Although he had slept soundly Mike woke up early. Two things immediately struck him; the absence of any traffic noise, and the loud and rich chorus of bird calls. His bed was beside a long low window allowing him to look across the veranda roof down the slope to the lake, all now in pastel colours and a little mist. The distant view seemed different from this slightly higher angle, looking down on so many neat little clumps of foliage with roof tops protruding here and there. As he scanned the scene a slight movement caught his eye. Just outside the hedge three small wallabies were grazing on the sparkling wet grass.

He decided to go for a walk before breakfast, so dressed quickly, went down the stairs and out the front door. He could make out where the road beyond the front door would have once been because the footpath was still there, but beyond it was a hedge and netting fence enclosing a small orchard with chickens and ducks wandering around under the trees.

He headed up the slope, away from the town centre. Now he was more able to make sense of what he was seeing, and could identify some of the plants and the commons. Again he was stuck by how densely planted and manicured the landscape was as his path wound around patches of vegetables, shrubs, fruit trees, ponds, meadows and thickets of trees between the houses. Within a few hundred metres he had lost track of the turns he had made but knew he could find his way back without much trouble just by heading down slope.

He heard something coming towards him, some sort of vehicle it seemed although it was not a car. Around the bend came a horse slowly pulling a small dray loaded with hay barrels and empty crates. The driver waved a greeting as Mike climbed to sit on the fence to watch the parade. Chains and coils of rope and a lantern swung from hooks on the side. Sitting beside the driver was a small dog and written on the side of the dray were some faded words but all Mike could make out was "…Maxwell, General Carrier."

Mike thought back and calculated that he had not seen one motor car or truck moving since he’d arrived. He knew where some of the narrow tarred roads ran and where the parking space behind the shops was, but he hardly walked on one tarred road yet. Most of the wheeled traffic he’d come across was bicycles, often with a carrier on the front or back.

The houses thinned out as he found himself climbing a fairly steep and narrow ridge with a paddock on one side and forest on the other. Two cyclists came down and offered cheery good mornings as they passed. At a T he decided to go to the right, down off the ridge, with the aim of circling around and back to the house. The path soon headed steeply down into a gully and plunged into tall thick forest. He came to a small sign reading "Mary’s Dell". He turned into it and soon found himself dropping into a narrow forested gully. After only about 50 metres of winding down a now very narrow path between sandstone outcrops and ferns he began to hear running water. Branches hung low, making the track more like a tunnel in some places and damp ferns brushed his shins. At times the low sandstone overhangs made the path pass through little caves. In one he could hear water dripping, out of sight. The sky was obscured by tall trees and within some of the thickets it was quite dim.

Then suddenly the path levelled and came out of the scrub into an amphitheatre some 30 metres across, a clear and open space surrounded by a ring of massive tree trunks, and above a lofty ceiling of boughs and foliage blocking out the sky. Across the floor of the space a tiny creek trickled between mossy boulders and ferns, into pools and over rocks and low ledges. In the center, beside the path was a heavy old log seat, almost as green with moss as the rocks around it. It was as if he had come along a mine shaft and suddenly burst into King Solomon’s great hall. He sat down and leaned back, gazing up into the tangle of boughs high above.

All that could be heard were the bird calls and the gentle gurgling of the water. Nothing moved. It was a magical, inspiring place. Mike’s gaze zoomed in on caverns, gnarled logs, lichens and hanging strips of bark and the massive pillars of the surrounding gums, as if he needed to somehow map it all. Where did the creek flow in? Where did it go? Which direction was the town from here? Is this natural; the trees were in such a regular circle they could have been planted, but they were so big, like the pillars of a cathedral, reaching out and joining overhead. That’s it, Mike thought, this is a kind of church, a place of reverence, at least a place with the power to move the spirit, even capable of jolting the agnosticism in the soul of a hard headed, slightly burnt out journo. He felt a confusion of something like awe and humility and gratitude, and a sense of his own smallness and fretful impatience in the presence of timeless nature. Above all was the sense of calm, natural beauty. Then he realized that his initial concern to find answers had passed; all that mattered now was just to sit there and soak up the experience and appreciate the moment.

As if God intended to reward the right response, a faint beam of sunlight found its way through the lifting mist beyond the trees and bathed a far rock wall in golden light for no more than a minute, then it faded and was gone.

He sat and looked slowly from side to side, then suddenly became aware of the time he’d been away without notice. He stood and turned a full circle before moving off. The path zig-zagged steeply up the other side of the dell. When he reached a ledge he turned to look back down through the ferns into the amphitheatre. Then it struck him that he’d probably never again be here. He could of course come back any time, but he knew he wouldn’t get around to it. When he turned back to the path the magic would have gone for ever.

He hadn’t brought his watch but knew he’d been away longer than he’d intended, so he walked fast up the winding path out of the forest, reflecting with some surprise how the encounter had somehow cracked him out of a mould, at least for a short time. He felt unusually well disposed towards the world. He grinned, thinking that even if Melissa had appeared on the track he might have said good morning…such is the power of nature.

After getting lost twice he soon found his way to the house and as he bounded up the back steps he smelt appetising aromas coming from the kitchen. Pete was cooking something, wearing heavily patched trousers kept up with braces, with toes poling out of tattered slippers..

"Gerday! Been exploring? Where did you go?"

"I found Mary’s Dell. What a hell of a spot! I mean what a heavenly spot."

"What?" Said Pete. "Mary’s Dell? Never heard of it. Are you sure? Nothing around here with that name?"

"What? Yes, just up the slope, in the gully to the right, the East, can’t be more than 500 metres from here."

Pete was looking at him seriously, chin in hands. "No. I’ve lived here twenty years; I should know this place."

Mike was lost for words. There was silence, then he took a breath but before he could speak Pete said, "You know, I can remember people saying that somewhere in these hills only once every hundred years a magical place appears in the forest. No one living here has ever found it, but they say that anyone who stumbles into it will be forever after blessed with purer thoughts and good will." Pete looked up with a grin.

"You bugger! Had me there for a moment!"

"It’s a fabulous spot isn’t it, really inspiring, especially early in the morning. Like going to church…I guess…I don’t really know what that’s like though."

"Yes, that’s how I saw it, like a cathedral, with the ceiling arching up from the columns. Maybe more like one of those circular Greek temples now that I think of it."

