February 14, 2026

Atlanta, GA

This week I read the most frightening article I’ve seen in a while.

We’re in February 2026. But the author fears it’s February 2020, when most people became aware of a weird virus halfway around the world.

Before then, people who paid attention knew a strange germ was wafting around Wuhan. By February e…

Read more

Paris, France

May 24, 2025

Within the last year, several friends about our age were diagnosed with terminal malignancies or other deadly ailments. One of them died yesterday. We heard the news on our way to Paris.

Mercifully, in the other cases, treatment seems effective. But it’s tenuous, and arduous. Cancer in remission can always recur. Within any of us, it’s liable to appear at some point.

And if it doesn’t, another killer will. It’s only a matter of when. No one gets out of life alive. The only question is when we go.

Most of us don’t know when that will be. But a fatal disease can narrow the window. With appropriate perspective, that can be a blessing. If we let it.

Extraordinary Grace

That’s what Scott Adams seems to have done.

This week, the creator of “Dilbert” divulged he’ll be leaving us sooner than he’d expected… or than any of us would want.

All our days are numbered. But Adams has known for a while that he has fewer than most. In an era devoid of dignity, he exhibited extraordinary grace announcing his impending death.

The day after Joe Biden’s prostate cancer became public, Adams shared that he suffers the same affliction. Like the ex-president, Adam’s malady spread to the bones. He expects to succumb sometime this summer.

But having had time to process what’s coming, Adams appreciates certain aspects of what he’s enduring. Knowing about how long he has allows him time to arrange affairs and say goodbyes.

He admitted his condition is excruciating, and that he has no good days. Each one is “a nightmare.”

But despite physical pain, he is at peace. By conveying his condition with calm courage, he gave a gift that will survive the grave.

“While this could be much worse… I’m handling it quite well. The pain is tough. I mean really tough. But the mental part, I got that under control. I know that some people are having a tough time with this. But remember, nothing lasts forever.”

That’s a helpful reminder, regardless how hard we try to resist.

Adams acknowledged trying several potential remedies to enable recovery. None worked. So now he’s reconciled to what’s next. And why not? Death is the unavoidable conclusion of every life.

It’s what’s supposed to happen. It happens to everyone. Adams isn’t whining or wondering “why me?” To Scott Adams, that question is silly.

It’s not him. It’s everyone. He recognizes he isn’t exempt from the human condition.

None of us are.

Not that we don’t hope to be mourned when we die. We do. For a little while.

But we don’t want our loved ones to mope. After they share some memories and shed a few tears, we expect them to honor our lives by making the most of their own.

Adams did that as long as he could. That’s one of the reasons he delayed admitting his ailment. He wanted to live as normally as possible, without being known as “the cancer guy.”

Adams isn’t kidding himself, or making futile pledges to “beat cancer.” He knows the game is already over. Cancer is merely milking the clock.

Dying Twice

As a Roman Catholic, I doubtless have religious differences with Scott Adams [who released a posthumous announcement saying he’d accepted Christ]. But that’s not the point.

I simply appreciate the decorum with which he announced his malady and accepts his fate. It reminded me of a comforting way he once re-framed death.

All earthly entities come to an end. That includes our corporeal existence. No one is exempt. We’re all diagnosed with the terminal condition known as mortality.

Death isn’t merely inevitable; it’s necessary. Life is valuable because it’s limited. It has significance only because it ends. As Adams put it, “everything that has meaning comes from the fact that we don’t live forever.”

Yet he reassured us by acknowledging that, in a way, we do. We don’t so much die as transform. Our influence survives after we’re gone. How long is a function of how well we wielded it while we were here.

Dave Collum once said that we die twice. Once when life leaves our body. And again the last time anyone remembers our name.

We typically don’t determine when the first death occurs. But till it does, we strive to live in accordance with God’s will, to postpone the second passing as long as possible.

JD

Atlanta, GA

January 1, 2026

These pages often fill with nonsensical opinions about current events. They please some while rubbing many the wrong way, including their author.

He’d advise no one to take his words too seriously. They’re merely ramblings of some numbskull with a Substack.

This writer’s experience is limited. Like most of us, he doubts little yet knows nothing. Most of his “news” is filtered thru screens and can’t be trusted. Just like what you’re reading now.

Despite the tone with which I occasionally write, I’m generally optimistic. In some sense, I have no choice.

With a lovely wife and two wonderful sons, how could I not have hope for the future? If I didn’t, what would be the point?

But it’s more than that. It’s easy to think things have never been so bad. It’s also preposterous… and hubristic. Who are we to bemoan our lot? Few in history have had it so good.

As never before in the annals of man, our era luxuriates in leisure. Capital bears most of the burden labor once shouldered, freeing minds to scroll feeds, “like” posts, or create “content.”

And, occasionally, to devise inventions that were recently unimaginable… and still are. Much of our seed-corn accumulated over centuries, allowing recent generations to reap the harvest while taking the bounty for granted.

The Fuel of Life

But material blessings we were bequeathed didn’t happen by accident. They required sound money that lengthened horizons, encouraged saving, and nourished investment that facilitated innovation.

As industry thrived, it demanded and enabled more robust sources of reliable power. Solar energy came out of the earth… first from coal, especially from oil, and later from natural gas.

Despite their detractors, these hydrocarbons sustain our lives. They’re the fuel that enables the food, mining, medicine, and mobility that undergird our modern existence. Because of them, most of us are shielded from the wrath of the weather, and rarely worry about our next meal.

Only recently has that been “normal”.

“Fossil fuels” facilitated improvements in sanitation and hygiene that rendered many once-lethal illnesses obsolete. And they propelled medical advances that mitigate most of the maladies that still persist.

Not everyone is so fortunate to share in these blessings, and there’ll always be those who won’t be. But poverty afflicts fewer people than ever in history, and the decline has accelerated exponentially since the late-19th century, when oil transitioned from annoying goo to industrial fuel:

But problems persevere, and always will.

Spiritual voids, family breakdown, rampant nihilism, and lack of community are considerable challenges rotting the West. Religion is waning, the money is fake, and politics are a scourge.

But what else is new?

Only this: tho’ much has been squandered on worthless “programs”, reckless wars, and duplicitous scams, some of our seed corn is still here. Notwithstanding the obstacles we bemoan, modern technological, financial, and medical resources remain unmatched.

We can communicate instantaneously with almost anyone in the world. At a moment’s notice and (relatively) minimal cost, we can go almost anywhere we want and be there within a day. Technology is advancing in ways that would’ve seemed like magic only a decade ago.

Gateway Drugs

Regardless surface chop, the prevailing current proceeds apace. Tides wax and wane, storms disrupt the prevailing offshore breeze, and occasional undertows pull us down. We seem to be struggling to overcome one now.

But the human spirit usually finds ways to keep its head above water. To avoid drowning, it finds strength to swim. It’ll do so again. In many ways, it already is.

We mustn’t be bogged down by remote menaces or imaginary threats. As Thomas Jefferson once wondered, “How much pain have cost us the evils which have never happened?”

It’s worthwhile to occasionally recall whether what we feared six months ago ever came to pass. Or six months before that. Or before that.

More often than not, the answer is “no”. Not that we shouldn’t anticipate and prepare. Because something hasn’t happened doesn’t mean it never will.

But we mustn’t sacrifice fulfillment to misplaced panic. As we’ve learned the last few decades, fears are like gateway drugs...give in to a small one, and before long you cave to larger ones.

Nerves are healthy if they motivate, but not when they cripple. Caution can be warranted if not taken to extremes. We mustn’t be so frightened of wandering the world that we fear tending our gardens.

Concentric Circles

Minding our own business is the best we can do. It’s also empowering, because it’s something we can control.

An essential corollary is understanding what isn’t our business, and avoiding it. That doesn’t mean we should disregard neighbors in need. To the contrary. It would allow us to pay more attention to them.

Like the Catholic principle of subsidiarity, responsibilities ripple in concentric circles. They are most intense nearest to home, to our families, friends, and local community.

Much as adults are advised to put the oxygen mask on themselves before affixing it to their children, we should guard against sacrificing ourselves in ways that harm those for whom we profess to care.

Foreign squabbles and distant squalor may be unfortunate. But they aren’t our concern. They can’t be. And there’s little we can do about them even if they were.

As we repeatedly remind ourselves, meddling inevitably make things worse.

That stands to reason. Resources are finite… including empathy, knowledge, wisdom, money, perspective, and time.

Demanding these be diverted from nearby needs merely weakens our region while offering minimal benefit (or considerable detriment) to distant recipients the aid is ostensibly meant to assist (assuming the intended beneficiaries even receive it).

The Rose on the Table

We enter a new year recalling an old story. One afternoon, a lady plucked a rose from a bush, and placed it prominently in her disheveled home.

But its beauty was diminished by piles of clutter covering the table. The woman removed the debris and dusted the surface, which allowed the flower to shine.

Yet the rest of her house was also a shambles. The beautiful blossom and clean table were stark anomalies amid the mess.

Out came the trash bags, wash rags, vacuum cleaner, and mop. Furniture was cleaned, rubbish removed, and floors polished, revealing a lovely home worthy of a rose.

The best way to improve the world is by sweeping our porch. We can’t help others if we’re unable to sustain ourselves. But we can form good habits and set worthy examples.

We can spend our life however we like, but we can only spend it once. The same can be said for the years and days of which it is made. This is one of them, and a great time to start.

Happy New Year.

JD

[NB: this article was originally posted here]

Auburn, AL

May 6, 2024

Il faut cultiver notre jardin.

- Voltaire

Certain moments remind parents how quickly sand goes thru the hourglass. This weekend, at Neville Arena on the Auburn campus, we realized a Sahara had poured away.

Light rain as we left Atlanta dissipated when we reached Auburn. We arrived early to the Loveliest Village, for a celebratory breakfast honoring graduates and families.

Afterward, under blue skies and rising temperatures, we made our way to the arena and toward our seats. We saved one for my brother, who was speeding south from the Atlanta airport. He joined us just in time…after the speeches, but as graduates began receiving their degrees.

