Something Borrowed

“It’s okay to borrow something, just as long as you return it in better condition than it was when you borrowed it.”

That’s what my grandpa told me when I was about 12. He didn’t have a tool he needed there on the farm in Missouri, but knew his neighbor did. He knew I felt awkward in going with him to borrow the tool.

When he took it back my whole attitude had changed about borrowing. I had my head up and I was proud to be part of it. Grandpa used the tool, a piece of farm equipment, for a few days, cleaned it thoroughly, oiled and shined it up so it looked almost new. It was in far better shape than the day we borrowed it.

I’ve often thought of that over the last half century, and the lesson has served me well. A few months ago I needed to haul some things, so I asked my neighbor if I could use his truck. I wasn’t sheepish about it, as people sometimes are. I used it for a couple of hours, and when I returned it, it had been to the car wash and the gas tank was full. He was amazed—and very happy. If I ever need to borrow it again, he insists, I need but ask.

I think of the land and the soil that way. I’m borrowing it. It’s been here serving our ancestors for all our 100,000-year history. We “own it” for a very tiny little portion of that. If we survive, it will be serving our progeny for more thousands of years. It’s no less a crime to destroy a flower bed with chemicals than it is to destroy 10,000 acres of fertile ground. If not today, somewhere in the future what we did to that little flowerbed will matter no less than a crime done to 10,000 acres.

I’ve always applied Grandpa’s wisdom. If I can’t give the soil I’m using back in better condition than it was when I borrowed it, I don’t borrow and use it at all.

It's a sickening statistic that we've already lost 3 of the 4 feet of top soil that covered this nation 250 years ago. That's not the way to return something borrowed.