" I save it up, to visit when I need a spiritual lift," said Pete. "But do you realize there are a number of similar spots within twenty minutes of here?’

"Really?"

"Yes. There’s a meditation hut half way up the mountain, with a fabulous view. There’s another one in a rock cave. And one of my favourites is in the wetland, like a hide so you can sit there and watch the bird life close up in among the paper bark thickets. They’re like little bunches of parsley. And there are two more planned."

"Planned?"

"Yes, they’re sites some group has decided to create or garden or maintain, to make them into specially beautiful or inspirational places. But Mary’s Dell is the oldest one we have. That’s because Mary planted most of the trees decades ago."

"Ah I wondered whether they were natural. It seemed so wild, but the trees were so circular."

"Yes, that was Mary’s vision, and about thirty years later it’s a reality. Mind you that’s a big site and there are many little niches and nooks all over the place that you come across along the path. "

"But who makes them, and who looks after them?"

"Anyone who wants to. Same as the big log seat yesterday. Sometimes someone will take an interest in a stretch of path near their house, or sometimes a group will care for a gully or plant a little forest or develop a rose garden, all on public space. They just like making that bit of the landscape nice. Most people around here are keen gardeners so they’re happy to get a bit more turf to fuss over. Jan and I look after the lane out the front. We don’t have much time to give to it but we like keeping it nice. We prune the Jasamine down so people can look into our garden as they pass. Jan put the Dahlia patch there. It’s a great show when they’re on. Did you notice the geraniums in the pots outside the workshop yesterday? Someone brought them in last week and just set them up. I think it was Andrea but I’m not sure. Sometimes Jan will cut some of our flowers and take them down to the restaurant of the library and put them in vases. Lots of people are always just doing things like that, to make the village nicer for everyone. Hey you must be starving. What do you want to eat?"

Just as Mike lifted a bowl of muesli from the bench and turned towards the table, Pete, holding a plate of toast and poached eggs said, "Come into my breakfast room." Mike followed out and down the back steps across the grass. Pete lifted a latch and held a wire gate open. The fence was covered by a vine. Mike found himself in a chicken pen.

"Take a seat. This is one of the spots where I have my breakfast, when I am especially in need of convivial company. Sometimes I just amble around the garden, or go next door, or down to the pond, porridge pot in hand. But this is where I get most appreciation for my cooking."

Mike could see what that meant as several chickens crowded around Pete’s feet, gawking up demanding toast crust. He spoke to them as if they were family. A brown rooster jumped onto Mike’s knee and nearly upended his bowl. Pete admonished quietly, as if a child’s table manners had disappointed him. "Mind you this is much less problematic than going near Francis with a pot of porridge. He goes mad, scratching at the ground, and when he gets even the smallest spoonful, he kneels down and rolls over in delight. They all have their different personalities."

"Who is Francis?"

"A donkey. You’ll meet him."

As they were clearing away the breakfast things Jan came up the back steps.

"Hi Mike. Sorry I wasn’t here to say good morning but I had to go over to help Adele very early. She has a monster day today, cooking a big dinner for her mum’s surprise birthday party and we had to get the duck ready for the oven. "

"Can I do anything useful?" said Mike.

"Oh thanks, maybe just sweep the decking. Amy was making a necklace out of flowers. Peter, where are you taking Mike this morning; I forget."

"To the bank first, then to Tom’s." Turning to Mike, "Tom runs the carpentry shop. By the way Jan, where is Amy?"

"No idea," said Jan. "She had breakfast and left."

"On her bike?"

"No, but she probably hasn’t gone far. Do you want her for anything?"

"No, but she is supposed to be at the bank at 11."

"Yes, she knows. She’ll be there."

Pete explained to Mike, "Rob’s teaching a group of kids a bit about the operation of the bank, things like credit and interest. Amy wants to work there an hour or so a week doing simple things. She had a job at the glass works before this, two hours a week, cleaning up and getting morning teas. Says she knows all there is to know about glass now."

"Can she blow it?"

"Actually she did bring home something, Jack helped to make it. A bit wonky, but interesting."

"Don’t you worry about where she is? I mean is it safe for here to be out without you knowing?"

"Oh yes. No problem. Everyone knows all the kids. They’re perfectly safe anywhere in town. Amy’s got several hundred parents. Hey Jan, Mike found Mary’s Dell."

Just then a knock at the door. Pete went out and greeted someone, then called out It’s Nick Jan. He’s in a hurry.

Jan went to the door. Mike heard her saying, "By the way Nick can you thank Mary for the recipe. I"ll try it tonight, if I can get some blueberries."

"There are still some on the bushes in the grove behind Meg’s cafe"

Oh, really. I thought it would be too late to find any on now."

"Could be. If there aren’t any there try Elaine. I know she had a lot in the pantry ready to bottle."

"O.K.. Thanks. Well, have fun with your sludge!"

"Now lets get you to the bank. I checked yesterday with Rob ‘and he’ll be free in ten minutes to explain a bit about how it operates. You coming Jan?"

"Yes, but I’ll go to the co-op; we need a few things for lunch."

Although they walked briskly they had to stop several times as Pete or Jan pointed out something or chatted to someone.

Out of the blue Jan said, "By the way, remember Barry yesterday, he brought the eggs? Well would you be surprised if I told you he was a semi-retired eye surgeon, only teaching part-time now?"

"Well…yes, I would."

"What did you think he might be?"

"…he just seemed like a nice but slightly doddery grandpa, who’d be a bit stretched even delivering the eggs."

"Delivering eggs is important."

"Yes, but this is about status. An eye surgeon eh?"

"I didn’t say he was."

"Oh, what are you trying to do here, confuse me again?"

"I was thinking about how it’s a mistake to classify someone by their social position or job or education. That doesn’t tell me much about them. That doesn’t tell me whether they are nice, or reliable or friendly or generous or helpful or anything that really matters when you live here. You can’t sum up Barry or his status or quality or significance with an occupational or educational label. That doesn’t tell you his status. You’d have to live here a long time and interact with him before you would have any important knowledge of him, and know what respect is due. I know his nature and capacities and weaknesses because I’ve rubbed shoulders with him for years. If there’s a problem I can judge whether to ask him for help or advice, and to me that sort of thing constitutes his status. So we aren’t very impressed by appearances or labels. They just don’t tell us much that’s important or how to regard or respect someone. And you can’t bluff around here. No good putting on make up to give the impression you don’t have spots, because people see you all the time and they know what you’re like."