Last year, I imagined giving the commencement address at my younger son’s high school graduation. Saturday, our elder one crossed the stage as he concluded college. Had his father been asked to approach the podium, this is what he would’ve said:

My Commencement Address

This is an exciting occasion. You’ve completed college, and are ready to start the next phase of your life. That’s why this is called a “commencement” address. What feels like a culmination is actually an inception.

Many people in my position encourage you to “follow your passion”, “take risks”, and “make the world a better place”.

That advice seems superficially sensible. But is it sound?

Following “passions” is fine as far as it goes…so long as it doesn’t go too far.

The world has plenty of passion (maybe too much). But it’s often unharnessed and riding roughshod. What’s lacking is discipline, curiosity, composure, and humility. Cultivate these in whatever passion you pursue.

If you have worthy interests, abilities, and desires, by all means explore and nourish them. They suggest potential strengths that set you apart, allowing you to improve your situation and surroundings thru the division of labor.

A Better Place

But how wide should your “surroundings” range? What’s a reasonable extent of your “world”, and what does it mean to “make it a better place?”

Better for whom? Whose preferences should “we” prioritize? How do we know what other people want? One way is to watch what they do, respect their choices, and engage in mutually beneficial exchange to satisfy their needs.

Before indulging grand plans to improve the planet, ask yourself how whatever future you concoct will reward (or impair) unwitting souls on the other side of the world. Or whether your own family and neighbors might do better by your help.

No person or group of people (including us), regardless how “educated” or “elite” can possibly know what’s best for millions of strangers.

Not that you shouldn’t listen to, or occasionally agree with, what the intelligentsia says. Just know they tend to be distant from problems they purport to solve, and often urge what tends to be best for themselves. That’s human nature. It can’t be eliminated, but must be acknowledged.

Before bumptiously butting into other people’s affairs, ensure you’re equipped to assist, that it’s your place to do so, and that you won’t make matters worse.

Only then should you offer solutions to anyone who’s interested (ideally in the form of voluntary exchange). But don’t foist your remedies on those who aren’t.

Actions smile, but consequences have teeth. Good intentions matter, if only as asphalt on the road they pave. Yet we must always be aware where it might lead.

Be wary of making the world a buffet of other people’s problems for you to solve, and of dangling bait that benefits only you when supposed “beneficiaries” take a bite.

On this day you’ve been told you can “take on the world”. But the best way to do so is to improve your little corner. We should tend our gardens rather than tell others how they should till their own.

Compiling capital and building wealth are the best ways to facilitate societal flourishing. To do so, learn useful skills, meet impressive people, and see interesting places.

Amplify these endeavors by reading edifying books. A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. He who doesn’t read lives only one. Keep turning pages, and continue conversations with contemporaries and ancestors.

Think critically and define your terms. Avoid vacuous slogans and convenient clichés. Prefer cautious doubt to self-righteous belief.

A Time to Take Chances

And take some chances. Don’t be discouraged by those who say something can’t be done. Things that have never happened before happen all the time.

Smart risks are admirable and advisable, especially now. You’re young. Most of you have few family commitments and little to lose.

Yet options can shrink as years pass and obligations mount. Family and professional responsibilities might limit future flexibility and potential opportunity.

Nobody expects fresh graduates to know anything. And if you show eagerness and effort, almost everyone is willing to help. These are blessings.

But they won’t exist in ten years. When you reach your thirties, you’ll be expected to have some knowledge and achievement. Don’t wait till then to begin acquiring them.

Doing so isn’t impossible, but will be much more difficult. A decade from now, if you’ve done little and know less, potential customers, associates, and spouses will wonder why…and be reluctant to waste their time on a lost cause.

The next few years shouldn’t simply be an extension of college. Build your mind, spirit, body, and network. This is a time to compile assets while becoming allergic to liabilities.

Apply the power of compounding, not merely to money, but to connections and accomplishments. Invest them wisely, and subsequent decades will pay ample dividends.

Oliver Wendell Holmes lamented “those who die with the music still inside of them.” But such silent symphonies deprive the rest of us too. Now’s the time to tune your instrument and find your voice.

You’ll skip beats and miss some notes. So what? That merely means you’ve made some melodies. And as Edison put it, an error isn’t a failure; it’s merely discovering a method that doesn’t work. Admit these “mistakes”, and welcome them…without throwing away glimmers of truth obtained while making them.

Perhaps most important, be someone others want to be around. Oscar Wilde said some people bring happiness wherever they go... others whenever they go.

Become a person who makes people more wistful than relieved when you walk away. Don’t be a “fun sponge” who sucks joy from every room.

Have a sense of humor (especially about yourself)…and steer clear of those who don’t. Listen intentionally, and show sincere interest. Earn trust and retain your integrity. Chiselers and swindlers lose sleep, but an honest man’s pillow is his peace of mind.

The Last Door

A couple days ago, I told my mother her grandson finished his last exam, effectively completing college. Today he officially does so, and his parents couldn’t be more proud.

The realization hasn’t quite set in. But the feeling is surreal, tinged with some sadness, yet bursting with hope. Perhaps sensing some melancholy, my mother reminded me that this is life. When one door closes, another opens.

She was right. Go thru as many as you can. Because before we know it, they all slam shut.

Except one. It’s just a matter of which it will be.

Live your life so that when Eternity calls you from the earth, it’ll be thru the portal we’d all prefer. That’s the way to improve the world.

War Eagle!

JD

Bath, Maine

November 14, 2025

[NB: Previous installments in this series are here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here]

“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”

- Søren Kierkegaard

Last week, Archimedes came to class. This week, Pythagoras popped in. Today, so did Socrates.

In building, as in many pursuits, the best place to start is at the beginning: in our heads.

The Shelter Institute slogan is “Think. Build. Live.” The first step before doing anything is to establish what we’re trying to accomplish; how, where, and when we want it; and (most important) why we should.

Then we pick up a pencil and put those answers on paper. That happened last week, when we drew our plans… and started working our way up the edifice. A couple days ago, we reached the roof. To get there, we considered ways to install stairs.

Using trigonometry, the Pythagorean theorem, and a speed square, we identified rises and runs that let us measure, cut, lift, and install a series of rafters on our emerging structure. We had them up before lunch.

After eating, we learned about insulated walls and installed a window. Thursday we re-convened in the classroom, with a warning that that morning would entail the most math of the entire course. It did.

We covered convection and radiation, and calculated heat loss thru conduction and resistance. In the afternoon we transferred load to the other side of our mind, creating cardboard models of what we’d previously drawn.

This morning we conveyed them to the computer, assessing several options for digital design. We finished with financing, to be sure we can pay for everything we’ve learned to do.

Tuck-In Acquisitions

Yesterday we saw the sort of structures we’d studied for two weeks. But these were ones our instructors built to shelter themselves.

The Shelter Institute is a family business that treats employees and students like part of its clan. Last night, the Hennins welcomed these unruly “relatives” to their homes.

Matt Smith describes Doug Casey as “the most interesting man in the world.” That description fits.

It suits Pat Hennin too. Pat is a Renaissance Man… learned, well-read, sociable, self-sufficient.

Pat doesn’t always acquire everything he comes across. But when he does, it’s usually worn down, left for dead, and incredibly cheap. The seller wants to be rid of it.

He purchased his farm almost fifty years ago. Like a series of “tuck-in acquisitions”, he kept buying adjacent plots over the years. That’s not all he bought… or built.

At the time, this was a dairy farm owned by someone who wanted out. That’s the way Pat lands most of what he owns. He bought an excavator when the previous owner said it was “shot”.

“Nothing is ever ‘shot’”, he assured us when recounting the purchase. “Anything can be fixed. You can do it too.”

Several barns sit beside his house. Pat built all of them, most within a week. The shelters house an ecosystem of cars, crafts, and tools assembled over the years.

The barns serve as sheds, hangars, garages and stables. They contain a few boats, several horses, and stunning cars of notable vintage… including a ‘34 Citroën, ‘33 Studebaker, and a ‘48 Packard (often considered the first “single-frame” car).

It’s an astonishing array. Pat picked up most of these treasures on a whim, and on the cheap. As we dug into the chest, Pat held court and fielded questions. It was like touring Troy with Heinrich Schliemann.

These weren’t showpieces or vanity projects. The purchases had a point. Pat hates waste, and likes reviving “broken” things. That’s what he planned to do with what we saw in his self-built barns.

But he wasn’t able to… yet.

Family Business

Down what’s now a gravel path on the far end of the property, he and his wife constructed a second home along the water. They never moved in.

Having seen many friends succumb to cancer, Pat and Patsy Hennin helped establish Mid Coast Hospital in nearby Brunswick. The day it opened, Patsy was diagnosed with that dreadful disease.

Their kids moved home. Pat devoted the next five years of his life… and the rest of Patsy’s… to tending to his wife. Their three children helped care for their parents. Two of them, Gaius and Blueberry, joined the business.

Across the road from Pat’s farmhouse, Gaius built his own home. Blueberry moved into the riverside house down the path. Both their families have lived there since. In the United States, this sort of set-up is regrettably abnormal.

Within the last century, the cultural current pulled high school graduates away from home (I was one of the ones carried off).

As I relayed several years ago (here), by the time an average American turns eighteen, 90% of the minutes he’ll spend with his parents have already elapsed.

Pat knows this, and laments it. He’s ecstatic to have his kids and grandkids so close, but doesn’t take their proximity for granted. “I’m very lucky”, he acknowledges.

Like most of what Pat does, he made much of that “luck” himself.

His kids are talented, personable, and accomplished, and would be successful anywhere (and have been). But Pat told me he and his wife bought this property to live there the rest of their lives, because he wanted their children to not only know they had a place to go, but to always know where it was.

Gaius and Blueberry have erected barns of their own, which provided educational cover for our visit. With the course winding down, the Hennins offered us an opportunity to see a few examples of what we’ve studied.

The siblings each built sizable timber frame structures. Atop hers is a 24x24 apartment that makes magnificent use of tight space under the rafters.

