Lessons from Grandad

My grandfather almost always voted Conservative, but many (perhaps most) of his values would not square with the modern right-wingers who pass themselves off as conservative.

Above all else, conservatism and conservation mostly overlapped in my Grandad’s view. Personal and government thrift were important to him, but so was being frugal with nature, taking no more than necessary, and always in ways that preserved nature’s resources and beauty as much as possible for those who came after.

As a sodbuster in Manitoba, Grandad sensed there was something dangerous about the practice of filling in all the sloughs, considered by most to be inconvenient duck marshes to be eradicated as quickly as possible. When the dustbowl years arrived and drought and duststorms made cropping impossible, it was discovered that sloughs were part of nature’s plan, retaining spring snowmelt water like a sponge to keep surrounding prairies moist and fertile.

After he left the farm, my grandfather became a carpenter, and eventually the superintendent of construction at the original Dorval Airport. As they were laying out the raw land, Grandad pointed out a problem with the plans. The centre of the airport would be lower than its perimeter. “Gentlemen,” he told the engineers and the supervisors, “I may not have your training, but I do know about water. You can’t stop it from flowing downhill. We’re building a lake.” The plans got modified.

I thought of my grandfather as I watched the tragedy of flooding on the Sumas Prairie in British Columbia and wondered about the politicians and proponents who decided, a hundred years ago, that it would be a good idea to create farms and towns by draining a lake surrounded by mountains. I know what my grandfather would have told them.

Grandad’s religion was a private and quiet thing. In his mind, religion had no place in politics, and politics had no place in religion. He just shook his head as politicians of his day made it their business to legislate on alcohol, card-playing, theatres, and literature. It was like commanding water to run uphill, he thought. To him, minding your own business was the most conservative thing you can do.

To my Grandad, being a conservative meant conserving what was honest and honourable, working hard, being thrifty, treating nature as if we were stewards, keeping one’s nose out of other people’s business, but mostly acknowledging such obvious matters as the fact you can’t prevent water from running downhill, and you can’t legislate conscience.

The world needs more conservatives like my grandfather.