"That makes sense. But tell me, is he really an eye-surgeon?’

Jan smiled, and after a few seconds said quietly, "Nope."

"Well, then, what is he?"

"He’s Barry."

"OK, I got that, but nope he’s not an eye surgeon?"

That’s not what I meant. I meant nope, I don’t want to tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because you would use that to fix him, to classify him, wouldn’t you? If I said yes, then next time you met him you would tend to defer wouldn’t you. But if he’s only an egg deliverer you wouldn’t. So its not good for your education young Michael to know. I think its best if you deal with the problem of how to regard Barry in terms of your experience of him."

"So you won’t tell me?"

"I’m saying I don’t want to. I will if you really want to know."

"Why don’t you just refuse? Can’t stick to your principles?"

"I don’t want to be authoritarian, and force my position on you."

"Hmm. Very interesting. Very interesting… I’ll think about it and my people might get in touch with your people later, right?"

"OK."

"Bank ahead!" Pete said. "There it is. Now how’s that for grandiose architecture.

people to come in and brain storm the idea, to see if it is viable, to make suggestions, to

work out how it might best be got off the ground. So little entrepreneurs with good ideas but no experience are not left to sink or swim. The trust is also a vast memory and store knowledge about the locality, so it’s able to make good judgments about what will work and what won’t."

As he came around a bend there before him on the grass were about ten youngsters maybe from five to fifteen excitedly and noisily scampering around what looked like a big pile of colourful rags. He stopped and moved to a bench, deciding not to ask but to watch what they were doing.

There was much calling of advice as if negotiating and getting organised. Mike’s best guess was that they were putting up a shelter of some kind, but this seemed less plausible after a minute or so as all of them had got hold of a rope and had moved back into a circle. Everyone seemed to be telling someone else what to do next.

As the ropes were pulled the fabric moved a little, in a chaotic way. There seemed to be pieces of wood underneath to which the ropes were attached. All the ropes seemed to run under the fabric to a central point. Mike then saw that one of the kids was Amy.

After more calling and trial and error someone called "That’s it. Donnie’s got the head."

Donnie was about five years old and was pulling hard on his rope. Most of the others stopped hat they were doing and watched or gave advice and encouragement. Mike wondered why someone didn’t help him, especially as some of the teenagers were quite big.

As Donnie tugged a huge comical head slowly rose from the fabric. It reached vertical, wobbled and fell forward. Two of the kids each cried out "Mine!" as their ropes jerked forward a little. They immediately hauled and the head rose backwards and they steadied, jerking Donnie’s hands forward a little. The three of them adjusted their tensions and the head stabilised.

Immediately the others began chattering and tugging. "I’m a leg!" someone called. "Well don’t pull yet." Someone else said.

"Hey, look!" a girl said and giggled as she pulled and released her rope a big hand rose and fell.

More confusing calls. "Dudley, you try." "Everyone stop!" "No, it must be Pat’s."

One of the girls pulled and the head rose a little. The three holding the head ropes managed to get the head into a vertical position, but this time higher in the air and Mike could see that the rope Dudley had pulled had started to lift a huge torso from the lying position. He pulled slowly and it angled up a little more, but the head again started to tip. He stopped while the three others adjusted their ropes to get the head back to vertical. Then he pulled again slowly while the others managed to coordinate their holds to keep the head more or less where it should be.

As Dudley and the other three got the torso and head upright some of the other kids were able to see that their ropes controlled the arms and hands. They immediately began tugging and giggling, making the arms and hands move about wildly.

"OK, OK, Calm down," someone said. "Let’s get the arms organised."

"Ready?"

As the torso began to tip forward the arms were moved out forward and the hands placed on the ground.

"Now let’s go around one at a time." While the first four held their ropes steady the others pulled their ropes in turn, causing various tremors and jerks. Soon one of these experiments resulted in a convulsive upwards jerk in the figure’s rump.

"Jason. Which side?"

"Can’t tell. Let’s keep going then."

Others pulled in turn until there was another lurch.

"Amy! You’re right knee. Jason’s left."

"OK, lets go."

There was relative quiet as several now began to pull carefully on their ropes. Mike watched as the giant puppet’s backside rose slowly until he was wobbling uncertainly in a kneeling position. With much "Sarah, hold on!" and "Jenny let go!" the puppet gathered forward speed and pitched onto its face, with elbows jutting out and rump in the air. Then it wobbled from side to side and threatened to go down completely. More consternation and frantic orders and tugging, and he stabilised, as if a Moslem at prayer.

They got organised again and began to haul him back up, and Mike could now see what a difficult and uncertain task it was because it meant that several of the rope holders would have to coordinate their movements well. While some had to pull on their ropes others had to let rope out. Sometimes several would have to keep the right tension while letting rope out. If they got it wrong the figure could topple. It was all made more difficult and amusing by the fact that some of the kids were so young. He wondered why the big kids didn’t swap ropes with them. Obviously they all had to work together pretty well or they would never get him up.

When they had the puppet again on his hands and knees another critical point seemed to have been reached. This time the task was to half straighten the knee joint, while moving the body weight backwards over the feet to make it possible for the figure to stand. Evidently this involved maintaining support with one hand but moving the other backwards to help as a counterweight to tip the balance back enough. Twice Mike thought all was lost because puppet seemed certain to fall to the side, but disaster was narrowly avoided amid great commotion of alarm and instructions and little kids nearly pulled off their feet. Mike was now thoroughly drawn into the campaign, joining in the cheering and the groaning along with the passers by who had stopped to watch.

At last the puppet was stable enough and in a crouching stand on two feet. They didn’t have so much trouble straightening him up into a standing position. Then those controlling the arms and hands raised them high over his head and the puppet performed a fist clenching self-congratulatory victory salute. Even the head swivelled from side to side.

"Manfred stands again!"

"Calisthenics !" someone called.

"No. Limbo dance!" someone else called.

One or two of the people who had been watching changed places with some of the original participants. They decided on limbo dance and again with a mixture of urgent cries and advice and confusion the puppet began to sag backwards while wobbling precariously on his big feet.

