The land that we bought was surveyed a couple of years ago….so the markers….the surveyors tape…is reasonably fresh.

Our boundaries are “findable”.

I know where I stand….and who is standing too close.

That’s pretty weird.

When you look at the survey, everything is registered down to a matter of inches.

It’s measured and recorded, marked and defined….a legal way of saying, “mine, mine, mine”.

I suppose that I could fence it and really tell the world “whose is whose and what is what”.

I could fence it all….and send a quiet message to “keep out”.

I could put up a “posted” sign….like an invisible force field….keeping all the other folks out.

I have a survey in hand….but maybe I need to break it down even further?

Maybe I need to put up a “Don’t Tread On Me” flag?

It’s really kind of nuts, this private ownership thing.

Wasn’t there a time when you could roam free and just hold up your hand in greeting when you came into another man’s vicinity?

What did the Indians do? Roam around and fish where they needed to….hunt where they needed to?

Did they hunt wherever they wanted to unless they hit some surveyor’s tape and had to take a detour?

Were they puzzled by the first “white man’s fence”?

I guess that I don’t mind a little definition if it keeps people honest.

It just amazes me to realize that if someone wants what I have, there’s not too much standing in their way of taking it from me.

I could be a victim of “eminent domain”.

I better enjoy it while I can.

I better enjoy believing that I can actually “own” anything.

Nomadism sounds good….a van and a steady string of Wal-Mart parking lots and high desert vistas.

Only owning the clothes on your back….and a van….and “this lamp”….and…

Nomadism would be weird for a family.

We’d be like Gypsies.

Those Gypsy weddings look expensive, too.

I don’t know if I’d want to do that.

Having something is good….having a place is good….having a piece of land to stand on is good.


I move through this world and it’s the same wind pushing against me….the same sun hitting my face….the same rain wetting me….no matter where I am.

It’s all the same….whether I stand on what’s “mine”…or whether I stand on what’s “yours”.

It’s all the same.

Why can’t I go to Wal-Mart and buy a sign that says “OURS” then?

Anyway, if it’s “OURS”, why should I be responsible for buying the sign?


“signs” Five Man Electrical Band

About Peter Rorvig

I'm a non-practicing artist, a mailman, a husband, a father...not listed in order of importance. I believe that things can always get better....and that things are usually better than we think.

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