His has a cathedral aspect, with soaring ceiling over the center and a couple “aisles” hosting chapels of workspace on either side. A concrete slab serves as sole foundation, with cross-bracing stiffening the ceiling against lateral force.

They highlighted materials, construction methods, and creative architectural quirks within each edifice. These structures contrasted with what Pat called “drywall palaces” benumbing most of America.

Those banalities share the same skeletons of stick-frames and gypsum, with phony “features” fostering an illusion of elegance. Many are adorned with “accessories” like decorative “dormers” and artificial “shutters” that accentuate fakery.

The Best Blessings

Throughout our course, Gaius stressed that in building as on streets it’s often intersections that create problems. Whether foundations to footings, walls to floors, windows to walls, or fittings to pipes, where things connect causes trouble.

But that’s also where strangers cross paths, and (can) become friends. But we often must force ourselves into the crosswalks.

As with most things that are worthwhile, the best blessings at Shelter are the people I’ve met. The instructors are as conscientious and kind as they are knowledgeable and diligent. They treat every student with respect, and demand reciprocity. As I hope these essays have expressed, I admire all of them.

Students descend on Shelter from around the world. Many are from Maine, with several others from the Northeast. But some came from Canada, a few from the Midwest, two from Atlanta, and others from places like Nevada, Montana, and Dublin, Ireland. We’ve created a community, and intend to stay in touch.

We all came to Maine with common notions but different intentions. We all felt we needed to know more about building, for various reasons.

Some wanted to buy land and sprout a house. Others hoped to remodel an existing edifice. Many wanted to be able to question a contractor without sounding like an idiot. I gave some of my inspiration here.

Building a house requires an assortment of skills. The most important of which is knowing that, with patience and persistence, they can be acquired.

For two weeks, Pat noted that a house should free you, not only by providing a reliable place to live… but by instilling confidence that comes from building it.

It’s important to have what Hennin calls “accident-consciousness” with a “safety frame of mind”. We should be careful, but not afraid.

Pat isn’t reckless; there’s a fire extinguisher in every room of his house. But he has common sense. Anything we do entails risk, even (or especially) doing nothing. We mustn’t be frozen by fear.

The Real Question

The Hennins teach people to build homes. But Pat’s passion is assuring students they can be self-sufficient.

In his inimitable style, Pat concluded our course yesterday afternoon. After two weeks determining how to dig, scale, frame, plumb, wire, draft, heat, cool, and calculate, he left us with the real question we all must ask.

If someone builds himself a house… who is it for?

An honest answer is the key not only to whatever house we want to build, but to the life we want to live. Pat forged a few follow-ups for us, which made me wonder if he’d read the book that inspired me to be here (he hasn’t).

He suggested we subpoena ourselves, and cross-examine the witness:

Who do we think we are? Who do our friends think we are? Our parents? Our children?

Each question should elicit several responses, many of which will be contradictory (and perhaps disturbing) depending on who we imagine provides the answers.

Like Socrates, Pat urged us to keep pondering:

Time has made us who we are. Who is that? In our mirror is a person molded by every moment up to this minute. When we recognize (or perhaps meet) whoever that is, we must ask him the most important question:

“Who do you want to be?”

As class was dismissed, we were reminded that the most essential tool in our kit is one no course can provide.

JD

Woolwich, Maine

November 12, 2025

[NB: Previous installments in this series are here, here, here, here, here, here, and here]

When I was at Georgia Tech, freshmen had to complete several “weed-out” courses (aside from “Drown Proofing”). Among them were three quarters of Physics classes.

The first covered Newtonian motion. The third related to optics. Neither were easy, but I did well in both. Electromagnetism (“E-Mag”) was another matter.

I never understood it. Midway thru the term, I dropped the course for fear of getting a C. When I took it again, I got a D… and was happy!

Throughout my time at Tech, Electrical Engineering courses would occasionally contaminate my civil engineering curriculum. I muddled thru, but always with a pessimistic mindset.

Those early scars convinced me principles of electricity would always be elusive. For that reason, they always have been. I knew I couldn’t understand it, so I didn’t try… and never did.

Until this week.

Path of Least Resistance

At Shelter Institute, the first day of our second week was all about wiring. With his usual spark, Pat Hennin explained the subject as if it were obvious. Because, as he insisted, it is.

He opened by asking what electricity is. When someone included the word “electrons” in response, Pat recoiled.

“No, no, no… it’s not that complicated”, he reassured us. “Think of electricity as power, which moves from where it is to where there’s less. That’s it.”

My simple civil engineering mind likes to see things. Pat’s explanation evoked the free body and internal force diagrams that made sense when I pursued my degree and obtained my licenses.

Plumbers probably feel the same way about corralling water. As with power… and like most people… it prefers the path of least resistance (so to speak).

We spent the morning following electricity’s flow… from powerplants thru transmission lines, to utility poles, thru transformers, and into exterior meters and internal panels. From there we walked each wire to its receptacle, switch, or appliance.

Pat also covered the electrical code, noting that over the decades it had expanded less to enhance safety than to thicken profits of connected corporations that manufactured electrical components.

Silly Shame

After lunch we got to work. We were given five scenarios to wire, with varying voltage, amperage, and sequence.

Several panels were filled with an assortment of parts. Our job was to sift thru them, find what we needed, and connect our assigned breakers, switches, and outlets.

The exercises exposed one of my (many) weaknesses: I loathe looking stupid… even if I’m the only one who thinks I do. I frequently remind myself how much better I’d sleep if only I knew how infrequently other people think about me.

None of them, particularly those I’ve just met, care what I know. But when they’re watching, I’m embarrassed to reveal any ignorance, even when that’s the shared reason all of us are in this class.

It’s silly, like feeling shame being unable to play the Moonlight Sonata when starting piano lessons. Fortunately, the Shelter Institute has a knack for puncturing pride and putting us at ease.

A Bowl of Broccoli

We worked with a classmate when we did our wiring. Mine had experience with electronics, so I instinctively deferred to him. Fortunately, he wouldn’t let me.

“You want to give it a shot?”, he asked, leaving me no option except to accept.

When I finished, he surveyed the scene like a dog eyes a bowl of broccoli after expecting a hunk of beef. Sensing I’d screwed up, I asked what was wrong.

“You won’t hurt my feelings”, I lied. He responded as if his wife had asked him how her dress looked.

He commended my effort, but implied there might be an even better way to connect the wires… that wouldn’t cause a conflagration.

What he suggested didn’t “look” right, because it entailed tying wires in ways I wouldn’t have expected. But why would it? I didn’t know anything.

I was focused more on appearance than effectiveness, which probably explains my interest in being an architect. I wasn’t thinking things thru. I’d tried to grasp electricity like someone learning a language by listening to sounds rather than understanding logic.

Pat provided an analogy that’s apparently common, but that I hadn’t heard. The amount of power delivered is a function of the size (amps) and speed (volts) of the “trucks” that transport it. Our job was to pick the best vehicle and right width of road.

Why couldn’t professors explain it to me like that when I was studying to be a civil engineer?

Fasteners, Sheathing, and Insulation

This morning, we learned how to hold things together, create openings we want, seal those we don’t, and control domestic traffic in vapor and air.

Gaius Henning guided us thru the variety and advantages of different nails, screws, metals, and wood. We delved into the details of wall assembly, how it’s evolved, and ways to permit or prohibit condensation, mold, heat, and cold.

As with power, heat and moisture move from where they are to where there’s less. After acknowledging this, we must determine the best materials and methods to protect our homes while preserving our comfort and defending our budget.

As we noted last week, there are no solutions… only trade-offs. There’s an ever-evolving balance among temperature, toxicity, cost, and rot. Depending on regional weather, mitigation differs around the country.

But wherever we are, as Gaius put it, our objective is to “build tight and ventilate right”. When possible, we want to seal our shelters, while retaining discretion over the flow of air.

We shouldn’t be at the weather’s mercy or our wall’s whims. Better for air and vapor to travel when, how, and where we want. It shouldn’t come under baseboards, thru windows, or thru cracks and crevices in frames or pipes.

We explored ways to accomplish this, and received several resources to refresh us when we inevitably forget. Then we were reminded why insulation is so important.

Round Robin

The afternoon was a round-robin of several activities. We started by erecting the walls we’d framed last week. We squared and sheathed them, raised them onto the foundation we’d formed, then created openings for windows we’ll install later this week. Then we grabbed our coats.

Yesterday I boasted to my family that I was warmer in Maine than they were in the South. The high temperature there was below what the low had been here. Today, Maine avenged my mockery.

Last week was mild. The weekend was warm. But this morning, winter arrived… and seems determined to stay. After lunch, snow fell. That was when we went outside.

We trudged toward a pile of twenty-foot logs. Two of them (which had been here for two decades) were pulled aside, one to a mill, the other atop several stumps turned on their sides. George, one of Shelter’s timber framers, joined Pat to teach us how felled trees become structural timber.

Using hand ax, chainsaw, and a three-foot mill, Pat and George demonstrated ways to shave the logs into posts and beams. They explained how and when to use each piece of equipment, what to look for in the wood, and ways to acquire and fix each tool without spending a fortune.

We then moved “inside”, to a warehouse with a disabled door that couldn’t close. There we handled an assortment of power tools to drive nails, turn screws, and hammer drill concrete before learning to hang, seal, and patch drywall. Well into our second week, slippery concepts are starting to stick.

Whether power through a wire, air through a wall, or heat through a home, all move the same direction — from where they are to where there’s less.

Knowledge and competence flow the same way. Lighted candles fuel empty wicks, but without reducing the height of the original flames.

JD

Bath, Maine

November 8, 2025

(NB: Prior installments in this series are here, here, here, here, and here).

The most important person in any army is the Latrine Officer. No one makes a move without him.

The same is true of a plumber in a house. One thing that never stops is water. The most marvelous and merciless substance on earth is like Michael Jordan in his prime: you can’t stop it; you can only hope to contain it.

Water seeks or carves paths and places to keep going. Our job is to corral and channel it where we want it to flow (or away from where we don’t).