The puppet stood about five metres high, evidently made of very light materials. The ropes let into the puppet at ground level so it was not possible to see how they operated the limbs. He wore a very sloppy costume and this is what had made him look like a collapsed tent at the start.

At one point he started to sag to one side and then back again. Amy and Jason controlling the sideways movement of the knees thought they would add to the excitement by setting up a swaying, but this gave the whole venture such an uncertain future they were quickly persuaded to just hold him firmly.

As he approached horizontal backwards some of the participants lowered one of his hands to the ground for support. When they got his chest and head level the hand was raised and all cheered. But evidently the tension was all too much for poor old Manfred because with a shudder he began to tip further back and to the side, gathered pace and crumpled to the grass despite the commotion from the struggling rope holders. Donnie was yanked off his feet and dragged along the grass. Everyone else was dancing around jubilantly.

Mike turned to the couple who had also sat on his bench. The older man said, "They did well. Its days since anyone got him up. Margaret and I joined in last week. I was a knee and I let the team down. Just couldn’t fine tune with my other knee. Mind you I’m 75 and he was 6."

"Why didn’t someone help Donnie?" asked Mike. "He slowed them down. He did well for a little fellow but the head seemed crucial; if its in the wrong place the balance is all out. If he’d swapped with Max they would have done better."

"Oh you see the rule is that they all take a rope to start with not knowing what they have and you then stick with that and the task is to see if your team can get him up and doing things. You might find that your littlest player has the most difficult job, then you have to try to help but only verbally."

___________

Tom’s carpentry and Joinery was a large low cluttered, cave-like shed not far from the shops and within 100metres of the community workshop. The whole front of the shed was more or less open and Mike and Pete stood on the footpath looking in at the benches, wood racks and tools. The floor was covered in shavings and sawdust. Various incomplete jobs could be seen, including a dismantled old chair with re-glued parts held in clamps, and a large new cupboard nearly completed. Jigs and tools hung from the low ceiling beams, made from saplings. The uprights were heavy logs with rusty bolts and iron work. In a big wooden vice was a partly finished rocking horse head. To one side of the workshop was a little nest of old chairs and a small low bench clustered around a pot belly stove in which a fire was smouldering. Cups and jugs sat on the table beside the fire and a kettle perched on the edge of the stove.

As they approached Pete said, "Tom’s outfit is typical of the small businesses around here. Most of our cash economy is made up of these, operated by an individual or a family or a small coop, and producing mostly for use in their neighbourhood or town. The next level up are the bigger firms that produce mainly to supply the region containing several towns, and exporting some of their products further afield. We’ll take you to the fridge factory over at Scotsdale this afternoon. You don’t need a fridge factory in every town, but you do need one for the region. Most of the everyday things bought in The Glenn are produced in households and little farms and firms like Tom’s joinery, and the bakery, and the dairy and the fish farms."

A figure came in through the back door carrying an armful of planks. Pete called out and

they walked into the shed to meet Tom. After introducing Mike Pete pointed to the bench and said, "What you doing Tom?"

"About eight things, but mainly the rocking horse for Polly. It’s to be a surprise so I’m living in dread that she’ll wander in so I’ve put the parts in different places, see front legs over there. This wood’s for the body. Hope Zac comes in with the tail soon."

"What will it be made from?"

"Long hair from one of his Clydesdales, so it will look pretty real. Same for the mayne. Kerry’s weaving a straw hat for it."

"Are the leather straps from Goldilocks."

"No. From some old harness I keep mostly for toys and hinges. Can’t beat leather."

"Who’s the cupboard for?"

"Meg Kennedy."

"Made to order I take it?"

"Yes. Can’t get around to the staining. See I’m working mostly on Jenny’s house. She wants to move in sooner than she thought at first."

"Tom’s building Jenny’s pole house. Hope we have time to take you up there."

"What’s a pole house?"

"Just ten long heavy posts sunk into the slope with the floor and roof cross-beams bolted into notches. She insisted the house had to be way up the side of the hill. Reckon it must be over 30 degree slope there. See you can just about make a pole house on any slope. The views from the veranda will be fabulous."

Tom took them around, explaining various projects. Mike saw tools he’d never seen before, including spokeshaves, augres, drawknives and adzes. Tom mostly used hand tools but there was a small electric saw bench and planer, and a drill press and wood turning lathe. On one shelf was a large array of strangely shaped steel blades. "They fit into this plane, for cutting differently shaped mouldings and rebates, see, for windows, picture frames. My dad was an apprentice carpenter and he had to grind all his own blades before he got his ticket. This set is over 60 years old."

"Nice smell of wood," said Mike.

"Yes" said Pete, "Helps to make a great atmosphere doesn’t it, if you know what I mean."

"And of course the aroma depends on the wood I’m using. Most of this", said Tom looking at the shavings on the floor, "is Camphor Laurel. Here, take a whiff." He picked up an off cut from the floor and held it under Mike’s nose.

"Wow, isn’t it strong; sure is camphor."

"How about a cuppa?" Tom said gesturing towards the pot belly stove.

"Great idea. I’ll crank up, said Pete, scratching up shavings and chips and opening the fire box door.

"Any questions about my corporation?" said Tom.

"Total number of staff and line?" asked Pete.

"Full time? Maybe equates to half a person."

"Weekly payroll and turnover?"

"Just enough."

"Level of employee satisfaction?" said Pete.

"Perfect. Nothing in the world I’d rather do than make things out of wood. I went to sleep last night mulling over how best to do this rocking horse head, came in all set to carve this morning, but I haven’t been able to get to it yet. Nancy was waiting with the chair. One of the kids broke it and the friend who gave it to her is coming over from Wintonvale tomorrow so we gotta get it back into shape quickly."

Mike fell silent as the tea was made and Tom got out a bowl of scones, butter and jam. There was a lull and Mike said, "Look, it’s terrific, really cute, but I just can’t see how this is at all economic, I mean how you survive when big corporations can mass produce furniture very cheaply. Yet here you are making things one at a time, mostly with hand tools. Can you explain how this is a viable business."

"Well, first I don’t need much of a cash income, living here in The Glen. Second my aim is only to earn that much in money, not to accumulate and expand the business, and above all my goal in life is to do woodwork; I just love it. I get a wide range of jobs, furniture repair, toys, horse carriage work, even building whole houses."

"Are you the only woodworker in town?"

