Time is a limited resource. There are just 24 hours in a day. No more, no less. All mammals must consume the basic survival inputs — clean air, fresh water and food, resting and using clothing and shelter. Time must be spent gathering, preparing or producing the food and other inputs, in making them ready for consumption, and in cleaning up afterward. Whatever time is not spent on those activities is available for other things.
If you are not directly involved in making any of those inputs, someone else must do that. In order to compensate them for the time, effort and other resources they spent in the production of inputs and making them ready for your consumption, you must use some of your left over time to create an income — either as physical outputs or their monetary equivalent — to pay for the goods and services they provide. That enables you to compensate them. Otherwise, you are expecting or getting a gift from them.
You’ve heard of discretionary spending. It is buying things after you have taken care of the necessities. The same thing goes for time. Once you’ve utilized your time to take care of providing the basic inputs, you have the opportunity to allocate the balance of it to those other things you want to do most. But the available time is limited. Every hour you spend on anything, you are giving up the possibility of using it for something else. Typically you have a number of alternative ways to spend the next hour. Some are more important than others. Clearly, spending time on the basic necessities comes first. After that, then what? Continue reading “Thinking About How You Spend Your Time”→
My first trip to the South was during spring break in 1942, at age 14. I took the Southern Crescent from Penn Station in New York to Spartanburg, SC. An employee of my father’s picked me up there, and we drove first to Hendersonville, NC, and then another 10 miles west toward Penrose along Kanuga Road. It turned into Crab Creek Road once you got to the top of Jump Off Mountain.
It was a bright and sunny spring day, with the Carolina blue sky above and mountains to the left and to the right. As we negotiated the dirt road along Crab Creek, we finally got to what eventually became Shoals Falls Farm. There was a broad expanse of bottomland to our left that rose into the hillside and the mountain. It was spotted with small houses and shacks. In the distance stood a small wooden barn.
Just past a largish house on the left — it turned out to be the Patterson’s house — we turned left onto an even narrower dirt road, crossed over one rickety bridge over Crab Creek, another bridge over Shoals Creek, and passed two houses on the left. I later learned that the first and smaller one was called the Little house, and the larger one the Jack Newton house. Along with my Dad, he had just purchased some property there. Just beyond the houses, past the wooden barn on the left, the road took a jog to the left and then the right, right on up the mountain.
A short distance up the road there was another one that cut back to the left. There were two stone pillars, with the gate between them swung open. Passing through the gate, the road dipped down toward Shoals Creek, then fanned out into a parking area that butted up against the creek, with an old-fashioned gasoline pump standing to one side. The roads were so shrouded in trees that you couldn’t see the sky. Continue reading “The Cabin”→