Throughout the week, our Shelter Institute instructors have stressed water’s blessings and burdens on and in any building. It must be brought in and kept away. We’ve assessed several ways to control it outside the building. Yesterday we discussed how to convey it to, thru, and from the inside.

Preparation and Patience

Most of Maine isn’t on municipal water, and many people taking this course plan to build in remote places, so much discussion related to wells, pumps, and septic systems.

That’s OK. We also spent considerable time within the walls, where pipes, drains, and vents are indifferent to preliminary or ultimate systems that carry, impel, or collect their contents.

As emphasized throughout the week, the Shelter Institute teaches people to be independent. Building a house is difficult. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t enjoyable, nor that anyone is incapable of doing it.

That’s especially true of particular components. Without flinching, Blueberry Hennin assured us that all of us can plumb a house by ourselves.

As she put it, what’s needed is preparation and patience: “Plan ahead and take your time.”

That means knowing when to install each component and how it fits into the rest of the build.

Plumbing should be considered early… before deciding to buy a site. Especially in recent years of buying property “sight unseen”, many purchasers didn’t even know whether they could dig a well or release waste.

Usually they can. But it may entail costly creativity or tedious tangling with regulators. A dream home becomes a money pit before a dozer moves any dirt.

To avert such agony, soil inspections should precede purchase, with analysis as to whether and where wells, septic systems should sit.

“Christmas Miracle”

When that’s determined, potential drill holes, pipe paths, tank pits, and leach pads should be located. We discussed whether a well should be dug before or after the foundation was finished.

As with most questions when building, it depends. Gaius Hennin acknowledged how nice it is to have water on the work site, describing the ability to easily wash hands and tools as a “Christmas Miracle”. But he also offered reasons to wait.

Regarding piping, departures should be scheduled before arrivals are set. Gravity governs outgoing waste. Yet a home welcomes water that’s pushed by pumps.

It can enter the body of the building anywhere, with arteries arranged however we like. But it must flow away on a descending flight. Sewage rides the same force that felled Newton’s apple. We just need it to follow the prescribed path, and to avoid round-trips.

On several occasions (including this one and this one), our own home taught us that lesson. With several cautionary tales, Blueberry reinforced them. She offered numerous options for conveying and capturing effluence, and unwelcome consequences for doing so incorrectly.

Soothing Cocktail

We’ve reached the weekend. Halfway thru this course, I’m enthused and overwhelmed. I hope (and think) that’s the intent. The class offers a mansion of information in a tiny house of time. But big pictures can fit small frames.

I’m not here to learn everything. That’s not possible in two weeks. What Shelter offers is an in-depth impression that inspires viewers to keep looking. I wouldn’t be Leonardo after two weeks locked in the Louvre. But I might be interested in picking up a brush.

As impressive as the lessons have been, the teachers are even more admirable. The Hennins remind me of my winemaking Walla Walla cousins. They welcome risk, embrace error, and treat challenges as an opportunity to improve. And they include their kids in everything they do.

They also provide for those who can’t fend for themselves. Much as my cousin, Ashley, started Vital Wines to help winemakers receive medical coverage, the Hennins made healthcare available for many in Maine.

About the time Patsy Hennin was diagnosed with breast cancer, she and her husband helped enhance Mid Coast Hospital in Brunswick, one of the best hospitals in the United States. That was when Gaius and Blueberry became involved in the business.

Like a soothing cocktail with an enlivening kick, they make a good mix. There’s nothing about it we’d wash down the drain.

JD

Woolwich, Maine

November 7, 2025

Yesterday Archimedes came to class. After finishing the previous day’s discussion of site selection, we started working with rigging.

Having framed the floors and laid the boards, our next task was to erect the walls. Given a set of plans and our own bag of tools, we measured, cut, and arranged the wood.

But first we learned efficient ways to move it around. Skeletal studs aren’t difficult to lift. A finished frame is fairly light.

Yet big beams must be maneuvered, large posts positioned, and the occasional tree uprooted. How can small crews accomplish such feats?

They invite Archimedes to assist!

Back to Statics

The third century BC Greek mathematician famously said he could move the earth with only a place to stand.

Our instructor christened this principle the “Art of Persuasion” - a means of coaxing movement using minimal muscle. On a nearby board were equations I recalled from Statics class:

To lift a load, the effort applied at a given distance from a fulcrum must exceed the weight of what we want to raise. As the length of our lever increases, the force required recedes.

This point was proven when one of our female classmates easily elevated the floor and foundation we’d built the day before. She did the same to affirm similar principles using pulleys.

The comealong is the lever Archimedes would’ve loved. It’s simple, compact, and convenient. And it hoists a ton (literally), especially when combined with a pivot point.

A makeshift steeple can redirect the force of the comealong to a vertical element. Its purpose is to redirect a chain upward so it pulls the bent off the ground.

The beauty of the technique is its simplicity, and that it doesn’t require expensive tools. It’s particularly helpful lifting timber frames for which Shelter Institute is famous.

But that’s not all they’re known for. They offer engineering and insights to enable independence. Yet liberty is more than being left alone. It’s essentially the ability to fend for yourself.

Common Sense

That’s what this place preaches. Yesterday a student asked founder Pat Hennin whether an ingenious building method he’d used decades ago would still work.

“Of course it does”, Pat replied. “Why wouldn’t it?”

Before the student could respond, Pat continued: “It’s only problem is the inspector won’t approve.”

The student raised his arms in mock exasperation, as if that were his point. Pat knew that, yet he used the question to repeat a point of his own:

“I teach common sense. I’m not concerned with what bureaucrats think. They’re all about compliance. And I hate complying with anything (which doesn’t mean he won’t). Our staff here will ensure you know how to comply. Then you can choose to do so if you want.”

I like this guy more and more every day. His entire family and team is a delight. They offer guiding principles, engineering insights, and practical knowledge novices can understand. And they do so with patience and smiles… and common sense.

The course is billed as a deep-dive into design and construction of framed structures. And it is.

But it’s also a class about perspective and philosophy. They teach how to think, which (after all) is the first word in their motto. This pertains less to what you do than what you want. And (most importantly) why you want it. When you know that, there isn’t much you can’t accomplish.

The One Lesson

Yesterday afternoon, Pat displayed and described how he’d built an elaborate fireplace. He’d never erected a chimney before.

After walking us thru what he’d done, Pat fielded questions from the class. Among those posed was whether he did much research before beginning risky projects he’d never attempted.

“That fireplace is so elaborate, I’d be too paralyzed by fear of messing up a project where so many things could go wrong. Do you do much reading or research before starting something like this?”

“Yes, all the time.” Pat replied. “But I didn’t for this one.”

The class chuckled as he continued.

“I read and research all the time. My sixth grade teacher told us that we weren’t real men. She said you can’t be a real man if you don’t read a book every week. So since then, I’ve read a book every week.

“That’s how you learn not to get rattled by whatever’s going on. It’s all happened before. I’d built a lot. And others had built fireplaces. If they could do it, so could I.”

As important as books are, ability is acquired thru experience and practice. After all, that’s why we’ve come to this class. And Pat concluded with the one lesson we must all retain.

“There’s nothing you can’t do”, he assured us. “You just have to know you can figure it out… whatever it is.”

JD

Woolwich, ME

November 6, 2025

Albert J Nock once described the disadvantages of being educated. Among them is a conceit of knowledge, which lures credentialed “experts” into secluded cul-de-sacs of irrelevance and delusion.

“Of all ignorance”, Thomas Sowell warned, “the ignorance of the educated is the most dangerous. Not only are educated people likely to have more influence, they are the last people to suspect that they don’t know what they are talking about when they go outside their narrow fields.”

I’ve recognized that this week. The danger of a Professional Engineer attending a “Design-Build” workshop is the temptation to feign expertise in things he’s long forgotten or never known.

It’s like fudging a golf score. No one cares, and it does the fraudster no favors. If anything, it harms the liar by understating his handicap.

Learning works the same way. Students should treat their egos how a victorious politician treats campaign promises.

They should ignore whatever preceded today. Assume nothing, ask questions, and assess answers offered by teachers and classmates. Then request clarification of what isn’t understood.

Penny Stock

Like being happy about buying the cheapest house in the neighborhood, pupils should welcome being the “dumbest” person in class. They become the penny stock with explosive upside.

Besides, anyone who already “knows everything” has no reason to be in school. And his classmates (and instructors) would be grateful if he weren’t. Especially when he last practiced his “narrow field” three decades ago.

As a civil engineer, I specialized in roadways, shipping channels, and the Golden Gate Bridge… which I spent four years helping to retrofit.

But I never hammered a nail, turned a screw, or dug a hole. I’d prepare plans, hand them off, and return to my table. Others would build what I’d drawn. There’s a lot to learn from what they know.

Real Science

There’s a perception that with scopes, beakers, and tubes, “science” graces the world with the fruits of its labs. But most advancements work the other way.

Builders and practitioners are the true scientists. They observe and replicate, try new processes, and discard whatever doesn’t work. Academia often trails the trades, formalizing what creators have already constructed.

That’s not what happens here. The Shelter Institute is a family-run business that’s true to its roots. Pat Hennin started it fifty-two years ago. I met him Monday, and have liked him since.

Yesterday he wore a T-shirt with a toothbrush whining how it hated its job. Next to it was a roll of toilet paper reminding him it could be worse. It was a funny plea to stop griping. Accountability is the real curriculum.

Your Fault

Pat and I spoke during a cookout after yesterday’s session. Philosophically and politically, we have a lot in common. We talked about erstwhile independence, stupid zoning laws, yesterday’s elections, and our respective families.

He told me his father always emphasized that whatever Pat endured (or enjoyed) was Pat’s fault. My sons tired of me telling them the same thing.

Complaining does no good. Blaming others rarely helps. Better to wonder what we could’ve done to avoid the mess, and to learn from it… even if others seem to have caused the problem.

That’s the secret of the Shelter Institute. As discussed the other day, their philosophy is to think thoroughly and build right so we can live well. It’s best to make errors early and correct them quick.

That theme has persisted all week. Which makes sense. Repetition is the key to retention. That’s why I write these epistles: to help reinforce what I’ve learned.