Pete laughed. "There are probably 100 woodworkers in this town. But there’re only three who get a significant proportion of their monetary income from it. That’s all we need, and that’s all we have. Hec doesn’t do much these days. Ben does more but he also does ironwork, welding and blacksmithing."

"Is the competition strong?"

"No. There’s no competition at all."

"Why not? How come?"

"We’ll, we just seem to have a certain level of need for woodwork, and we just seem to have enough people wanting to do it. People who want things made or repaired seem to come along to each of us now and then and we all get about the amount of work and income we want."

"But without competition you can’t expect innovation or improved efficiency."

"Why not?" Tom shot back. "I’m always exploring new production and organization ideas, and I’m always designing and trying new gadgets. Do you think this can only be motivated by the prospect of increased sales and wealth or the need to beat a rival. Why do you think I innovate?"

Mike remained silent.

"Because I like designing and making things and working out better devices! I like my little enterprise. I like to see it chugging along, so I’m delighted to find better ways, that maybe save me some time, or make stronger joints."

"But that’s to do with the individual small firm level. Big things like corporations will get lazy and lose interest in innovation unless they are in competition."

"Not necessarily. What about the CSIRO in its heyday? It did a vast amount of valuable research and came out with many new methods, especially for agriculture, all done by people who didn’t even get any direct benefit, because they were scientists paid a salary. Why did they work hard and innovate? Because they loved that work."

"What if some gung-ho entrepreneur came to town and set up with lots of modern machinery and started to produce furniture more cheaply than you could?"

"Then he’d go broke immediately," said Pete.

"What? I said if he could undercut Tom’s prices?"

"Makes no difference. He wouldn’t be able to sell anything."

"Why not?’

"Because we wouldn’t buy from him! Why did you think we would?"

"…because he can sell things more cheaply of course!" Mike was getting a little agitated, but he was aware of Pete’s tendency sometimes to make his point in a puzzling way.

"Look, in the economy you come from that’s all that matters isn’t it, whether he can sell at the lowest price, and if he can you let him ruin every other firm in his line. But not here. In our economy we take into account all the factors that matter and there are many factors that are far more important than the price of the item sold."

"Such as?"

"Such as whether or not Tom has a livelihood or is thrown onto the scrap heap of unemployment, for starters! Livelihood is an extremely important and neglected concept. Do you think whether or not Tom has the means to earn the small amount of money he needs, and to go on enjoying his craft and getting satisfaction from providing us with rocking horses, are irrelevant? These are among the important consequences, costs and benefits involved in the issue. It’s not satisfactory to let his fate be determined by one factor, again, who can sell cheapest."

"But what if Tom becomes very inefficient and lazy and you start paying more than you need to for woodwork?"

"Oh then we’d have a problem and we’d have to think about what to do about it. We would probably say, ‘Hey Tom, can we help you smarten up a bit. Do you need a loan, or bigger premises, or to do a course, or to move to another activity?’"

"But what if he has just become bone lazy and won’t smarten up and there this energetic entrepreneur eager to set up?"

"Then people might eventually say, ‘Sorry Tom, the net benefit would come from having a a new firm and if this new guy sets up many of us will probably buy from him, given that you refuse to lift your game. But it wouldn’t ever come to that."

"So you are in effect willing to subsidise Tom, when you don’t have to?"

"Yes, of course. We wouldn’t have to do that if our only concern was to minimize our purchasing price, but again that would be to focus on only one relevant consideration here. We do have to, as you say subsidise, pay more than we could, if we are to keep Tom in a livelihood, and keep the town that much richer because it has Tom and Linda and the kids in it."

"And," said Tom, "...it’s only because we’re willing to do this for each other that there is still a town here. I get my trousers from the Harrisons when I could be getting them from a supermarket more cheaply, but then the Harrisons wouldn’t have a livelihood. So we work for each other, often paying a bit more, and that keeps us all in work, and it keeps the town in existence."

"See, this way we spread the business opportunities, the market around. It’s no good one big firm gobbling up all the sales opportunities when that business could be spread over many little family firms, enabling them all to have a livelihood. In your economy it is OK for all that business to be taken by one firm al all the wealth generated to go to a few distant shareholders while many people like Tom become unemployed."

"Mike one of the biggest mistakes you people make is failing to distinguish between the economy and society. You let what the market wants to do determine what happens in society. We don’t. lf your economy says this firm can produce cheapest you just let it take all the sales and ruin the people who used to have a livelihood, and cause immense social and ecological wreckage, but we make sure that what’s done is what’s good for our society and environment, and in general that means preventing the economy from doing what it would otherwise do."

"you have to understand that this town in a sense owns and runs its economy. We make sure we have the production and distribution systems we want. We don’t leave those things to the market or the corporations or to people with lots of capital to invest. We decide whether this town needs another carpentry works, or what to do if this one becomes inefficient. You don’t do that in your economy."

After a pause, Pete said, "Remember we’ve only been talking about one sector of the whole economy around here, the one made up of small local firms like Tom’s."

"What are the others?"

"The biggest and most important sector of any economy of course is the household. Most work and production within the entire economy takes place there. Monetary costs and profits have no relevance in that sector whatsoever. It operates on rules like, everyone has a right to breakfast, even useless granpas. You don’t miss out because you are poorer than someone else. Amy gets fed even though she couldn’t pay as much as I can, and does much less work around our house. In other words market forces play no part in the household sector of the economy. And the household sectors cuts zillions off what has to be imported to the town and bought at shops. And much of it is better thought of as hobby production or leisure activity, like our craft and gardening. "

"OK, what are the others?"

"The next huge sector is made up of the commons, the source of free goods. Look, out there, you can just see one of them from here," said Pete, pointing out the window to a patch of high and scruffy grassy tufts beside Tom’s fence.

"What? Explain."

When Pete finally paused for breath Tom said, "And that’s a major reason why most of us only work for money about one day a week."

Pete forged ahead again. "But there is a sector of our economy that does operate according to market forces. It is actually quite big. It includes many little firms like Toms. This sector settles many rather unimportant things like whether to produce blue or pink bicycles. We leave those decisions entirely to market forces; if people don’t want blue bicycles they won’t buy them. And market forces largely determine things like the price of the goods and materials imported into the general store from far away. If there is a drought and the price of their ingredients rise then the cost of selling them here will be higher. But we’re always in a position to intervene contrary to market forces. It must always be possible for us as a society to say, ‘No, we will not let market forces do this or that, we will regulate or subsidise or ban, to make sure that the outcome is right for our society and the environment. The economy should be assessed and organized for the benefit of society and the environment, and that means society must always be in a position to intervene and make the right things happen when market forces would make the wrong decision. Probably the biggest fault in your economy is that you don’t do this — you let market forces do massive damage to individuals, the society and to the environment, because you don’t intervene and regulate and control when that’s essential."

