What moves the settled soul to rise and emigrate, to leave a familiar homeland for the unknown, against the risks to life and limb? To those of us sedentary, set in our ways, we may scratch our heads, call them mad, ill-prepared for reality.
Warhaven’s earliest pioneers caused such consternation to their neighbors in Switzerland County, Indiana when following the war, decided to plow west toward more fertile ground for their tried spirits. These veterans of the Battle of Gettysburg now saw the world through the lens of carnage, of ruthless pillage. This would be their cleansing.
Paris and Fanny DuMont and Ebenezer and Lenore Lyon were strolling through the woods above the Ohio River. Staring across the water, Lenore asked, “Was it our Constitution that set us up for war, inevitable strife between Cain and Abel, pitting the industrialized against the agrarian? Was it Puritan against Unitarian, Catholic against Anglican?”
Fanny asked, “Can we blame Britain for establishing in the colonies the way to war? Imperialist dogs!”
Paris laughed. “Dogs? Why not vipers?”
“Sir,” she retorted, “Don’t tread on me!”
The four chuckled.
Ebenezer pondered aloud, “We did, consciously or covertly, create an oligarchy. Consider our first six presidents, from only two states, planters from Virginia, lawyers from Masachusetts, and the lawyers were father and son! From day one we were governed by a closed, exclusive club. For all our talk of equality, the Union had operated in the world quite differently.”
Lenore said, “Our move west is to create community, not government. Let the societal nerves and tendons grow before the bones of government form, intractable and stubborn as they will turn out to be.”
Paris nods, “We could seek a territorial capital, a county seat, but let us leave that to the grubbers and prospectors of power. Any power or influence our community generates will be home grown and one which fosters those within first, in equality.”
They walked on. It was April. They savored the blossoms of trees and the blooms of wildflowers. They would travel to a different beauty, and they would go there with open senses to appreciate what could never be transplanted to another place.
Lenore broke the silence, “On the idea of oligarchy, there were the outliers of New York.”
“Yes,” added Paris, “Hamilton with his desire for senators and the president to serve for life! Outrageous! But then his fellow New Yorker took care of his ambitions!”
“Burr!” exclaimed Fanny, “That brilliant scoundrel. And the Burr Dilemma! Thirty-six ballots in the House to squash his lust for the presidency! Then his devious, thwarted quest to become emperor! That inglorious traitor ought to have been marched to the gallows!”
Ebenezer interjected, “Burr was the King of Sour Grapes! But enough of our scarred past. How do awaken to a new age?”
“Might a western territory remain a territory?” asked Lenore. “Might that slighted polit-ical status lead to less kowtowing to Washington City?”
Fanny stated, “Our new community ought to seek reciprocity with the federals, we give and we take, a mutual aid society, not a gluttonous potentate commanding the subservient!”
Paris looked at his wife. “And how would a fair system of taxation be employed to build our roads and bridges, our schools and hospitals? On property? On sales? On income? How can a community build itself to avoid the fate of so many Utopian societies that crumble?”
“Well, Paris,” replied Fanny, “we don’t get bogged down in the folderol of idealism. We can foster ideals, but idealism blinds good men and makes clowns and paupers of followers!”
Over dinner with Louisa and Andrew Chapman, the three couples refined their plans and further debated philosophy.
Lenore tapped her wine glass, saying, “Idealism is not something tarnished, Fanny! We can make a more perfect place, where commonweal means no exploitation of the dazzling or the downtrodden, the absence of chicanery, of loansharking against hopeful dreams. No schemes!”
“Yes,” retorted Fanny, “But practically we have to look to the future for sustainability. For me the key to all this is the parenting we expect and the educational system we design that teaches compassion, empathy, and industriousness as a means to liberty. One must read and live broadly to care for others.”
•••
The City Council is a work of fiction, written by Jim Tindall, appearing every other week in Columbia Gorge News.
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