Pier Pressure

After overviews of design, drafting, regulations, and road building, we delved deeper into Building Codes. These vary by jurisdiction, but the International Residential Code (IRC) is the basis in most places.

Gaius Hennin summarized pertinent aspects of the code, after which his sister Blueberry gave a great lesson on designing, setting, and laying foundations. She offered advantages and disadvantages of continuous walls and discontinuous piers, and when each would work best.

Pat preceded those proceedings discussing site selection, particularly the use of materials and trees to mute or magnify heat, water, or wind. He elaborated on pertinent properties of wood, stone, cement, and steel, and why and where each should (and shouldn’t) be used.

After our bird’s eye view the first day, we spent two afternoons ascending the soil. Moving to the studio, we grabbed tools, and leveled and squared foundation walls.

When the sides were set, we framed the floors. In came the I-beams and boards, which we latched to the foundation walls. We’d formed our floors. After a night of nourishment, they’ll become the seeds from which new walls will sprout.

Wabi-Sabi

Proper building, as a fellow student put it, emblemizes Wabi-Sabi… the Japanese appreciation of the perfection of imperfection. Supplemented by modern measurements and high-tech lasers, we still employ the hydraulic equilibrium of ancient Egyptians… which is what we used to level our foundation.

One method isn’t necessarily “better” than another. They’re merely different and complementary when used correctly.

Like many lessons this week, this one reminded me how my background as an economist reinforces my experience as an engineer. Each equilibrates economy and comfort.

Whether we like it or not, that’s what we all do. Wood or steel, nails or screws, blocks or pour, resources are scarce and time is sparse.

When building, as in life, choices must be made. Several times this week, Gaius Hennin referenced Voltaire’s aphorism than the perfect is the enemy of the good.

That’s true. Because perfection doesn’t exist. As Thomas Sowell said, there are no solutions; only trade-offs.

JD

Woolwich, Maine

November 3, 2025

Stationed on the furthest fringe of the eastern frontier, Maine is America’s sentry to the sun: the first state to greet the dawn… and to bid dusk adieu at the end of the day.

This week, that works for me. Sunday’s reversion to Standard Time also helped, activating my circadian rhythm an hour earlier.

Sunlight isn’t the only gift Maine gets first. It sees winter sooner too. This morning my car was frozen. Fortunately, the glaze was thin. But it reminded me to allot extra minutes to clear the windshield.

After grabbing coffee and scraping ice, I drove north under a coat of fog… a brief commute across the Kennebec. By the time I completed the ten minute ride to Woolwich, the fog was gone. During two days in Maine, few clouds have cluttered the sky, and no rain has fallen from it.

That’s about to change.

Relative to the interior, coastal Maine is what people in these parts call “mild”. A few referred to their November weather as “warm”, then wondered why a Southerner would look at them as if he’d received a plate of poutine after ordering a side of fries.

To keep out-of-state interlopers from overwhelming their enclave, these locals asked that I not let anyone know about this balmy outpost. With cold rain coming tonight and tomorrow’s wind speeds expected to exceed its afternoon temperatures, I assured them their secret is safe.

Local Busybodies

But word is out about the Shelter Institute. For two weeks I’m one of three dozen students learning how to build a house. We first met this morning, when eighty year-old founder Pat Hennin welcomed us with warnings about rising authoritarianism.

Uh oh.

I winced… worried we’d be subjected to more unsolicited caterwauling about Donald Trump and DC politics. That’s not what I came here to hear. If anything, it’s what I came to escape.

Yet Pat wasn’t talking about our imperial incompetents. He was referring to local busybodies who won’t leave us alone.

Having run his business more than half a century, Pat lamented that property “owners” find it so much harder to do what they wish with plots they’ve bought.

He was annoyed that permits, codes, and ordinances govern every pane, lintel, and knob of whatever house someone dares to build or has the guts to gut.

OK, good. I was liking this guy more and more.

But like taxes, Daylight Savings Time, or Quantitative Easing, bureaucratic idiocies exist. We can complain about them (and should). But it’s essential to know what they are, and how they affect raising a new residence, razing an old one, or renovating a place we’d like to retain.

Tomorrow we devote an entire morning to that topic, because nothing else matters if we don’t understand it.

Design and Draft

But today began with a birds-eye view of building a nest. After discussing criteria for what a roost could be, what it must do, and potential trade-offs that might be made, Gaius Hennin described ways to pick, apportion, and position the twigs.

Gaius is Pat’s son, and is about my age. Like this author, he’s a Professional Engineer. Unlike me, he still knows what he’s talking about. He does this every day, and it shows.

Gaius kicked us off by emphasizing the essentials. In homebuilding (as in almost any endeavor), philosophy, planning, and preparation are indispensable prerequisites. These are leverage for subsequent phases of any development.

As in investing, decisions compound… and become more expensive (in time, money, and migraines) the later we realize the wrong ones were made. Gaius described the “Design Manifesto”, and six considerations when constructing a home.

He then delved into an engineer’s perspective on building a house. The next two weeks will provide hands-on applications of the principles he espoused. But this overview alone was worth the price of admission.

Remembering What We Forget

After lunch, Gaius’s sister took the stage. Blueberry (Pat and his late wife Patsy gave their kids cool names) provided a workshop on drafting.

Having started my career with Architect scales, T-squares, and triangles, I assumed this would be routine. That was before I remembered how much you can forget in thirty years.

The Shelter Institute does use Computer Aided Design (we’ll get a lesson next week), which was becoming common when I graduated Georgia Tech.

But as Pat put it, when you pick up a pencil you become part of the project in a way pounding keys could never connect you. That’s why the Shelter Institute teaches us like this. It’s almost as if they’ve done it before.

As my wife and mother will attest, I like drawing. I used to make maps as a kid, and designed bridges and buildings as an adult. So for me, this was fun.

But it wasn’t as easy as I’d assumed it would be. I have and use straight edges and scales at home, tho’ there are intricacies I’d forgotten. Blueberry reminded me of many of them while we students compared our evolving prints.

By the end of the afternoon, we’d prepared plans and elevations of a sample house. We were told to keep them, so I assume they’ll be the basis of projects later in the course. Recognizing we were (or she was) bleary-eyed, Blueberry released us.

Dusk descended as our day ended. I returned to Bath for a nice dinner at its eponymous Brewing Company. After a hearty helping of steak tips, I headed “home” to pen this epistle.

Flight from France

When I got here, I recalled the day and how it started. Pat Hennin relayed a story about a French prisoner during the Second World War. Part of his duties were to press the uniforms of German officers.

After months performing this task, the inmate had an idea. Having an aptitude for language, he’d become fluent in German (unlike the undercover soldier in Inglourious Basterds, he apparently never raised the wrong three fingers).

One day after pressing a uniform, he put it on. More audacious than Andy Dufresne in the warden’s shoes, he walked out of the prison. Seeing a car, he ordered the driver to take him away.

They drove to an air strip. The camouflaged captive taught a Nazi attendant how to turn a propeller. The furtive fugitive then boarded the plane, and flew out of France.

And that’s how Pat Hennin’s father came to America.

JD

Bath, Maine

November 2, 2025

Thomas Jefferson called it the “knell of the Union”… a “fire bell in the night” that “awakened and filled [him] with terror.”

Several decades later, his apprehension proved prophetic. Seventeen years earlier, he’d emplaced the clapper that caused the noise.

Louisiana Purchase

Upon independence, the Treaty of Paris transferred TransAppalachia to the American states. The territory between the Atlantic and the Mississippi…from the Great Lakes to south Georgia… became fertile ground for westward expansion.

But the path was blocked. With the Spanish holding New Orleans, the Gulf of Mexico remained out of reach. Jefferson considered foreign powers that held the city to be the “natural and habitual enemy” of the United States.

As a relatively impotent empire, Spain could be managed. But Jefferson fretted when Louisiana was retroceded to imperial France. The president ordered his envoys in Paris to purchase New Orleans.

Napoleon had his hands full in Haiti, and was busy battling everyone else almost everywhere. He was ready to be rid of Louisiana, and offered the Americans the entire territory.

Time was short, so the diplomats accepted the offer before the emperor could rescind it. Overcoming Constitutional scruples, Jefferson convinced Congress to approve the deal.

With the Crescent City came a vast expanse extending to the front range of the Rockies. But rare is the bounty unaccompanied by burden.

The new territory became a pivot in an ever-shifting balance of power. Sectional animosity had always existed, as had secessionist sentiment (that, after all, is what the Declaration of Independence expressed). But Louisiana agitated it.

The Missouri Problem

After the Louisiana Purchase, the Embargo of 1807, and the War of 1812, New England felt marginalized. At the Hartford Convention in 1814, those “Deep North” states considered secession. Although (or because) they decided to stay, tension continued to simmer.

By 1819, it came to a boil.

Spain and France had sanctioned slavery in Upper Louisiana. When Jefferson acquired the territory, slaves represented about a quarter of the population around St. Louis. Within a few years, Congress hinted at restrictions. But local opposition preserved the practice in Missouri.

The region became a territory the month the War of 1812 began. As the decade ended, it petitioned to become a state. During relatively routine debate regarding admission, an amendment was submitted requiring Missouri to prohibit slavery as a condition of statehood.

Representatives in northern Massachusetts agreed. While acrimony roiled the west, these Mainers wanted out of Massachusetts.

The Maine “Solution”

Europeans first found Maine about thousand years ago, as Vikings ventured southwest from Iceland or Greenland. But the French founded the first confirmed settlements in the early seventeenth century.

They fought with the English and Indians for more than a hundred years. American Mainers battled the British during the War for Independence, and were recognized as part of Massachusetts when it ended.

The War of 1812 incited secessionist desire in the district, which pro-British merchants in Massachusetts refused to defend. By 1819, Massachusetts relented, and let Maine go. But would the new state be allowed into the union?

Missouri would be the price. Five Maine representatives voted not to pay. They preferred remaining part of Massachusetts to accompanying an additional slave state into the US.

But not for long.

When Missouri requested admission, eleven states lay on either side of the Mason-Dixon line, which (with the Ohio River) became the approximate basis for the Missouri Compromise.

