The Economist In Love Pt 01

This will be my last submission. I am now moving on to other things. All of the participants in this allegory are over 18 which is the typical age of a student entering university in New Zealand.

The Economist in Love Part 1

Mrs. T and the Tea Boys

Connection

Some say the whole universe is connected, others say for humans there is connection only where there is self-interest in order to give reason for that connection. But how does that explain the field of connection that links the world beyond human mind and intention.

For example, in some far-off rainforest an animal snatches a prey, and the causal effects radiate and ripple from species to species until one day the result of this action, no matter how insignificant, reaches each of us.

Everything on earth is connected by this reasoning, every facet of our lives is affected by each other. Nobody or nothing is an island, nobody is immune from this.

And yet there are those by way of vested self-interest deny connection or impede it. Take sex for example. This is the closest two people can come together, sharing bodily fluids and procreating. People who seek power are frightened by this and attempt to control it. They create religions and ideologies forcing people to sacrifice or deny parts of their lives in order for those seeking power to exploit them for their own gratification especially when it involves financial gain.

Such action serves to inhibit the ultimate value and benefit that can be derived from connection.

There was one woman, an economist, who as a result of an outrageous set of decisions on her part, a period of apparent temporary insanity, was enlightened to the power of connection and discovered why connection must be understood in all its complexity and not simplified or misrepresented for exploitation.

In a seminal paper her experience led her to propose the effect of what she called 'The Black Coat event." This was an event that existed outside an economic framework that none-the-less had a profound effect within the network.

It might be an event with an origin in some facet of our personal lives, or some hidden part of society, seemingly unrelated and unknown apart from its effect that it ultimately had.

This is her story.

*****

The beginning

Justine stepped back from the garden she had been weeding diligently. She took a deep breath. It was a searing hot day; the sky was bleached a powder blue. She was nervous that this might be the start of a drought. It had been a wet spring and the fields were still green, but the weather forecast was for dry and hot. Wiping her moist brow, she inhaled the aroma of her freshly cut lawn.

Justine had started earlier, riding her ride-on mower. Now she worried that she had cut the lawn too short, and the grass might dry out. She had driven the mower recklessly, madly frustrated from the results of her investigation online following an unsatisfactory early morning zoom session with her husband, Alex. At this point she was convinced her marriage was over.

Justine desperately wanted a family and she thought Alex did too, but he was working in the UK and had been unable to get back for six months. Either he was unable to get a flight or a place in a Government Covid Quarantine facility on his return. Then there were projects they had given him while he was there that just had to be completed.

It had been bad enough during lock down. She was forced by circumstances to spend that alone. When Alex secured a place in quarantine to enable him to be home by Christmas, she was ecstatic, but joy turned to dismay when at the last minute he reneged for work reasons. This left her in limbo, alone for Christmas with no end in sight.

This left Justine frustrated and confused. She suddenly did not feel confident in the future. She left the house early to seek solace in riding her horse, Muzzy, but now she was back in her garden. For her it was a precious place with a link to her mother, Nola from which she had inherited it. Her Garden had always had an intangible ability to sooth her, to recuperate from the day's trials and tribulations and this morning it was a 'biggy.'

Riding the ride-on was one of her little pleasures and she did it naked as she was mostly when she was gardening. Naked she was now; in fact, she was a firm adherent of nude gardening, the location being private or so she thought.

It was now late morning. She could hear the undulating drone of a topdressing plane like some angry bee flying up and down a neighboring farm as it weaved around the hillocks and paddocks ejecting its load to fertilize mother earth below. It served to irritate her further, but she consoled herself, it was just another sound of the countryside. Giggling to herself, thinking how the pilot would be shocked if he ventured over the macrocarpa hedge that made a solid wall on her western boundary.

This property was all that was left of a substantial farm her family had run. Now it had been split up, divided with the fortunes of the family. This last remaining piece consisted of the old rambling arts and craft bungalow, with black adzed joinery throughout, wrought iron hardware and a pebble dash white external wall finish. It had once been the station house, now it was a home with a glorious garden and a limited amount of land leased out for grazing of cattle.

The garden had been her mother's pride and joy. Nola had graduated with a university languages degree then ventured to the home country, Great Britain. Like all good middle class girls setting out on her overseas experience she had lost her virginity on the boat trip outward.

She arrived in London amidst the swinging sixties and as girl of means, virtue of an inheritance from an elderly aunt, she squandered it having the time of her life. It was an experience that would change her life and her earlier aspiration as a secondary School teacher evaporated in a cloud of psychedelia.

Tripping on acid one day in Kew Gardens opened her mind to the spiritual qualities of the garden. She became a fully-fledged member of the cult of Flower children. In London at the height of the movement she grooved and moved with the most. Her friends were musos, artists and poets. Her clothes were by 'the fool' and she collected artworks and prints from Aubrey Beardsley, Marijke Koger and Martin Sharp. She and a group of likeminded girls began to tour the great gardens just to trip in them with their floral head wreaths and extraordinary colourful gowns. It all came to a horrible end following a trip to Marrakech with her then best friend.