Tom said, "The most important thing we never let market forces do is determine distribution. That’s what it is most evil at. We make sure that if things get scarce the rich don’t take them all.""

How?"

"Just by deciding how they should be distributed, if there’s a problem, which usually means making sure they go first to those who need them most."

"Emphatically yes! In many ways. It’s organized to maximise the general welfare. It’s basically driven by a collective attitude, even though most of the producers are private little firms. And what is done is not determined by someone with a lot of capital. We decide what will be developed or whether a firm will close. So it is not driven by profit or market forces, although it involves them. We set up just enough firms to meet the needs around here comfortably and give work and worthwhile activity to all."

"Isn’t that socialism or communism?"

"Ah, labels are a problem here. Those mean such different things to different people. What we are for is control of the economy in the hands of society, not in the hands of the few with most of the capital. Unfortunately socialism is usually taken to mean control by a state, which is usually authoritarian, and that’s very definitely not what we’re for. We are for very open, participatory democracy, with everyone able to have a direct say in controlling the economy, and that becomes possible when you mostly have very small scale local economies. We would probably still need things like states, at least bureaucracies looking after things like the railways, but we’d have nothing like the huge state governments we have now. See the focal economic institutions are small and local. They are the household, the neighbourhood, the town and to a lesser extent the surrounding region. That’s where most of the things you need can come from."

"Another way itws hugely different Mike is that there is far far less production taking place. We have no or very little in the way of fishing fleets, florists, insurance, waste disposal, semi-trailers, tractors, warehouses,. Cosmetics. Our houses are small. Our wardrobes are small. No lawn movers. Things are built to last and to be repaired at home. We have almost no artificial aged care. We don’t need lawyers or financial advisers or stock brokers; there’s no need to raise huge sums of capital. Rob down at the bank can handle loans. Our government costs nothing, because we do it ourselves. Your’s costs one third of GDP. We don’t need any prisons, courts, welfare agencies, and almost no policemen. We don’t want to travel much ,so we almost don’t need to produce any cars, trucks, aircraft or ships, or hotels or ,suitcases. And for the things we do produce there’s no cost in advertising, packaging, no profit margins for absentee shareholders, no exorbitant salaries for CEOs or consultants or PR officers, so that much less work to do. All this is work we avoid and resource use we avoid. No wonder we only need to work for money about a day a week.

----------------------------------

Mike went out the front door, strolled around the side of the house, down a very narrow path tunnelling under vines and tree branches, and came out onto the patch of lawn in the back garden just below the steps. There was the sheep he’d encountered the night before, busily grazing. When it saw Mike it turned and started to walk quickly towards him.

This was approximately the second time in his life that Mike had had anything to do with sheep so he didn’t know what to expect. Was it one of the killer variety? It put its head down as it got within two metres and Mike concluded that he was about to be the butted, so he deftly raised his foot, planted it on the sheep’s forehead and pushed rather vigorously. That did the trick. The monster backed off, lifted its head and just stood looking dumbly at Mike, who also took the opportunity to back off.

With no further thought about the encounter he continued to amble further down the slope, impressed by the complexity of the garden. No wonder Pete and Jan didn’t have much time to tizz up the front rend of the yard. There seemed to be no back fence because garden beds, chicken pens, sheds, fruit trees bath tups full of water and pocket meadows just seemed to blend into the distance. Further down he came to the big bamboo and marvelled at its size; must have been 20 metres high with stems so jammed together at the base that a snake couldn’t have found its way through. Even though there was hardly a breeze it was muttering to itself with the imperceptible movement of stems against each other. How many little people is that mass of fallen leaves and husks a home to. How nice and cool it would be to sit on that old bench there under this enormous umbrella on a summer day. Yes, look how predictably placed that damn seat is; you could lean back against the bamboo and gaze down across the town to the mountains.

As they sat down to lunch Mike said, "I saw Manfred in action." Jan said, "Oh yes, Amy said the kids would meet there. Did they get him up?"

"Yes," said Mike, "She was a knee. Tell me whose idea the puppet was."

"I have no idea", said Jan. "He’s been there for ages, in one form or another. He’s just one of the games a group can play. There are other things like him around. Some can be worked by two or three kids. For example there’s a pedal car that needs two to pedal and one to steer. And there’s the sea saw jet assisted diving board down at the swimming hole. Two kids jump on one end and the one on the other end goes into orbit. And the flying foxes and gondolas over the creek need someone to pull you along."

"I get it," Mike said. "They’re activities they have to work together on."

"That’s right, they’re cooperative games. They have to cooperate, help each other, coordinate, or they won’t get the thing to work."

It suddenly struck Mike that he had not picked up any notion of sport. "But do they play proper games, I mean like team sports"

"Yes, Manfred is a team game."

"No, I mean where one team plays against another."

"No," said Jan, "We don’t do that. All our games for kids and adult are cooperative."

"Really?. You mean no one…I mean don’t you…how can anyone win then?:"

"No one does. We don’t like winning. It’s not nice."

"What?"

"If someone wins everybody else loses, haven’t you noticed that? Besides its not good for you to win."

"What? It does me good. Boy oh boy there are some people in my office I like to beat!"

"Would you feel good if you beat one of your friends? Friends don’t get satisfaction from proving that they are superior to each other. Friends only want to help each other do things, or enjoy a game with them."

"But that means you can’t play tennis, or chess."

"Oh yes, we do. But we don’t play those games to win, to beat the other person. We play to enjoy the game. Look if Pete puts up a lollypop and I’m at the net and his court is wide open what’s the sense of me slamming the ball there so he can’t hit it. If I do that the rally is over and we all have to waste time while he goes and gets the ball and we can start again. Much more sensible to hit it somewhere near him so he can have the fun of hitting it well and the game can go on."