Alabama had recently been admitted as a slave state, which brought the scales into balance. Maine was the chip to keep accounts aligned. If Missouri entered, Maine could too.

The Compromise welcomed Maine as a free state, and excluded slavery from territory north of the southern Missouri border… excepting the new state of Missouri itself.

This was the ringing that kept Jefferson awake. It was

“a reprieve only, not a final sentence. A geographical line, coinciding with marked principle, moral and political, once conceived and held up to angry passions of men, will never be obliterated; and every new irritation will mark it deeper and deeper.”

That’s precisely what each “new irritation” did. And there were plenty of them. But for thirty years, the Missouri Compromise enabled an uneasy equilibrium.

Blessed Seclusion

Since that time, Maine has nestled in blessed seclusion in the far northeast. It remains the least densely populated state east of the Mississippi, and the most rural one in the union.

It’s also the oldest (about a third over 50) and whitest (95%) demographic in America…

so I should fit right in!

Bordering Québec, about four percent of Mainers speak French… slightly more than in Louisiana, and a greater proportion than in any other state.

Almost half of all residents live around Portland, which was the initial location of the state capital. Within a decade, the seat of government moved to Augusta… ensuring it remained in a place with a name now more associated with a city in another state than with a pleasant town in bucolic Maine.

Locals seem fine with that. The last thing inhabitants of this reclusive state want is recognition. I don’t blame them. Look what happened to Portland’s western namesake after it was overrun by outsiders who “discovered” it.

Pressing My Luck

I arrived in the Pine Tree State this afternoon, and made a pit stop in Portland before continuing up the coast (more on that later in the week).

I was last in Maine just over a decade ago, on a stop in Bar Harbor sailing south from Canada. My only other visit was sixteen years earlier for a wedding in Islesboro, about sixty miles from where I sit.

On each of those occasions… in late June and early September… the weather was wonderful and the scenery sublime. I feared returning in November might press my luck. The latest forecasts suggest it’ll hold.

As of now the next two weeks look like the meteorological equivalent of a blue chip stock: low volatility, little rain, and temperatures finding support at freezing and testing resistance just above fifty. Chilly, tho’ not bad.

But the weather is mostly irrelevant. With respect to quaint towns… and captivating cliffs, rocks, and inlets carved by glacial retreat… I’m not here to see sights or soak up scenery.

As I noted a few days ago, for two weeks I’ll be sawing, setting, wiring, and plumbing. From foundation to framing and pipes to beams, I hope to learn how to build a house.

I earned a degree in Civil Engineering from Georgia Tech, was licensed as Professional Engineer (PE) in three states, and designed numerous structures and roadways in Georgia, Pennsylvania, and Northern California. But I never built any of them.

My job was to approve the design, affirm the calculations, and sign off on projects others would construct. In essence, I was an egghead who understood theory while being ignorant of practice.

The Shelter Institute

I’m here to rectify that. Tomorrow is the first day of a two-week “Design-Build” course offering hands-on instruction erecting homes.

Fifty years ago, Pat and Patsy Hennin founded the Shelter Institute in Bath, Maine (not to be confused with “main bath”).

At the turn of the century, they opened the wooded waterfront campus in nearby Woolwich… an Arcadian enclave to impart their craft.

The second generation is actively involved in this family business, which conducts classes, builds homes, sells tools, and offers a wide assortment of real estate services.

I became aware of the Institute after reading The Preparation. It hosts the “anchor course” for the “Builder” cycle (one of sixteen in the “curriculum”) described in the book.

Courses are popular and space is limited. This session was full when I tried to register late last year. But I added my name to the wait list, and a few months ago, a spot opened. I quickly grabbed it and booked a flight.

With about thirty other students, I’ll (hopefully) acquire skills to sprout a shelter from the earth… including designing and drafting, understanding real estate regulations, manipulating materials, laying foundations, leveling, framing, rigging, sheathing, plumbing, wiring, insulating, roofing, installing windows, and applying wraps.

A fire bell may have brought Maine into the union. But a school bell brings me into Maine. Unlike the ringing that worried Thomas Jefferson, let’s hope this sound signals an ability to build a house that’ll stay standing.

JD

Atlanta, GA

October 30, 2025

I’ve repeatedly referenced or written about a new book. The Preparation, authored by Doug Casey, Matt Smith, and Matt’s son Maxim Smith, details a unique alternative to attending college.

The target audience is young men, but most of its principles and programs can apply to people of all ages and either sex (a Preparation for girls is apparently being planned). Most who hear about this book say they wish it existed when they were younger.

I do too.

Designs Come to Life

When I attended high school, vocational paths still existed… but they were fading. Classes like Shop and Home Economics weren’t required, but were still offered as electives. Within a few years, they’d be eliminated entirely. “Successful” high school students were expected to go to college.

That’s what I did. I have no regrets about that. I attended Georgia Tech, earned a degree in Civil Engineering, and became licensed as a Professional Engineer in three states. The work was interesting, usually in demand, and paid well (tho’, as I observed here, not as well as I’d assumed).

My focus was transportation systems, structural design, and geotechnical engineering. For several years after the ‘89 Loma Prieta earthquake, I worked on the retrofit of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was great.

The work was satisfying because it was real. I enjoyed seeing my ideas and designs come to life, particularly on such an iconic structure in a significant place.

But I had plenty of mundane projects too. I oversaw dredging projects under San Francisco Bay, managed fuel system replacements at transit facilities, retrofitted or replaced ferry landings, and designed many highway extensions, widenings, and overpasses.

After a while, I decided I wanted more. At the time, MBAs were all the rage. I pursued one in the evenings at the University of San Francisco. But I did so because I thought I was supposed to.

I was afflicted by memetic desire, which I recognized when Matt Smith described it in The Preparation. Most friends and acquaintances followed that path, which was apparently the way up “the ladder” (what else mattered?). I figured I’d get the paper and receive more pay.

Comfortable and Content

As it happened, I did. Along the way, I discovered economics, which I taught to Executive MBA students on the Stanford campus. While I was doing so, we moved back to Atlanta, where I received my MBA from Georgia Tech.

From there, I entered corporate life. For two decades, I led Pricing and Revenue Management organizations at several global corporations. Much of the time, it was fine. The pay was good, and people I worked with were great.

Yet the work was rarely inspiring. But by this time, I was happily married, had a couple kids, and didn’t consider doing anything else.

Besides, I wasn’t miserable. If anything, I was comfortable and content… which is probably worse because it precludes the motivation misery brings.

Yet, professionally, every day, week, month, and year started to seem the same. Because they were. The routine became a rut: hit some arbitrary quarterly growth target, beat budget, and prepare piles of PowerPoints for periodic reviews with various executives.

I may not have been miserable, but I was bored.

After years of travelling, covid finally kept me home. The rut got worse. Within a couple years, I left corporate life… and have been out ever since. But I was still unsure what I wanted to do.

I’d always written, so I picked up the pace (which is unfortunate for those on whom these missives are inflicted). With more time to read and research, my investing improved… and has since become more lucrative.

Yet something was missing. I was informed, highly educated, and fairly well-read. But there were many skills I lacked and practical things I couldn’t do.

Too many. Which made it hard to know where to start.

So I didn’t. Until now.

Guinea Pig

I discovered Matt Smith several years ago, on the podcast he does with Doug Casey. I’d read Doug’s books and newsletters for decades, but stumbled on this podcast almost by mistake. I was elated to find it, and pleasantly surprised by the insightful host.

At one point, I heard them discuss an idea for a book. Doug tentatively referred to it as “Renaissance Man”, which described the qualities and skills young men should possess.

Not long after, Matt contacted me after reading some of my essays. I was flattered he liked them, and we began to correspond. I contributed a few pieces for the incipient newsletter that became Crisis Investing.

Behind the scenes, The Preparation kept percolating. Long before it was brewed, Matt mentioned his son was a “guinea pig” for the concept Doug envisioned.

Intrigued, I called Maxim, and was impressed… both by who he was and what he was doing. I’ve followed his progress closely since, which is easy since he publishes it regularly on his terrific Substack.

When The Preparation was completed, Matt sent me a pre-read copy. I read it within a day, and wrote a review the night it was released.

Since then, Doug, Matt, and Maxim have been interviewed many times to discuss the book. Almost every time, the interviewer lamented he lacked The Preparation when he was younger.

I had the same regret.

But there was no reason to. I have the book now. Who cares if I’m not 18? As the saying has it, “the best time to plant an oak was thirty years ago; the second best time is now.” Regardless how rocky the soil, it’s never too late to sow a few seeds.

Maybe The Preparation is what I needed to acquire capabilities I neglected in youth. I’ve always had my head in the clouds. Now it’s time to put my feet on the ground.

Courses, Books, and Extracurriculars

The Preparation consists of sixteen cycles. I decided to pick one, and do it myself. In my case, this may be more “Reparation” than preparation. But there’s no reason age should be an obstacle, especially for someone as young as I.

Each cycle entails an “anchor course”, plenty of reading, and an assortment of extracurriculars. For practical reasons (and because of my background), I decided to begin with “the Builder” cycle.

Despite my extensive experience designing things for others to construct, I’ve never deigned to build them myself. That’s inexcusable. Having made my confession, it’s time for penance… which should be a pleasure.

This Sunday I’m going to Maine. I’ll spend two weeks at the Shelter Institute, where I’ll essentially learn to build a house. Design, drawing, foundation, regulation, rigging, plumbing, electrical, framing, insulation, sheathing… all of it.

Along the way, every Preparation cycle prescribes several courses and many readings. This week I completed the World’s Largest Buildings and Structures class from The Great Courses.

Because of my background, it was mostly review. But my education and experience were a long time ago, and these lessons remind me how much I enjoyed what I did.

Professor Stephen Ressler from West Point is terrific. He deftly blends materials, mechanics, and analysis with the context and history when great structures were built.

Among other wonders, it reacquainted me with the Pantheon, Parthenon, Eiffel Tower, Gothic Cathedrals, and the Eads Bridge. And, of course, with the wonderful structure on which I once worked.

