take Give is
focused on the free flow of goods and the meandering current of people that run
through and eddy around the dumpster behind the Social Service League, but this
isn’t the only place to find evidence of an alternative economy in Lawrence. In
fact, when you recalibrate your notion of what an economy is supposed to look
like, to include markets that don’t assume a quid pro quo, many more instances of gift or exchange economies
become apparent. Below, are a few of my
favorites.
The Fruit Tree Project
The Lawrence Fruit
Tree Project is just a few years old but is deeply rooted in the often touted American
ethic of self-reliance, although the ‘self’ in this case should be prefaced by ‘neighborhood’
or ’community,’ since the project is aimed to benefit many more than the
individual. Led by Byron Wiley, Skyler
Adamson, Eric Farnsworth and Jason Hering with the volunteer help of many more,
the project has begun to restore what was once common - harvesting fruit from
trees right here in town. In just a few
years, a dazzling variety of trees have been planted including a small orchard
at 13th and Garfield. But before an apple or plum or pawpaw
or persimmon or mulberry or elderberry or hazelnut or cornuskousa or jujube or
Turkish hazel or gumiberry or juneberry or peach or Asian pear or European pear
or tart cherry or Siberian peashrub could
be legally picked, the city needed to be persuaded to change an old statute
that outlawed the act considered until then as “Harming Plants.”
 |
| Preparing to plant the orchard photo by E. Hampton |
In June of
2011, statute 14-303 was changed. But
free right from the tree prompts questions for the hungry passerby used to paying
cash for their produce. If the trees are planted in public, who owns and takes
care of them? How much fruit can a person take? What happens to extra fruit?
 |
| Harvesting peaches |
The answer is that we who harvest the pears and paw paws and enjoy the shade
and beauty of these growing trees are all implicated in their welfare. If we
neglect them or take them for granted, they may die. If we hoard all the fruit
for ourselves, others won’t have any. If there is an abundance, we need to pass
it on or it will rot. In the clearest most practical way, restoring orchards to
our commons illuminates and revitalizes the adage that ‘We share the fruits of
our labor.’
The Little Library
The small
free-standing book kiosk near the corner of 17th and Indiana holds
only about thirty books. Not much of a selection until you actually browse the
titles, which range from intriguing novels “ Extremely Loud and Incredibly
Close” by Jonathan Safran Foers, to political manifestos “Civil Disobedience
and Other Essays” by Henry David Thoreau, to Beat poetry “Riprap and Cold
Mountain Poems” by Gary Snyder, all of them a reflection of the library’s chief
curator, CJ Brune.
CJ and her husband
Bill decided to make this little library after seeing a tv story about others
doing the same in different parts of the country. It wasn’t such a stretch for
them, since they have maintained a community library and meeting space inside
their home for many years. By extending their collection and creating a branch
of sorts outside, they hoped to attract the student, neighbor, delivery person,
or meter reader who might not feel as comfortable knocking on their door.
Architecturally,
the house shaped structure invites the curious by differentiating itself from
other freestanding boxes for mail, newspapers, or bill collection. And if there
was any doubt about its purpose, CJ’s son Gregor (a librarian by profession)
has decorated its walls with painted vignettes that show a flamingo reading
Darwin, a young man reading Aldous Huxley, and a goat reading Don Quixote. But
even with this open invitation, the freedom to take a book still catches me off
guard. I can’t help feeling a little bit like I’m stealing, which I’m sure says
a lot about my indoctrination into the ideology of the market economy and
private property.
The truth is that the
success of this little library depends on us taking the books, reading them,
sharing the stories they tell, and then returning the same or different titles
for others to enjoy. The more we use the library, the greater its impact, and
not only as a place to find reading material but also as a place to find
company. The book kiosk and its modest assortment of titles act in a way like a
watering hole for readers, attracting hungry minds to browse. And since this
activity is happening in public, chance meetings occur, conversations arise,
and people who once passed each other without even a nod become familiar,
adding a new link to the chain of relationships that give texture to the
neighborhood.
Funkytown
You’ve arrived in
Funkytown (somewhere in Old West
Lawrence tucked into a small bamboo grove) when you see the tiny banner,
hanging over the menagerie of colorful curiosities, announcing its name and the
straightforward suggestion, “Take something. Leave Something.”
The majority of
offerings at this shrine / free flea market seem to be oriented toward young
people – small toys, game pieces and other curios. That feels right since kids are most in tune with idea of gifts, their potential for storytelling, and how
they signify bonds between people. After all, most kids don’t have credit cards
or cash on hand to buy things. They are indebted to their caretakers and
friends for both practical necessities and diversions. The gifts they give are gifts received and
then passed on or ones made by their own hands.
That’s why at first
glance, Funkytown might seem like just a jumble of broken bits and abandoned
toy parts. It’s only when we begin to see the trinkets and random offerings
from a kid’s perspective that we understand that those knickknacks are only as
meaningful as we are imaginative. Their value is in direct proportion to the
stories they carry and the stories we create for them. Like the Ruby Slippers
in the Wizard of Oz, the magic of the stuff at Funkytown stagnates without our
active conjuring.
Fruit, books, and
toys, are the goods that move through these alternative exchanges. They nourish the body, mind, and sense of wonder, but their greatest value may be in
how our giving and taking of them binds us together in new relationships
predicated on good will, trust, and long-term reciprocity. By sharing and
maintaining an orchard, a library, and a ‘funkytown,’ we challenge the
assumption that chaos will ensue without strictly enforced rules that govern
how goods are used and distributed.
What connects these three endeavors is
their insistence on being public, free, and relatively unsupervised. They encourage a flow of good will against the
prevailing current of anxiety and suspicion that’s led to building ever higher
fences and installing security cameras on every corner. All three are cared for
by a loose affiliation of those of us who frequent them and are therefore
vulnerable to our misuse. In other words, there is risk inherent in trust. The trees will die without our care, the
library will be empty if we don’t refresh the books, Funkytown will become a
mere spectacle if we don’t participate, and the dumpster behind the League will
return to being filled with garbage if we don’t renew the source of its wealth.
They all rely on collaboration and an extended network of givers and takers in
order to thrive. If all we do is take and not give, they will disappear. If all
we do is give and not take, they will become overwhelmed and unmanageable. We
provide the current that moves things along.