Mike looked stunned. "But that takes all the fun out of it"

"No it keeps all the fun in it! Or do you think its fun standing there while Pete goes hunting for the ball I slammed past him? Pete and I are not very good at tennis and the court we play on is very rough so the ball bounces here and there and it’s often difficult to hit it well. To us the point is to keep an enjoyable rally going as long as possible, and that’s not easy. It usually takes more skill than I’ve got to get it back to where Pete can hit it and I like exercising the skill to make it go there if I can."

"Well what about Chess? How can you enjoy that without trying to win?"

"We just enjoy trying to think out the next move. Often we’ll get half way through a game and turn the board around, I mean swap sides, and then try to think out what’s the best thing to do given the situation you find yourself in. This way if you win it isn’t clearly because you played brilliantly or were superior. Maybe its because you left your side of the board in bad shape. So it isn’t meaningful to say one of us won and at the end neither of us has any sense of having organised a win or suffered a defeat."

"But a good chess player wouldn’t be in that, because he couldn’t organise a strategy and play it out to the end."

"That’s too bad for him. We think it is more important to avoid competing and winning than to play games that enable or encourage that sort of enjoyment. So we don’t play any competitive games at all."

"Well all sports I know are competitive."

"That’s right! You might think about that. How sad that you don’t even have any cooperative sports. People around here have put a lot of time and effort over the years into working out and refining cooperative games, and some are quite exciting. Like getting Manfred to do Limbo dancing. That’s difficult and uncertain and the team has to work together. There’s the little railway near the timber mill, the one with rails half a metre apart. It has a little train and carriages the kids can sit in, and can lift if they get together. It runs down a slight slope from the mill and they can sit in and slowly roll along. The rails are moveable and groups of kids are always rearranging them to run somewhere else. Sometimes they build a low trestle bridge across the creek. There’s a tunnel too. I think there’s about 200 metres of rail now. They can’t rearrange it much without a group discussion and decision and then all helping to unhook and relay the rails. And there’s climbing the pinacle, on the slopes of the mountain. Four or five teenagers have to work together to get up there."

"Who makes these things?"

"Well anyone who gets an idea about something the kids or others might like to play with, but the leisure committee works on projects like this, building new things and revising. People might feed ideas in to them, and they might arrange for working bees to paint or maintain or make up devices. One implication of course is that there are tons of activities for kids and adults to do for leisure."

"Oh Jan, did you know we’ll be playing "When the balloon goes up" next weekend?"

"Really? That’s great. Amy and Gran love that."

"What’s it about?"

"Well everyone who wants to play collects on the green on the appointed day and a big hot air balloon is lit and rises carrying a big sack. When its about 50 metres high, less if there’s a wind, the sack rips open and bits of stuff rain down. The bits are clues and everyone collects them and starts trying to put it all together and figure out the answer. You might find a fragment of yellow paper on which there is part of a message, so you’d go around asking if anyone has seen the other part. Others might be trying to put together things that seem to be intended as tools to be used. The players can be from little kids to old people. Everyone can be of some use in solving the puzzle."

"What puzzle?"

"Whatever the devious cootes on Games Committee have come up with this time.. What they often do is build in sub problems that draw on knowledge of skills that only a few or only one person has. For example there is one person in town from Croatia and once the key clue was in creation but it took us a long time to realize that and get Petra to translate it. See the games committee is always thinking up angles like that, and when any of us gets an idea that could be used in a game we feed it into the committee. They have fun putting the events together. They play jokes on us sometimes. Once Alby put in a clue that was on the label on his wife’s undies. Should have seen the debate that caused. "Well get them off, you’re holding everything up!’ ‘No!!’ ‘Come on we gotta have that clue!’ ‘Never!’ The girls formed a huddle and we got our clue. She was a good sport. Screams of laughter all round. Not sure Alby’s screams were of laughter when she figured out he’d organised it though."

"Mike said, "And I bet it’s relived again and again."

"That’s right. It’s gone into the village history and folklore.

"That’s very important," said Pete. "There are many things like that that people remember and retell, like Kev being left on the flying fox. That’s all part of our local culture, our history, our shared story. It a source of entertainment but more importantly it’s a source of cohesion, things we share and things that bind."

"It must take ages to think out all the detail of a game like the balloon one."

"Yes, but remember people around here have plenty of time for doing things like this, and they enjoy it. Its like enjoying cooking a great dinner you know the family will enjoy. And they know it is important in contributing to solidarity. Then there’s the appreciation they get from the town afterwards."

"Do they develop things for specific groups, like the kids or the oldies?"

puzzle might involve children’s rhymes that mean nothing to the older people, so they are dependent on the kids and the kids get a sense of their important contribution to nutting the whole thing out. Meanwhile some other questions might require a knowledge of the town’s ancient history. Like once I remember a step required us to know what colour button to press on a box. We had only three chances and 10 buttons so we couldn’t just press at random. The previous clues enabled us to work out that the colour was the colour of the saw mill before it burned down. Now that was thirty years ago but several of the oldies could remember. For some strange reasons it had been bright yellow. We got the box open. So everyone’s important and all can play. Not like your Saturday afternoon football sports where a) the wingers and goalies die of boredom because the ball might never comes near them,. b) half the players go home heartbroken because they lost, c)99% of the people there take no part in the game because they are only spectators, d) the whole thing is about beating others."

------------------

Mike had been quiet throughout most of lunch time. So had Amy. In fact Mike was puzzled. She had seemed cheerful and chatty when she’d come in but now seemed sullen. At one point Jan had asked her if she was alright. She left the table early.

Eventually Gran said, "Michael, what are you thinking about?"

Mike took his time, "Oh a lot of things Gran." Then after some seconds, "Look, its all very quaint, cute. Its very nice…but economically and industrially it’s…well much of its not even Twentieth century. Yes you use a few modern things, like computers, but I mean… handmade furniture and bread and slippers and pottery. It’s delightful, …but…"

and come out now and then to take a look at the town, maybe even talk to someone occasionally."

enough people for a while, so just watched them at work, occasionally chatting and pointing things out to each other. "OK Gran" he said to himself, "I can see that they are not really working. I must admit you’d feel pretty good to have grown all that virile looking tucker."

"She said she didn’t like him very much."

"Well, he is an alien."

"No, it’s more than that. Something’s wrong. I think we should keep our ears open."

