We humans like to find patterns and signposts, to guide
us through the seasons of nature and of life.
Amid-summer drought was curling the leaves and fading
their greens in a grove of ancient sugar maples, high on a ridgetop, at the
base of Snowy Mountain, in the northwest corner of Virginia�s least-populous
county, Highland.
But way up in one tree was an outlier, a branch obeying a
different call, of nature still, though not of the
hot, dry nature that was, but of the cool, breezy nature that was to come.
This lone branch, a little island in a weary sea of
greens and browns, was a signpost to the future, to the colorful turn toward
autumn that seemed miles away on this sticky summer day. Radiating from the
massive tree trunk�s precocious offshoot was an unmistakable sign of things
to come: orange leaves.
And as the heavy curtain of gray clouds ambling across
the sky parted, flecks of sunlight seemingly ignited from within this patch
of earthy orange leaves, now glowing like pastel pumpkins. In the following
weeks, across the mountaintops of the commonwealth, greens would transform
into reds and yellows and oranges, and this procession of color would
multiply and march, from the highlands into the valleys, across the ridges
to the piedmont, downwind toward the lowlands of the tidewater.
The beacon of seasonal change that flashed in August,
brightened in September and exploded in October will quietly conclude on
Virginia�s Eastern Shore, as November�s steely skies settle over the land.
Such a sign of things to come reminds us again that we
humans crave, at times need, order in the midst of chaos, certainty in an
uncertain world. And with the world of humankind so painfully uncertain,
it�s comforting that the world of nature is somewhat, usually much, less so.
We know with virtual certainty that October will be
colorful in these parts, and almost certainly sunny and cool. First we
anticipate, then we savor upon its arrival, October�s chilly nights under
the sheen of moonlight, its warm days with the crackle and crunch of dried
leaves underfoot.
Much as a cluster of orange maple leaves in August is a
beacon of seasonal change, so also was a cluster of community leaders in the
mid-1930s a beacon of societal change. Change from backbreaking farm labor.
From straining to read by candlelight or kerosene lamp. From hauling water
for cooking and cleaning.
The folks who formed cooperatives in the 1930s and �40s
to bring electricity to the countryside to ease both toil and darkness were
not investors or entrepreneurs. Not in the usual sense at least. They were
local people who, in a very real sense, were both investors AND
entrepreneurs, investing in the betterment of their community, with an
entrepreneurial spirit to get it done.
In over 900 communities across the land, including 13 in
Virginia, local folks joined together to form their own utility, to provide
themselves with electric service when no one else would. And the seven
principles that guided these strong, stubborn visionaries still apply 80
years later.
Every October, during this month that embodies change,
cooperatives across the globe celebrate Cooperative Month, and the
foundational principles that stitch these member-owned businesses together,
from Austria to New Zealand, from rural farm-supply cooperatives to urban
housing ones.
These seven principles embody how cooperatives are:
� voluntary organizations, open to everyone able to use
their service;
� with democratic control by the members;
� and economic participation by them as well;
� in an independent business that they control;
� and about which they�re kept informed;
� that works together with other cooperatives to achieve
mutual goals;
� including concern for the well-being of the communities
they serve.
Thankfully, the laws of nature don�t change. And neither
do the guiding principles of the electric service provider that folks in
your community have owned for three generations.
