Ed's Head

We know primogeniture, that the oldest gets the first shot at the land or lion's share of the inheritance. What some overlook is that the younger siblings either became psychological seconds or, if they had a grip on their lives, adventurers. Then they became plantation owners and perpetuated the very system they were victims of. The only consolation was that they had earned the right to perpetuate primogeniture instead of inheriting it.

In the case of the Franklin family, generations of first-borns had occupied the land. Quality farmers deeply entrenched in the way people did things in those parts, as elders they often became members of governing boards and spokesmen for the status quo. And Earl was no exception, nor his son Jonathan, nor the grandson Jeremy nor his boy Sylvester. But when the century turned, so did the interests of the offspring. Now, instead of the eldest demanding rights of primogeniture, the first-born chose the option of part-ownership while not working the sod at all. And after the second sons tired of the novelty of owning the land they, too, left, so that ownership naturally fell to the youngest.

What a change in psychology! When primogeniture ruled, owning and working the land was a privilege, but now the eldest felt he'd gotten stuck. Meanwhile, the genetic/environmental yearning for adventure was denied the second son. This is exactly what Ed Franklin faced the day he was obliged to work as a slave in his own fields.

It was wrong from the beginning and everyone who watched the horse step on his foot, the dog spook the cattle, and the skunk refusing to vacate the barn, plus the turkeys taking a peck at the mail man, the geese flying off, and that pesky rooster scaring the daylights out of the kids: it's a wonder Ed made it through the first day.

And although he'd worked the farm with his father and brother for years, now he faced all the chores, the ones a veteran whips off absent-mindedly. Like rinsing the cans the second after the milk is poured so the flies don't collect. Or latching the gate instead of only closing it so the rooster doesn't get out. Or making sure the pitchforks-shovels-hoes-rakes

are all hung so one doesn't have to search. Keeping up with the field work was one thing, but with no helping hands, each little task became one more straw on the youngest Franklin's back. In short, inheriting the land was not a blessing but a curse.

But Ed was not to be denied: to him it was a matter of time. Deep inside he knew this indenture was wrong, and Nature simply straightened out wrong things. Deep inside he knew something would happen. Somethinghadto happen.

Timothy Hayberg in Lincoln County got out of his predicament by becoming an alcoholic and gambling everything away. That was not Ed's way. No, Ed would not lose the farm nor let it run down. But he also would not be a slave.

Up North a conglomerate was offering a deal to the local farmers. The company bought farms and let the original owners live on them and work like tenant farmers. "The risk is ours and you get a free ride."

"Free ride my foot," said Ed, who saw through it before the dew evaporated. "The farmer's nothing but arealslave that way. No, that's not for me."

In time, the idea of co-ops swooshed through the land. Everyone holds onto his title and shares equipment. This promised to cut down costs. "Sound good, Ed?"

"Sure, but eventually everything gets regulated including prices for seed and fertilizer. That dominoes into how much we can get per bushel or pound. So it's either get regulated by ourselves or the government or the bank. Any way you look at it, we're at the bottom of the totem pole." Whatever the solution, Ed was being kept from following his deep desire to follow his nose to the sea.

"It's not that I'm being irresponsible," Ed said to his neighbor, Norm Fulcan. "It's that I'mdrawnto the ocean.That'swhere I want to be, where I want to work."

"Work? Whoever heard of working on water less'n it's a fisherman or galley slave in ancient times? And today is today and you, Ed, are no more a fisherman than I am."

But fishing is not what Ed had in mind. He'd read about farming the sea. Since the earth was seven-eighths water, he figured that was where the world's food supply would be grown in the future. The article Ed read cemented the idea that in generations to come there would be more farmers reaping crops from seaweed, oysters, all sorts of aquatic life than

all the land put together.

But Ed, like others battling similar situations throughout time, didn't have to assume the responsibility of how to change his life: Nature took charge.

It happened when Ed went to the barn to gather eggs. The rooster was restless so the farmer kept an eye on him. That renegade spurred him once and if there would be a next time, rooster stew would be the result. But sometimes when we have one eye on a potential problem, we sometimes miss what's imminent. Namely, Billy Boy, the workhorse that had stepped on Ed's foot, shoved open the gate, chased the cattle around, and eaten Mrs. Cassidy's flowers to the nub.

The last parts of Billy Boy's bulging body that Ed Franklin saw was his sneaky eyes. The hoofs came so fast Ed never saw them. The man lay in the hospital, certain the horse had gone to college and majored in Mathematics, Physics, and Geometry, because he knew EXACTLY how far to stand away for his hoof to hit yet do only minor damage. Horse sense doesn't pertain only to where water is.

Lying in the hospital gave Ed time to think. He concluded by saying that if he didn't quit farming, next time Nature would force him to.

"So what are we going to do with the old place?" asked Earl as he sat on the hospital bed. "Frankly, I think that what with everything else that's gone awry, Nature's telling you it's time to leave the land."

"I'm glad you said that," said Ed. "If I had it might sound like I'm a quitter, and you know I'm not."

"Tell you what," added Earl thoughtfully. "My two boys, Seth and Jonathan, they're sixteen and seventeen and don't know what to do."

"Same as my Sylvester," said Jeremy. "He's nineteen closing in on twenty, and about to get married, too. You know, between the three, or four including the new wife, they could take over the old homestead. Together they just might do fine."

That night Ed got a lot of rest since he knew he wouldn't have to gather eggs and face Ole Tom. Some times it takes a kick from Nature to make up your mind for you.

"Sea farming?" asked Earl when he heard. "Maybe Billy Boy kicked you harder than we thought. What do you know about sea farming, anyway?"

But Ed's head was clear: he knew what he was doing. He would raise protein-rich algae in the South.

"Algae?" asked Earl, startled. "Aren't they germs or something?"

"No, scum on farm ponds," laughed Jeremy.

"And you're going to grow that stuff and expect people to buy and eat it? And you expect to make a living off it to boot?"

"Believe it," said Ed. "And if you don't think it'll work, look at this." He presented orders from herb stores, organic restaurants, large food processing companies. "Now check this out," and Ed waved bank deposits. "And how come? All because of these," and the sea farmer presented scientific research comparing protein from sea plants to beef, pork, and grains commonly grown on ground pasturage.

"Well, I'll be," said Earl, mouth agape.

"Isn't that the cat's meow," echoed Jeremy.

And so the land passed from the oldest son to the oldest son as it had in days of yore when primogeniture reigned. And the youngest son, following in the wake of his predecessors, headed to the sea to make his fortune.

"And the topper," snickered Ed, "is that I never have to fear getting kicked in the head by no sea horse."