Nola had been inspired to travel overland through India to return to New Zealand. She had meant the trip to Morocco to be a taster for what laid ahead. While there she met some English Hippies who extolled the virtues of Druidism. Taken by their philosophy of magic and connection to nature she and her friend joined them to explore this new take on an old religion.

It all ended one night deep in an English wood where they went to practice their Neo-Druidry. The following morning her friend was found dead, and Nola was rushed to the nearest hospital. They said that her friend had died of a heroin overdose, and she had nearly joined her. Nola always claimed she had no idea how she had been given heroine. Besides uppers and downers, she only ever had weed and acid. The rites the night before, that is before she had blacked out, had terrified her. She only ever divulged this to Justine once, just before she died. She had never told anyone but suffered all her life from the trauma.

She once did mentioned a mysterious man in her life, a lover she had met on the voyage over. He had somehow caused her to return to New Zealand, but she would never talk about it. Justine later wished she had pressed her on it, but it was obviously a sensitive topic. Justine imagined it might have had something to with the death of her friend Naturally Nola much preferred to reminisce of the fab time she had as a flower child, her life in the great gardens, the promise of free love; the music and the poetry of it all.

The last photograph of her in England was one of her standing, in all her flower child glory, beside the brass name plate of the 'Southern cross,' the lime green liner that was to carry her back to New Zealand. Through trauma and the loss of a dear friend she had lost all confidence in travelling alone, so travelling overland, through India and the east was out of the question.

It was on that ship she met her future husband, Barnaby. He was a farmer recently graduated from agricultural college. He too had been sampling the delights of mid-sixties culture in England and the continent before seriously embarking on his chosen career. They shared their experience and Nola found a lover anew.

Arriving in New Zealand Barnaby took her to see the farm and meet his parents. Driving down the limestone drive to his family's farmhouse he announced he would inherit it. When she spied the white stucco bungalow with its contrasting black joinery and Marseille tile roof, it was enough for Nola, she would marry Barnaby and create the most beautiful garden. The interior did not disappoint with its black adzed timber work and embossed leather art nouveau wainscotting and old William Morris wallpaper. Eventually she would rename the house 'Arwen' after her favorite character from Lord of the Rings.

Justine's parents had been very social, and Nola and Barnaby had been the centre of the local crafts community. An extension was designed and built on the western side of the house with French doors onto its own verandah This was to be Nola's studio and where she held court with her friends, spinning and weaving and all manner of crafts. To the rear was an old kiln which remained as a legacy of those days. The studio remained as it was as a shrine to Justine's mother, complete with artworks she brought back with her from London. In a dark corner a steel shipping trunk contained the neatly folded clothing she wore in London along with a few books and records, souvenirs of her heady days in the sixties. Justine was Nola's only child. Justine was an unexpected pregnancy late in her forties. Following the trauma in the English woods she had been told never to expect children. Nola named her Justine from 'The Alexandra Quartet, 'a favorite among the multitude of books that Nola had read.

Nola developed the garden and maintained it with the help of two gardeners. She and Barnaby regularly showed off the garden to friends who came to functions, craft events, the house swimming pool, tennis or horse riding. It had been the venue of countless weddings and other receptions. In its day it was regarded as a creative jewel in that country district, but that is all in the past.

The garden is a shadow of what it once was, but Justine had a dream of restoring it and the bungalow converted as part of to an Air BNB. Her mother had hung on, living in the house until the very end. She could only afford one regular gardener toward the end and had whittled the garden down to something that was relatively low maintenance; a holding pattern until there were fresh ideas, motivation and will to resurrect it.

Justine's husband Alex was not impressed. Justine inherited considerable wealth through investments following the selloff of parts of the once extensive farm. She didn't need the remaining property, Alex argued.

Justine was an economist, could and liked to work from the property. She had a slightly radical willful streak to her personality probably inherited from her mother and this was also expressed in her economic views. Just another small part of an accumulated tension in the relationship with her more conventional husband.

When the property was left to Justine he had wanted to sell. This increased the tension between them. He was ostentatious, Justine was not. He had the car and the expensive suits and saw them living in an architecturally design house in the best suburb in town. Justine had a Honda Jazz and an old hack of a Toyota flat-deck Ute and down dressed either in an academic fashion or simply gumboots and jeans. All a source of irritation to Alex.

To Justine the garden contained the collective soul of her family. She cared less for money and wealth. She had grown up helping her mother with it. Selling was unthinkable... final.

Back to the present and following her early morning call to Alex, she found herself emotional and upset. She then decided to ride her horse, Muzzy. It was kept on another farm because her own paddocks were leased out. Driving to the horse paddock in her little Honda Jazz she discovered Muzzy to be absent, replaced by the farmer and his two daughters working with a stallion to service a mare. One daughter was calming the mare, the other held the black stallion which was teasing it. The farmer was prepping by washing down the stallion's penis and this held Justine's attention. The horse's penis was erect and seemed huge. It swayed before the farmer caught it.

Justine remembering her earlier conversation with hubby and called out to the farmer.

"Morena Tony."

"Morning Justine, any sign of that husband of yours yet?"

