2654-2655: American Know-How from Lincoln County Watch

2654-2655: American Know-How from Lincoln County Watch

 
By Anna Von Reitz

Some years ago, the Father of a large family died suddenly from a heart-attack, leaving his widow, a school teacher, and six kids.  The oldest child was only sixteen at the time, but he weighed in and they struggled along.  Eventually, however, they couldn't keep up with the house payments and the bank foreclosed. They were forced out onto the streets and the kids forced to split up and go live with various relatives, while the Mother took a small apartment and kept the baby with her.  

It turned out that the local bank president wanted their property for its view, and that the rapid and ruthless foreclosure was no accident.  He tore down their old farmhouse and built a brand new modern house on the land, tore up the trees, built a zen garden, and settled down behind his iron fence and imposing stone gate.  

Twenty years later, a stranger showed up in town.  Hardly anyone recognized him.  It was the oldest son of that unfortunate family, and he looked as down-at-heels as ever, just an average working man.  

He bought the property next to his old home and settled down.  Nobody was expecting what happened next.  He opened a junk yard and recycling center and built a tall fence around the property.  Next, he used an old shed as a piggery and got a couple dozen pigs and some chickens.  

Well, just so happens that junk yard and car crusher and other industrial-type activity made a lot of noise from sunrise to sundown, and the smell of those pigs----Ewww!--- drifting downwind over the banker's elegant estate was enough to gag a person, especially when the weather turned warm and humid.  

We all heard the banker ranting and raving and complaining and trying to figure some way out of his dilemma, and believe me, he tried everything, and nothing worked.  That eldest son stuck it out, despite all the complaints and legal actions and thuggery the banker could manage.  

Finally, the banker gave up and moved on.  His fine house and estate was put up for sale, but owing to the junkyard and pig farm right next door, it wasn't worth much.  Nobody with money wanted to live next door to a salvage yard combination pig farm.  

The eldest son bought the banker's place for a song.  He moved into the banker's house and shut down the salvage yard and pig farm and cleaned everything up.  He was left with a far larger estate and a pile of money.  

I happened to talk to him one day, having been a friend of his parents.  I mentioned the fact that he got the old home place back.  He just smiled and nodded and said, "I planned that for twenty years, and never gave up."  

Good people can win against bad people, provided that they never give up. Ways can be found to defeat even the meanest acts and cruelties, if we use our imaginations and our creative power. 

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Times Are Hard When....

By Anna Von Reitz

As children growing up in the wake of the Second World War we could always tell when times were hard by changes in the food on offer and the condition of our shoes.  

When times were good, there was roast beef on Sunday and lunch meat for Father's lunch box.  When times were bad, there might be peanut butter or radish or tomato sandwiches, maybe boiled eggs or hot dogs.  A whole dinner might be made from corn on the cob.   

Shoes were also a telltale of poverty.  

In our house, every boot was always oiled.  Every shoe was always polished.  If we kids wanted to get into any mischief and romp through mud puddles, we knew we'd better do it barefoot. No questions asked. 

Despite these efforts there'd come a time when the scuffs wouldn't brush out, and no matter what you did with polish and cloth, the old shoes were dog-eared and worn---- and everyone could see it.  People would just glance at your shoes and know your economic status. 

So when someone sends me four dollars as a donation toward our government of the people, for the people, and by the people --- I know it's because they didn't have five to send, and I know how much that four dollars meant.  When I get donations like that, I always stop and think real hard about those who sent it and why what we are doing matters.  

Having been poor, even very poor, gives you many insights into people and circumstances.  It gives you strength and sympathy and knowledge that you wouldn't have any other way, so it's not a bad thing.  It's a good thing.  You emerge from it knowing that you can survive poverty, and what it takes to do so. Poverty doesn't scare you, because you've already been there and done that. 

And yet, poverty is always there in the background, like a song you recognize.

Nobody needs to tell you what it means when "Food for the Poor" sends you a set of free Christmas cards made of banana bark in the middle of August. 

Clearly, times are hard for them, very hard, or they'd never do such a thing. 

This wonderful organization provides food and care for the poorest of the poor among our neighbors in Haiti and throughout the Caribbean.  They translate rice and beans and local-grown vegetables into a future for those who have nothing and nobody else to help.   

Through various work and farm development efforts, they help families and entire communities.  But most of all, they provide food for the poor. 

While 98% of the foreign aid appropriated by the corporate honchos in Washington, DC, never makes it to those it was purportedly intended to help, 96% of what you give to Food for the Poor hits the mark, day after day and year after year.  

For those who have never seen or received a banana bark card, let me fill you in.  These are small, exquisite, handmade little works of art.  They are printed in sepia tone, shades of brown, using only one color of ink on cream colored paper.  The printing establishes the scene, and then, carefully, pieces of banana bark (which sheds naturally each year from the trees) is cut and shaped and glued in place to add a star, an angel's robe, or a shepherd's mantle. 

Unlike many organizations that barrage you with heart-rending stories, Food for the Poor sends you the cards, and let's them speak for themselves. 

And if you have ever been poor yourself, you recognize it when people are making use of what little they have to add some good to the world. Nobody has to tell you.  

I was startled, frankly, to get the annual banana bark Christmas card promotion in August and I didn't have to think too hard about why it came more than two months early.  Times are hard.  People are scared.  People are unemployed. Donations are down.  Kids are going hungry, so Food for the Poor is sending its greetings early.  

Yes, I know, I am supposed to be fundraising in support of our actual government and all the needs that we have as we work to fully restore it--- and Lord knows, the needs here never stop, either.  Lord knows that times are tough and getting tougher all over, thanks to the failures and corruption of corporate government.  

Still, I had to stop and had to tell you.  When the snow is deep and I make the trek to the Post Office to send my few Christmas cards, they are going to be small little things made out of plain paper, one color of ink, and banana bark. They will have wise men and angels and shepherds in their fields--- and a little bit of the True Magic of Christmas tucked inside.  

You can get yours by contacting Food for the Poor at:  6401 Lyons Road, Coconut Creek, Florida 33073,  800-487-1158, www.FoodForThePoor.org.  

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See this article and over 2600 others on Anna's website here: www.annavonreitz.com

To support this work look for the PayPal buttons on this website. 

How do we use your donations?  Find out here.