Potlatch?
Probably Not...
You’ve no doubt noticed that I haven’t posted a substack page lately.
The reason is that we’ve been busy preparing to move to our new forever home. We have to clean out all the stuff we’ve accumulated in 25 years in this home. Going through it all is a fascinating kind of triage—and an exhausting process. The attic, especially, is a challenge—dust and hundred-plus temperatures mean working only for short periods, followed by multiple hydration breaks.
Which suggests: dying from heat prostration would spare me from the rest of the moving process. Just something to think about…
Moving and down-sizing mean we’ve made a lot of donations. At least twenty cartons of books have found new homes. Used clothing has gone to Goodwill. Household goods have gone to the Salvation Army Thrift Store. Scrap metal is collected by a neighbor who recycles it for cash. Friends and relatives have not only helped move this stuff, but have taken some of it home with them.
Share the wealth! (“wealth” being a tad too grand a term for the kind of stuff I’m talking about).
Then there’s the dumpster parked in front of our house. Countless formerly useful (or potentially useful) items have been heaved in—and will continue to be heaved in.
Furniture that might be of use to someone else goes out to the curb with a “FREE” sign attached. Usually, these items get picked up within one day. The other day, I happened to be outside when a young couple was picking up a dresser. I told them that it was good that someone else had a use for these things. It was all very pleasant.
The next morning, we looked out the window and spotted the back of the dresser with its “FREE” sign still attached! Somehow, during the night, they had returned it.
“Perhaps,” I said to my wife, “when they got home, they discovered it wouldn’t fit.”
Later that day, I checked the dumpster to see if they had chucked in the dresser’s drawers. They weren’t there. I walked around to the dresser.
It wasn’t the same dresser.
It was a different piece of furniture: a kind of dark wood sideboard buffet with glass doors and cubbies. It was a much nicer piece than the one that had been picked up.
It made me think of the “trades” that crows do… rewarding friendly human behavior with shiny treasures they’ve found elsewhere. But why would the young couple give up this good furniture for the rather ordinary piece we’d left for them? If this had been a bartering event, it would have involved the opposite of haggling.
I remember reading about potlatches—events that had been held by tribes who lived on the Pacific Northwest Coast. At them, people demonstrated their status by exchanging gifts that were more desirable than the ones they received.
But doing it anonymously would defeat that purpose.
There was a likely explanation for this odd behaviour: the young couple hadn’t left the new piece at all. Someone else, someone who had driven by and seen the “FREE” sign, just decided that this was as good a place as any to drop off their stuff. Our corner has become a new free trading post… where strangers can gift other strangers with things they might need.
Apparently, we’ve established an entirely unintentional public service.
Paid subscribers to these Substack pages get access to complete editions of two of my novellas. Noirvella is a modern story of revenge, told in the style of film noir. Unbelievable is a kind of rom-com that forms around a pompous guy who is conceited, misinformed, and undeservedly successful. Both books are sold by Amazon, but paid subscribers can read them for free. Also, Substack pages (older than eight months) automatically slip behind a paywall—where only paid subscribers can read them. If you’re interested in reading any of them, you can subscribe (giving you free access to them) or buy them in book form, should you prefer the feel of a physical book. Meanwhile, it is easy to become a paying subscriber (just like supporting your favorite NPR station). It’s entirely optional, and—even if you choose not to do so—you’ll still get my regular Substack posts—and I’ll still be happy to have you as a reader.