In The Blood

Make of yourself an honest man, and there will be one less rascal in the world.

Thomas Carlyle 1803 – 1855

It behooves a man to know human nature in general and his own nature in particular, at least in your humble servant’s opinion, which, along with $1.25, will buy you a soft drink in a can.

Has Gentle Reader ever wondered why people do some of the things they do? While it makes perfect sense to work diligently for the necessities of life such as food, clothing, and housing, we do many unnecessary things that yield no apparent profit, for example gardening, despite fruits, vegetables and even flowers being easier and cheaper to purchase in a grocery store. And how about the large, lush green lawns and ornamental plants and trees we install around around our homes and maintain at great effort and expense, plants that serve no practical purpose but cost us time and money and other resources?

What flaming whips drives us to these excesses?

I daresay this isn’t just a guy thing, either. Many ladies insist on weaving, knitting, and sewing clothing and home furnishings by hand even when mass-produced, inexpensive products of similar quality and utility can be readily purchased from stores anywhere. It just doesn’t make sense, and I say that as a husband who, at the behest of She Who Must be Obeyed, has spent thousands of dollars on CNC sewing machines with unobtanium armatures and smoothie attachments all to make quilts that never spend a second on a bed and seldom even see the light of day.

What is this madness that has my delicate lady wife gripped in its barbed talons, and why does your humble servant feel compelled to financially support this apparent insanity?!

I fear the madness runs deeper still, for many males of the species spend inordinate amounts of time and money buying 4WD trucks, ATVs, clothing that makes them look like trees, camping gear and weapons of death and destruction (aka WODADs) in preparation for hunting season, a time when otherwise sane people don bright orange costumes and, like bloodthirsty pumpkins, chase Bambi around the mountains and forests just to obtain the most expensive meat to be found anywhere in the world. It’s nuts.

And don’t even get me started about fishing!

A good time was had by all during these hunting and fishing expeditions, but the calculus is complicated because, well, it just isn’t logical…

Woodworking is useful for making housing and furniture and many of the tools essential to civilization, but what about woodworking as a hobby? Isn’t it quicker, easier, less expensive and more sliver-free to buy pre-fabricated houses assembled on-site with bolts, and furniture made of MDF, plastic and steel excreted by Chinese factories? Of course it is, so what the heck is this friking parasite madly manipulating levers in our brains compelling us to make these things with our own hands instead?!

I don’t know why these urges drive us so relentlessly. I only know we want to do them and that doing them gives us satisfaction. But I do have a humble theory I will present for Gentle Reader’s consideration, just for giggles.

I believe that the habits and actions that successfully preserved our ancestors long enough for them to reproduce viable descendants became impulses imprinted in each subsequent generation’s DNA by design.

In this theory, successful farmers who survived in ancient times passed particular traits and genes on to their descendants so we can now enjoy Krispy Kreme donuts (no sprinkles please).

I suspect it is the farmer gene that compels so many of us to grow fruits and vegetables and surround our homes and cities with trees, lawns and shrubs, a form of agriculture similar to that which kept our ancestors from starvation. It’s the only possible explanation I can find for the universal compulsion to plant stuff.

The children of women who spun, wove, knitted and sewed clothing and bedding were healthier and survived more cold winters. Perhaps they passed down the sewing gene. I’m not sure where smoothie attachments fit into the equation, but clearly sewing machines have become part of the sewing compulsion in modern times, possible evidence that behaviors evolve and suggesting that future generations too will crave cold blueberry kiwi beverages.

The children of successful hunters and fishermen survived too. The compulsion to perform these activities is still strong in many, your humble servant included.

Have you noticed the irrational compulsion among many to hunt using truly ancient and less-effective weapons such as bows and arrows, and even spears in some cases, when high-power scoped rifles are an easier way to “make meat?”

Even the way we eat our food is driven by more than custom, IMHO. Consider the human ritual of gathering together in the evening to crack antelope bones and suck out yummy marrow while talking about the migratory patterns of birds and game, which variety of grain grows most abundantly where, how best to bind a stone axe head to a wooden haft, or which bend in the river has the biggest fish, all while saber tooth tigers and cave bears prowled around in the shadows just beyond the light of the communal fire.

Anyone who has ever spent a few days hunting or fishing with friends and family in the mountains or on the plains has felt the deep compulsion of facing the fire at night and putting one’s back to the darkness while telling tall tales about the one that gottaway in the company of trusted companions. I believe this too is inherited behavior.

Somewhere not far out on a limb of Gentle Reader’s family tree are hundreds, more-like thousands of ancestors that shaped the bones of trees into houses to protect and keep their families warm, and beds, tables, benches and chests to make life healthier and more pleasant. This is a practical and noble urge, one that, like farming, weaving and sewing, hunting and fishing has been useful in keeping body and soul in intimate contact for many thousands of generations in humanity’s past.

My father inherited the woodworking gene from a carpenter ancestor, one of two Covington brothers that left England in the 1600’s to travel to South Carolina by leaky boat. It appears I in turn have passed it down to my sons and grandsons. I’m glad of this for mayhap I hear the toenails of wolves clicking on stones in the dark shadows outside the firelight just now, so my heavy door of thick hewn oak with its sturdy cross-bar may come in handy before morning.

But for now, please ignore the snuffling and scratching noises at the door, sit down by the fire and let’s get started on that chess game, shall we? Relax, that’s my trusty rusty old spear named “big prick” mounted over the door, as you see, and your lovely bearded axe is there keeping it company along with our boots should our would-be visitors become too insistent. I’m sure spear, axe, and boots have much to discuss before the dawn.

Your move.

YMHOS

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