“Come on, let’s go go go!”

We’re going down a nice, very narrow trail. On the right is a beautiful farm but the signs admonish you to stay on the trail.

Aussie doesn’t stay on any trail.

“Look, there’s a river there and I’m thirsty. See ya later!”

“You can’t go there, Aussie, it’s private property.”

“Look at those maples with the full branches and leaves. Just perfect for a picnic.”

“No, Aussie, it’s private property.”

“That meadow is so beautiful after the rain. I love eating plants and grass when they’re wet.”

“Aussie, it’s private property. We can’t go there.”

“What’s private property?”

“In this country, Aussie, people swear by private property. It means that they own not just their homes but also the land underneath their homes.”

“You, too?”

“I’m afraid so, Auss, though I’m not sure what sense it makes. You know, the laws of the Ottoman Empire, which once ruled a big part of the world, said that no one could own land.”

“Don’t be stupid. With private property, you’re rich.”

“I do have a mortgage, Aussie.”

“You still have a mortgage because you haven’t monetized your private property. Just think of all the trees and plants you can collect rent from. And you know that long highway of fungi that runs for miles underground? When they come to our property, we charge them tolls. They’ll just have to pay. I mean, whoever heard of an interstate without any tolls?”

“But Aussie—”

“And get more rent from your underground squatters: Moles, beetles, not to mention ant colonies. And what about cicada nymphomaniacs? If they’re going to have brothels down there, we should at least get some of the action, don’t you think?”

“Cicadas are nymphomaniacs, Auss? Oh, you mean cicada nymphs. That’s different.”

“They spend most of their life underground getting fat from our tree sap. Our tree sap. Charge them for meals. And then, when they finally come out, they throw noisy parties on concert venues you don’t charge for and I can’t sleep.”

“I love cicada songs, Aussie.”

“I don’t know why, all they want to do is get laid. Do you charge anyone for water?”

“Of course not. When it’s really hot, like now, I use the hose, but rainwater is what we count on.”

“Everyone knows that rainwater creates pools in the clay underground and roots conduct Olympic meets to see who gets more of it. Do you know what they charge for Olympic events? The World Cup?”

“But Aussie, all this happens without me.”

“That’s my point. It’s our private property, we should get a part of the take on everything! And what about funeral costs?”

“Someone died, Auss?”

“All those dead leaves decomposing, the flowers that die, the parsley I ruined because the ground is cool there and I like to lie on top of it. When they die, do they take themselves off somewhere? No, they die on our private property, we become their cemetery. Most inconsiderate, if you ask me. And don’t forget, when you charge, charge twice as much because they’re getting a green burial.”

“Aussie, that’s the silliest thing I ever heard.”

“Everyone complains that there’s no affordable housing here, but right under your feet there are dense neighborhoods, including multi-room dwellings for ant colonies. Their queen lives better than we do, but has anybody signed a lease with you yet?”

“No.”

“What is this, socialism? We don’t even have a Bernie Sanders sign on the lawn. And you know something? It’s all illegal. Show me one squirrel that ran down to the Monday meetings of the Select Board to ask for a variance on the zoning laws, just one!”

“But Aussie, earth worms are aerating the soil 24/7, and I haven’t paid them a penny.”

“Nor should you. First, they’re illegal. Second, they create tunnels without any license. I fell into one recently. And do you know how many squatter moles we have here? Do you know how much they fight? If you’re going to hold wrestling matches on our private property, the least you could do is give us a piece of the action. And just think of the Airbnb charges that go uncollected.”

“We’re running an Airbnb? First I hear of it, Aussie.”

“That’s because you’re ignorant. When it rains the worms come up, then they disappear. But do they pay? You know how much you could collect every rainy day? But worst of all are the data centers.”

“We have data centers? Here? I’m not sure that’s legal. People in the Valley are dead set against data centers, though they don’t mind them in Nebraska or Ohio.”

“Fungi are passing signals and chemical messages back and forth all the time. They don’t need batteries, they got the sun. Did you know that you’re running a server farm right under your feet? Do you understand how dangerous that can be?”

“How dangerous, Aussie?”

“We own this land because we paid for it, we pay high taxes, but they’re having all the fun. Did no one ever tell them that private property is the mainstay of the United States? Did no one tell them to obey the No Trespassing sign?”

“We don’t have a No Trespassing sign, Auss.”

“It doesn’t matter, they probably don’t read.”

“Aussie, everything you’ve described so far shows that none of what’s called private property is really private.”

“That’s because we’re overwhelmed by illegal invasions. Thank God Biden didn’t abide, otherwise we’d really be in trouble. And what about royalties?”

“Book royalties? Is somebody writing down there?”

“Nobody wastes his time writing nowadays. I mean mineral royalties! Plant roots are mining your soil for minerals. Anyone call you recently asking for the going price on phosphorus? Iron?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“And most of the thieving is happening at night, when you’re asleep. There’s a whole second economy and black market going on here. The police are coming down any day.”

“Aren’t you supposed to do guard duty at night, Auss?”

“It’s too much for me. I came to the country for peace and quiet. Thank God we don’t have a pond here, the frogs would drive me crazy. Everybody lives happily on our private property, nobody pays a cent, and I’m exhausted every day by dinner.”

“Dinner is at 4, Aussie.”

“Exactly.”