Upcoming courses (just in this cycle) cover Greek and Roman Technology, the History of Civilizations, and the Rise of the Novel. This is just for one of sixteen cycles! Why wouldn’t anyone want to do this?

The assigned readings include The Law by Fredric Bastiat, The Virtue of Selfishness by Ayn Rand, and The Iliad… each of which I’ve read several times. I may do so again, and would be glad to.

But for now, I amended the list to include The Ten Books on Architecture by Vitruvius and The Art of Building in Ten Books by Leon Battista Alberti. These are also re-reads, but thought they’d be inspirational and beneficial before going to Maine.

Conveniently, each of these selections is on my shelf. I read them years ago as part of Architecture courses to which I detoured at Georgia Tech while pursuing my MBA (I should’ve recognized then where my heart wanted to go).

Other reading assignments include Modern Man in Search of a Soul by Carl Jung and Only Yesterday by Frederick Allen, each of which I’ve never read and just received.

For extracurriculars, I’ve begun practicing piano (most days), shooting pistols (each week), and refining my French. So far, so good.

The Essential Ingredient

No matter the plan, discipline is the essential ingredient to attaining success. That’s why I’m writing this note.

A key component of “The Preparation” is weekly updates to remain accountable. I guess this is my first installment. I’ll sprinkle more amid my usual musings, and (as always) welcome feedback from those who care to share.

JD

Athens, GA

September 27, 2025

“The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways - I to die, and you to live. Which is better God only knows.”

- Socrates, The Apology

Lenin said there are decades when nothing happens, and weeks when decades happen. In recent years, the calendar has certainly picked up the pace.

We’ve…

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Tampa, FL

September 1, 2025

Labor Day is an apt time to consider a common question. It comes up often, especially at social events where strangers mingle and introductions are made. It also arises, as it has this weekend, among old friends I haven’t seen for years.

At happy hours, cocktail receptions, or dinner parties, after the obligatory handshakes and exchange of names, it’s inevitably asked:

“What do you do?”

For four decades, here are some of the ways I’ve responded.

Earth and Water

I began my career as a civil engineer. I’m still licensed in three states, including California. After graduating from Georgia Tech, that’s where I went.

I started in Sacramento, then settled in San Francisco. My areas of expertise were transportation systems, structural design, and geotechnical engineering.

For this type work, there were few places better than the Golden Gate Bridge. So, after a brief detour to Philadelphia (where I met my wife), that’s where I went.

In the wake of the ‘89 earthquake, plans were made to replace the roadway and reinforce the structure.

That quake disrupted the World Series and killed 63 people, yet spared the span. But another 1906-type temblor risked leaving much of it in shambles.

For several years I helped retrofit the structure. My efforts concentrated on the south anchorage beside Fort Point. We evaluated and strengthened the soil to support new rock anchors below the abutment.

I spent as much time on the bay as under the earth. The Golden Gate Bridge is managed by The Golden Gate Bridge Highway and Transportation District, which oversees a fleet of ferries and buses connecting San Francisco with counties north of the bridge.

In addition to reinforcing the famous structure, I helped design ferry terminals and fuel systems, and oversaw dredging projects on San Francisco Bay. Occasionally, more disturbing objects were pulled from the water.

Once, when measuring salination effects at the base of the south tower, I found a body bobbing in the moat… one of more than two thousand suicides who’ve leapt from life off the side of the span (the thousandth death occurred while I was there).

Forbidden Recipe

By night, I decided to broaden my horizons. I pursued an MBA at the University of San Francisco. While there, the Chair of the Economics department asked me to help teach the dismal science to Executive MBA students. The courses were twice a week on the Stanford campus.

Those nights, I made the round-trip trek down the peninsula. I’d already discovered Austrian economics, with which I’d season the Keynesian dish I was compelled to serve. The diners found those asides appetizing, tho’ I had to remind them not to divulge the forbidden recipe on the tests.

My professor encouraged me to pursue a PhD, which I decided not to do. Instead, I accepted an offer to return to Georgia Tech. My alma mater offered an assistantship as I earned my MBA.

I simultaneously completed requirements for a Masters of Economics. But Tech wouldn’t allow me to apply one class to two degrees. I had to pick, so I chose the MBA because it seemed more “practical”.

I also dabbled in Architecture courses, doubtless the only MBA student to take such electives. I loved it, and wrote several papers on the subject (including this one).

But I was eager to escape school. My affection for history and architecture would remain a hobby. But my knack for economics would be put to work.

Racing Rats

For a quarter century at several global corporations, I oversaw pricing strategy, revenue analytics, and other growth initiatives to “optimize” supply and amplify demand.

I helped guide an international airline after 9/11, a global soft drink provider thru the Great Recession, and a credit bureau during a data breach. It was a good run thru some tough times.

But after so many years in the race, I fell into a rut and grew tired of racing rats. Things turned dull… till corporate lunacy ended the tedium.

My last stop was one of the “Fortune 15” global drug distributors, leading one of their Revenue Management groups. This is where I worked when covid was uncorked and hypochondria ran wild.

As at most corporations, “diversity” diktats compounded covid hysteria. HR apparatchiks quarantined healthy employees at home, sheathed the faces of anyone in the office, ostracized anyone who shunned the “woke” religion, and fired dissidents who failed a drug test by not taking the drug.

Because I refused to get with the program, the company wanted me to go away. They paid me to leave, which provided cushion to decompress and catch my breath.

But I also needed ways to fill my time. For me that’s easy. So long as I have a book, a candle, a kettle of coffee, and a carafe of wine, I’m fine.

I spend several hours managing money and authoring these articles. Sounds like one of those “careers” concocted to disguise or embellish unexpected unemployment.

Sort of.

But it’s also how I can afford it. For thirty-five years my job was to make money. Now it’s to multiply it. The best way to do that is to not lose it. Floating high on a flood of faux credit, current markets make that easy to do.

As precaution, I’ve spent several years hauling our assets to higher ground. Our largest holdings are precious metals. We also own some stocks, primarily in companies that seek, extract, or ship natural resources.

Mouthing Off

As these investments quietly compound (in one direction or the other), I generate most of my income selling options and penning these epistles. I never expected as many readers as I have today, nor that anyone would be kind enough to pay for what I write (tho’ I’m grateful to all who do).

These essays started years ago as something of a diary… family updates, travel journals, book reviews, passing thoughts. I intentionally avoided anything controversial. Not till covid, Jacobin uprisings, and “mostly peaceful protests” did I use them to mouth-off about current events.

I was initially reluctant to publish my opinions. But like sampling a bag of chips, after the first foray I couldn’t stop myself. How could I stay silent during such outrageous overreach?

Our way of life was under assault. I couldn’t keep quiet. Even if no one read what I wrote (and few did), I wanted my opinions posted for future reference.

The future arrived fast. My company took notice. When it did, I expected to be fired.

I was right.

To some extent, I was relieved. When they offered me options to stick around, the thought of staying seemed repulsive.

There’s something immoral about abandoning your own judgment. Yet that was the condition to keep my job. I could keep cashing a check only if I discarded my conscience.

I couldn’t do it.

Having put myself in position where I didn’t have to, why would I? I didn’t have what most people think of as “F-U” money. But I had more than enough to reject “F-Me” money.

What type person (who can afford not to) remains among people who pay him only if he bows to their beliefs while betraying his own? Who would I be if that’s what I’d done?

Concentric Circles

I’m glad I never found out. But who am I now? That question rarely arises at cocktail parties.

I’m proud of my professional accomplishments. But most of them aren’t unique. Had I not existed, someone else could’ve done them. Many have.

But why? Are our ends worthy of the means we employ? What concentric circles do we want to create? Will they cause ripples or make waves? Is our pond improved because we wade in?

At some point we won’t be able to. Dave Collum notes that we each die twice: Initially at our earthly demise; and finally after the last time anyone utters our name. For many of us, those events occur at the same time.

We’re often asked what we do. Yet few wonder who we are. All too often (as a great new book emphasizes) that includes ourselves. But that’s ultimately all that matters.

Thru these missives I’ve met dozens of successful, interesting, and philosophically-sound friends around the world.

When we meet people, does it really matter how they make money (or whether they do)? Or would we rather know they’re respectful and respectable, honest and dependable, considerate and courageous, temperate and thoughtful, charitable and just?

More important, shouldn’t we want that to be the type person new acquaintances encounter when they shake our hand? As this long weekend winds down, we lament there’s no holiday honoring such a pursuit.

JD

Atlanta, GA

June 22, 2025

“Dost thou love life? Then do not squander Time; for that is the Stuff Life is made of.”

– Benjamin Franklin

It’s easy to fear the worst or feel sorry for ourselves. A select few have the fortitude to resist. But most of us don’t.

We waste time ruminating about what’s already been, or fretting what’s yet to come (but that usually ne…

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Paris, France

May 24, 2025

Within the last year, several friends about our age were diagnosed with terminal malignancies or other deadly ailments. One of them died yesterday. We heard the news on our way to Paris.

Mercifully, in the other cases, treatment seems effective. But it’s tenuous, and arduous. Cancer in remission can always recur. Within any of us, it’s liable to appear at some point.

And if it doesn’t, another killer will. It’s only a matter of when. No one gets out of life alive. The only question is when we go.

Most of us don’t know when that will be. But a fatal disease can narrow the window. With appropriate perspective, that can be a blessing. If we let it.

Extraordinary Grace

That’s what Scott Adams seems to have done.

This week, the creator of “Dilbert” divulged he’ll be leaving us sooner than he’d expected… or than any of us would want.

All our days are numbered. But Adams has known for a while that he has fewer than most. In an era devoid of dignity, he exhibited extraordinary grace announcing his impending death.

The day after Joe Biden’s prostate cancer became public, Adams shared that he suffers the same affliction. Like the ex-president, Adam’s malady spread to the bones. He expects to succumb sometime this summer.

But having had time to process what’s coming, Adams appreciates certain aspects of what he’s enduring. Knowing about how long he has allows him time to arrange affairs and say goodbyes.

He admitted his condition is excruciating, and that he has no good days. Each one is “a nightmare.”