Mike had paused, out of sight, then decided not to reveal that he had heard. He thought for a while, and decided that he should try to sort it out as soon as possible. Might be a good idea to go look for Amy. She probably wouldn’t be around but he decided to take a quick walk around the house.

He found her sitting on the front steps. She was distinctly unresponsive and he could see that there was indeed some kind of problem. Best to get it out into the open. "Is there something wrong. You seem cheezed off with me."

"Well, maybe I am."

"Why then?"

Amy paused, then said, "Because you kicked Padme."

Mike’s mind raced, then got it. "Oh, you mean on the lawn, before lunch? I didn’t know you were watching."

"You mean you wouldn’t have kicked her if I had been?"

"No. I mean no I didn’t kick her. I thought she was going to butt me. She was coming at me, so I sort of stopped her with my foot, and sort of pushed her off."

Amy was clearly unconvinced. "She never butts anyone."

"Well I don’t know much about sheep and she seemed to be coming in for the kill. She’d lowered her head as she got closer."

"Of course, she does that because she wants a pat. Why do you think she’s called Padme?"

"Padme? I don’t know."

"Because whenever she sees anyone she comes up, puts her hear down and says ’Pat Me!’" Amy’s exasperated tone said, "Fancy having to explain all this". She glared at Mike, then turned and walked off. Mike thought it best to let her digest his account and try to assess later whether on reflection he had been acquitted.

Anyway Pete came to the rescue without knowing it. "Come and have a look at our home workshop."

Pete led across into the shed just down past the lawn. Because it was largely covered with vines and under the branches of big low trees growing over from next door Mike had hardly noticed it, and certainly didn’t realise how big it was. It seemed crammed and cluttered, with all manner of things on benches and in racks and hanging from rafters.

"Beautiful illustration of a Permaculture principle," Pete said. "Don’t confuse order and efficiency with neatness and tidiness. Rainforests are almost perfectly efficient nutrient cycling systems; almost nothing flows out in the clear stream waters. But what a mess to look at. This workshop looks chaotic but we get a lot of production through here. Must be 6 jobs on the benches there half done. See Amy’s bedside light; must fix that switch today. There’s a broken rake handle . There’s a saw to be sharpened. And, under all this, is Jan’s Christmas present…for the year before last. It’s a glass fronted cupboard. I don’t think she’ll be getting it this year either."

"Does she use the shed?"

"Oh yes. See over there. She’s gluing up a vase we broke. And that’s here basket making area. There’s our drill press, and there’s the saw bench. Its very small because any bigger planks I need to rip I can take down to the saw bench at the community workshop. There’s a lathe down there too, so I can do any heavier metal work there. I made this small wood turning lathe. We made the bowls and candle stick holders in the living room on it. By the way down at the community workshop there’s a big one we can turn veranda posts on. Plumbing things over there. Our house is old so there’s always maintenance to do. We do most of the fixing. These are some taps we replaced but I’ll get them apart sometime and make them useful again. Ah, and this is, I hope, going to be a better solar tracker, but I’m having a bit of trouble nutting it out at the moment. If I get it going well there are several places around the town where it’ll be useful."

"What’s that, buried there? A tramp ship?"

"Yeah. Gee it must be ten years since I did anything on that. Let’s see if I can lift these aside."

He pulled out some sheets of three ply aside to expose a two metre ship hull, a long way from complete and covered in dust. "It’s to go on the lake, some day."

"Great!" said Mike. "I was into model aircraft as a kid. The interest never really dies out does it. Often wish I could get time to tinker again. My kids aren’t interested in making things much. Most practical thing they do is get the television switch into the on position. But you have five days a week more than I do for things like this."

"Yes, I should have got it finished long ago. But I do get some windjammer models done. I made the one in the case in the house. Look, where are they now…this one I think." He reached for a drawer in a large cupboard. "These are spars for the one I’m on now."

"You all seem to be doing thousands of things at once."

"Yes, that’s true. I like it like that way. Do a little of this when it takes your fancy, and then something else will catch your attention. Finishing it isn’t very important, with arts and crafts anyway, it’s the making that you enjoy. Gardening is like that, and Gran knits because she likes knitting…and cooks for the same reason. I think its enjoying the journey and not just focusing on the arriving. Means rather than ends."

Mike said, "you mean you don’t paint a picture in order to have a picture."

"Exactly. And to me life is about making things, creating, sometimes just making a new door stop, up to working on your artistic Magnum Opus, making sould gates, chicken pens, and tapestri9es and pottery. And a bit part of it is design. You are always thinking about plans — how could I best do that trackjer, what’s a good layout for the anjhn8uals this year, what’s a nice pattern to decorate the new pot with. I think about things like that most of the day, and then you watch how you projects are comning on over time, and that feedsback into your ideas about how to make the next one."

"That’s pretty different to my neighbourhood. Our houses hardly have any backyards so people can’t do much there in their leisure time other than watch TV."

‘And that’s so passive. They aren’t creating things, or initiating, or planning or producing. Most people never experience how satisfying creating is. It’s one of the bitg distinctions between consumer society and us. And I think it feeds directly into the readiness to take social responsibility."

"How? That seems a big jump."

"Yes, I’m not surprised. I see it in terms of having a practical outlook, a strong desire to make things work well, to design and develop and trial better ways, a better gaget for the gate or a better social arrangement. Around the homestead you have to be thinking all the time about how well or otherwise things are working. If the gate latch doesn’t work the goat will get out, so you have to take responsibility for that and create something tat will work well. That’s how I think about our society. It’s made up of arrangements that sometimes need fixing and we should always be thinking about how well they work and what might be a better design. You know, things like poverty and drug abuse strike me much the same as a gate that squeaks; its disturbing to think that something has been neglected and needs fixing, its ugly. An engineer would be ashamed to think he’d let the oil run dry. Let’s just get out there and fix it.

"Are there any other ship builders in town?"

"Oh yes, all sorts of hobbies around here. Not much television watched; notice we don’t have a set. Anyway people are mostly active, engaged in projects and building things, and they have all that time to get into arts and crafts. And for any one activity there are many people in town who are very good at it, so you can get advice on anything any time. I have no idea how many drama and dance groups there are in the region. By the way, hope you can ride a bike."

"Yes."

"Good. Want to check your seat height? It’ll only take fifteen minutes to get over to the fridge factory though."

"OK. Now where did I leave my pad?"

---------------------------