"Not a whiff. Tell you what, it's all getting too much; we are supposed to be starting a family. I need to have some of that." She gestured to the stallion who was getting increasingly excited.

"That won't do you much good, you should get Alex to agree to artificial insemination and courier some over."

"That sounds like an excellent idea. What have you done to Muzzy?"

"She is down the back paddock. You might have got a surprise foal if we left her here."

Justine chuckled, "Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Is it OK to drive through the farm?"

"No worries, I don't think any gates are locked."

Justine continued and found Muzzy.

She secured and fussed around Muzzy who seemed a little agitated. Justine inspected the hooves and taking a brush worked her way round the mare.

Finishing the grooming, she took the saddle out of the Jazz and saddled Muzzy up and she was ready. In her haste Justine was not that well dressed for riding. She had her boots and helmet but as the day was shaping up to be a hot one, she elected to wear her striped harem pants and a light blouse.

Riding was a hassle from the start. Whether or not she could sense the activity in the other paddock, Muzzy did not seem in the mood. Justine took her for a canter to try and settle her. It seemed the Justine herself was infected, what with her husband and the sight of the stallion. For whatever reason she found herself aroused by the stimulation of the horse's movements. Finally, Justine's frustrations welled up and she burst into tears. She abruptly canned the ride and returned to the Jazz at a slow unstimulating trot. Along the way she felt uncomfortable astride the saddle and dismounted she checked her harem pants and found the crutch stained with the product of her stimulation. She became conscious of a stranger not far away on the road staring at her. He looked rough with a hoody pulled low over his eyes with tattered jeans and gumboots. She had no idea who it would be and why he would be walking alone so far into the valley. Both embarrassed and frightened she hastily remounted and continued to the Jazz.

"I'll settle for the garden, I think. I need calming down. Sorry Muzzy," She confided with her horse. "The way things are going I might lose everything I love most; you, my precious garden, my husband and any hopes for a family."

Now home again she was in her magical healing garden under that powder blue sky, now with its whisps of stratospheric cloud. The garden had settled her thoughts and dried her tears. Justine was communing with her Delphiniums and Aquilegia. A month ago, she had successfully spread some wildflower seeds and now suddenly her previously tired garden was a riot of colour bracketed by a blaze of hydrangeas that formed a multi-coloured wall under the shade of native bush on her southern boundary.

The old garden was one thing, but the bungalow would also need work in time. It looked great in the spring when the wisteria and blackcurrant were in bloom but otherwise it needed painting and new roofing. And the interior needed modernizing especially if it was to be subdivided for the Airbnb.

All this was to be achieved along with the start of the family Justine craved. Sadly, this was on hold with Alex caught overseas with no sign of the pandemic abating. Things were coming to head; she was getting older and everything she hoped for was in jeopardy.

Alex and Justine had met while both were studying for their masters at university. They married on graduation. Justine was really a product of old money. Alex had grown up in a state house with a single mother. He had studied hard and against all odds had achieved. He had set up his mother in her own little house and had much to be proud of.

In the early days the marriage seemed strong, both sharing similar outdoor pursuits along with their interest in economics. But as time went on their lives seem to diverge. Alex joined a large international corporation and set on a path up the corporate ladder. Justine joined an economic intelligence and forecasting institute. Her decision to go back and do a doctorate and the dedication required, put a heavy strain on the marriage but in those days the attachment between them was robust and they seemed to survive it stronger than ever.

Following her doctorate Justine remained with the institute but became more engaged with the University. A conflict arose where Alex, in order to advance, had to engage more internationally. A further rift developed when Justine's Mother died, and Justine was the sole beneficiary of her country lifestyle property. Alex saw the property as a burden. It seemed that now he was less enthused by a family and seemed less committed to their future.

Alex and Justine also had a small apartment in the city. Justine shared her work between the office and the farm during the pandemic as her job enabled her to do that, but the lockdown had temporarily put a halt to that flexibility. She seldom visited the office these days and the apartment was getting very little use.

Most of her social contact was via Zoom. Justine by personality and her country upbringing was self-sufficient and was happy to be largely alone. She had friends which were important to her, but she was used to the lifestyle of the relative isolation of the farm. Although not gregarious she was none the less popular with her friends and could easily charm strangers with her ready smile and relaxed manner.

That said, it had been a long six months under the restrictions of the COVID Pandemic and Justine could not help but find herself beginning to feel the isolation in her own little patch of paradise.

At least she thought she was isolated.

The property was some distance from the main highway and sat on an expansive river terrace. A bush covered spur ran on her south side eventually rising into a mountain range. The spur was spectacularly covered in virgin native bush. Most of the original bush in the valley had been milled eons ago, especially the expansive river terraces which were now farmland. There were also some ugly pine forests on the lower slopes of the flanking hills closer to the coast.

The house had a long-crushed limestone drive flanked by plane trees which were out of control and enormous. The house was remote from the sealed road which provided access to the farms along the terrace up the valley. Justine did not as a rule receive drop-ins by other people unless they were deliveries or invitation from Justine. So, Justine was puzzled when she thought she heard someone. She stopped, listened but there was silence apart from the breeze in the trees.