But despite physical pain, he is at peace. By conveying his condition with calm courage, he gave a gift that will survive the grave.

“While this could be much worse… I’m handling it quite well. The pain is tough. I mean really tough. But the mental part, I got that under control. I know that some people are having a tough time with this. But remember, nothing lasts forever.”

That’s a helpful reminder, regardless how hard we try to resist.

Adams acknowledged trying several potential remedies to enable recovery. None worked. So now he’s reconciled to what’s next. And why not? Death is the unavoidable conclusion of every life.

It’s what’s supposed to happen. It happens to everyone. Adams isn’t whining or wondering “why me?” To Scott Adams, that question is silly.

It’s not him. It’s everyone. He recognizes he isn’t exempt from the human condition.

None of us are.

Not that we don’t hope to be mourned when we die. We do. For a little while.

But we don’t want our loved ones to mope. After they share some memories and shed a few tears, we expect them to honor our lives by making the most of their own.

Adams did that as long as he could. That’s one of the reasons he delayed admitting his ailment. He wanted to live as normally as possible, without being known as “the cancer guy.”

Adams isn’t kidding himself, or making futile pledges to “beat cancer.” He knows the game is already over. Cancer is merely milking the clock.

Dying Twice

As a Roman Catholic, I doubtless have religious differences with Scott Adams. But that’s not the point.

I simply appreciate the decorum with which he announced his malady and accepts his fate. It reminded me of a comforting way he once re-framed death.

All earthly entities come to an end. That includes our corporeal existence. No one is exempt. We’re all diagnosed with the terminal condition known as mortality.

Death isn’t merely inevitable; it’s necessary. Life is valuable because it’s limited. It has significance only because it ends. As Adams put it, “everything that has meaning comes from the fact that we don’t live forever.”

Yet he reassured us by acknowledging that, in a way, we do. We don’t so much die as transform. Our influence survives after we’re gone. How long is a function of how well we wielded it while we were here.

Dave Collum once said that we die twice. Once when life leaves our body. And again the last time anyone remembers our name.

We typically don’t determine when the first death occurs. But till it does, we strive to live in accordance with God’s will, to postpone the final passing as long as possible.

JD

Atlanta, GA

April 9, 2025

Why waste time writing these essays? Every once in a while, it’s good to remind myself.

The last couple weeks we received a slew of new subscribers (thank you…and welcome), so now seems a good time to revisit the mission of these puerile missives.

The short answer: there isn’t one.

These epistles are easy outlets for whatever’s on my mind. Which might make readers wonder how there’s any material at all!

But when there is…usually two or three times a week…the effluence includes thoughts on economics, history, religion, philosophy, family, books, investing, travel…and politics. The latter is what’s most prone to get me in trouble.

I’m not sure why. We all notice things, and form opinions. All I do is write mine down, as flawed interpretations of what I see, read, or hear. But for whatever reason, that can make people mad.

That’s too bad, and it certainly isn’t my intent. I just share my perspectives. No one is required to adopt them. Nor am I convinced they should.

Lobotomies and Leeches

Mostly, I’m just trying to capture moments and organize my thoughts. I harbor no illusions any of them are correct. Like lobotomies or leeches in the history of medicine, they simply reflect the thinking at a particular time.

Till a few years ago, these posts rarely ventured into political topics. I stayed away because it was too contentious. I wrote mostly about travel, family activities, books I’d read, movies I’d seen. Like a diary, it was mostly a journal for my own recollection.

Later, I began inflicting the scribbles on my extended family. This encouraged me to polish the essays, while keeping relatives apprised what I was up to.

But I kept politics at bay, especially as additional acquaintances started reading what I wrote. Why risk antagonizing friends or jeopardizing a job by publishing political opinions nobody requested?

Changing My Mind

For years, there was no reason. But with the covid hysteria, I changed my mind…mostly to ensure I hadn’t lost it.

When the virus came along, conventional opinion congealed…like a blood clot…around uniform responses we were all supposed to parrot. And it seemed like everyone did.

That’s part of propaganda, to suppress dissidents by making them think they’re alone. If you assume no one shares your opinion, you tend to keep it to yourself. Before long, you’ll probably abandon it as invalid. It’s why people in power prefer competing perspectives be silenced or shamed.

But I couldn’t believe so few people objected to the draconian measures being imposed upon us. So I decided to use this site to see if any of them did.

Apprehensively, like a Floridian entering a chilly lake, I started expressing opposition to the ridiculous restrictions and compulsory “guidelines.”

When I opposed the lockdowns, responses were favorable. I was relieved. Not only because most respondents didn’t think I was crazy, but because it affirmed to me that not everyone was nuts. People were pleased to hear they weren’t alone. For most of the next year, the covid fiasco filled many of these essays.

It was inconceivable people could lose friends, family, or employment because of how they viewed a virus. But that’s what happened. I began gathering readers I didn’t know, uncertain how they’d respond when I wandered into different topics.

A Running Catalogue

Then I realized it doesn’t matter. I need to write what I think. Often, that relates to the ongoing asylum of our contemporary scene. But not always.

Sometimes, I go on about some historic event. Other times, I relay one of our son’s accomplishments, a relative’s birthday, a repair at the house, or a death in the family. Occasionally, I’m moved to deplore the condition of the Catholic Church. It just depends.

Over the years, these articles have become something of an album…a running catalogue of current events. But instead of compiling photos, I compose these essays.

On occasion, like recoiling at teenage pictures featuring goofy haircuts and awkward apparel, I wince when re-read some of the tripe I’ve written.

But so what? It’s what I was thinking when I wrote it. Maybe I was wrong. That’s OK. I usually am. Most of us are.

How could it be otherwise? Information is infinite, almost all of it unknown. To any question, there’s an endless number of wrong answers, and (at best) only a few “right” ones. What are the odds we stumble into something correct?

Knowledge varies inversely with the square of the distance (in time and space) from events under contemplation. And when we think we’ve found it, it’s often wrong, and frequently laden with hidden lies or ulterior motives.

Especially in the public sphere, understanding is elusive while certainty abounds. When absorbing “the news”, we should reflexively doubt anything we see. I agree with Bill Bonner that we should believe no “facts” unless we make them up ourselves.

Tree in the Forest

One way or another, that’s what all of us do. We have no idea what’s really going on. Yet we speak authoritatively about events occurring around the world, featuring people we’ll never meet, amid cultures and conflicts we can’t possibly understand.

Regardless the topic, it takes only a matter of minutes for any ignoramus to become an “expert.” Most of us have little clue what’s happening in our own neighborhood. But we have confident recommendations about complex situations around the globe.

This particularly applies to the people “in charge”. Being in the middle of the messes they repeatedly make, around opinions that reinforce their own, they probably know the least of all. As the ancient Jewish saying has it, the best place to hide a tree is in a forest.

Chesterton said it’s easy to be blind to a thing, as long as it’s big enough. Given the size of the calamities they cause, our official busybodies should carry a white cane.

Easy for me to say. If I’m so sure these people are buffoons, why not quit commenting, and get in the game? What makes me think I can do any better than the buttinskies I denounce?

That’s easy: I don’t. Because I can’t. No one can. That’s the point.

Each of eight billion earthlings has his own set of priorities, fears, hopes, desires, dreams, and demons. No collection of political hacks, government agents, or elected officials…no matter how well-intentioned, eager, or educated… is capable of implementing top-down “policies” that won’t make matters worse.

How can any person, committee, Congress, or bureau possibly know how billions of individuals with varying value scales should react to a virus? Or what the appropriate temperature of the planet should be? Or the optimal interest rate in a $28T economy? Or where a line should be drawn between Russia and the Ukraine? Or if there should be one at all?

Unfortunately, these decisions tend to be made by the people least worthy of making them, because they genuinely think they’re qualified to do so. Almost without fail, the anointed deciders make things worse, then insist the disaster would’ve been avoided if they’d only been able to do more.

Doing the Dishes

Joining this fray doesn’t seem to solve the problem. If anything, it exacerbates it. After a century expanding “democracy” and “involving more people”, monetary inflation, government debt, military destruction, and cultural decay reached unfathomable levels.

With regard to politics, we probably need fewer people in the mix, not more. I’m more than willing to stay away, rather than join the circus and become another clown. Besides, there’s plenty to do closer to home.

PJ O’Rourke observed that everyone wants to save the world, but no one wants to help mom with the dishes. Except as entertainment…and to the extent it’s not destructive…national politics is mostly a waste of time. But local efforts can make a difference.

Energy is best channeled thru more productive circuits: building businesses, starting families, helping friends. We can enjoy good books, long walks, nice meals. Support local charities and community engagement. Indulge stimulating conversation sprinkled with healthy debate. And recall how to laugh, especially at ourselves.

As is obvious to anyone reading this, I’ll spout off when ignorant…especially when I assume I’m not. If I didn’t, I’d hardly say anything at all. None of us would. But we should always be mindful of our ignorance so we aren’t misled by our knowledge.

I admit I know almost nothing. Why wouldn’t I? The world is filled with things to be wrong about.

Maybe the mission of these missives is to work my way thru them, one mistake at a time.

JD

Atlanta, GA

March 16, 2025

With the leaves gone, we see less of the trees and more of the forest. And sometimes far beyond.

We’re often submerged in an ocean of urgency. But it’s important to occasionally come up for air…and to see which way the wind is blowing.

For many years, the gale has been persistent, and usually in our face. In recent weeks, it’s pi…

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Atlanta, GA

February 11, 2025

I have an uncle I admire immensely, but with whom I rarely agree politically. When I discuss those topics in these pages, his replies are often harsh. But they’re never cruel, and he’s always kind enough to use private email so not embarrass his nephew in public comments.

I take his censure seriously. Having lived longer than …

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Atlanta, GA

January 5, 2025

Years ago, when you were a young child, you wrote me a note. In it you described your hero, and explained why he was me.

That letter hangs in a frame by my desk. I see it often, but don’t notice it enough. This morning, I re-read it. It elicited a tear, and this response.

From the day you were born you’ve made me proud. You were …

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