The economic challenges we are facing today have caused me to reflect on lessons learned in my youth.  I'll leave the interpretation of the parallels to you.

My father was unemployed.  Mostly, this was unremarkable.   That is to say, he didn't seem to be too upset about it.  He would wake up at about the same time as he did when he was going to work.  But, instead of going to work he would head down to the marina with his fishing gear and head out on the boat.  With the benefit of hindsight, I realize that these fishing expeditions were not just about fishing for dinner but also about getting away to think.  Luckily, while my father was thinking he was also catching fish - which he thoughtfully kept fresh in a bucket of bay water until my brother, Peter, and I got home from school.  My Dad was not one to keep the joys of cleaning and filleting fish all to himself.

Although my brother and I didn't get to clean fish every day during my father's unemployment we did get to weed the garden.  My Dad had cleared a 20' x 60' patch of yard, ordered two giant truck loads of duck manure and dreamed of fresh vegetables as Peter and I bravely spread the manure over the "garden".  My Dad rotor tilled the manure into the ground and then worked up a planting schematic on a piece of graph paper.  He bought books on gardening.  He bought chicken wire and tomato stakes.  He gathered his workers and distributed the schematic and seeds.  Our hands and knees became very familiar with the ground.  To the surprise of everyone, except my father, the garden grew magnificently and we began harvesting lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and radishes for our dinner salads.  While our corn wasn't as successful, it was edible.  We grew giant pumpkins just to see if we could and made pumpkin pie and pumpkin bread and pumpkin cookies and had the coolest jack-o-lanterns in the neighborhood.

We lived on eastern Long Island - an area known for duck farms (thus, the manure) and potatoes.  We lived about a mile from a small potato farm.  One day my Dad arrived home with several burlap sacks and commanded his workers to the car.  This time it wasn't just Peter and me but the rest of the gang, as well.  I couldn't imagine what he had in mind that would require the help of my younger brothers and sister but it wasn't long before we were parked on the road next to the potato farm.  We were not alone.  Dozens of people were in the field filling their own burlap sacks with red potatoes. 

"The farmer has harvested the potatoes using his tractor.  Those that remain are too small for him to take to market and before he turns over the dirt for the next planting we have been given permission to take as many potatoes as we can carry away.  So, go out there and fill up these sacks with potatoes."

And, so we did.  My Mom served those potatoes mashed, boiled and oven-browned all winter long.  One of the chores that came along with dinner was going out to the garage to choose the potatoes for the evening meal.  Our circumstances had changed and we made adjustments accordingly.

One day after expressing disgust with my sister's weeding, my Dad got on his knees next to me and we weeded adjoining rows of green peppers.  Both of us were sweating and working hard and as we neared the end I casually said to my Dad,

"I sure will be glad when things get back to normal."

He pulled the last weed, tossed it into a bucket and stood up.  While wiping his hands on his jeans he said,

"This is normal.  The new normal."

With that he went to the garage and reappeared with fishing gear.  He stood in front of me and said,

"You coming?" 

You bet I was.