April 22, 2011--Snowbirding: The END Is Near

It doesn’t take long before conversations turn to real estate. This has always been true in South Florida. When things are booming—as they frequently have been—excitement is in the air and optimism about valuations is boundless; but when, as now, prices deflate—forgetting the area’s boom-and-bust history--it feels hopeless, as if there is no bottom.

So I was not surprised the other day to find some of the local fellows talking real estate. Since I’m not in the market, I began by listening.

“I have all this land in the middle of the state--ideal location; ideal prices”

I know that when it comes to real estate it’s all about location, location, location; so I was immediately wondering how that claim about it being in an ideal location fit with what he said about ideal prices. But I chose not to say anything.

He lowered his voice. “By ideal location I mean that the soil is rich and there’s only one way in.”

Now I was really curious. Rich soil for palms and bougainvillea? Only one access road to the property?

One of the guys must have had similar thoughts, “And what will we be growing there? Ornamentals? Citrus trees? Not much of a market for that these days. All that stuff comes in from Latin America.”

“I’m thinkin’ more beans.”

“Beans?” two of the fellows said in chorus.

“High protein stuff. Soy ‘specially. But some pintos would also probably be a good idea.”

“You’re losing me.”

“Look,” the real estate guy, Stan, leaned back and said, “We’re talkin’ survival here. Not landscaping.” A couple of heads began to nod. It was beginning to make sense to them.

“And that one-way-in business?”

“That too.”

“That too? I’m not following you.”

Stan pulled his chair closer to the others. “When you’re talkin’ survival you’re talkin’ about controlling access. Who gets in and who doesn’t.” He made his right hand into a pistol and pulled the trigger. Once, twice, three times. “You catchin’ my drift? You want the longest sight lines possible so you can get a bead on ‘em. Can’t be too careful these days.”

“I agree with that. Even here.” One of the fellows, Louie, patted his right side where there was a distinctive bulge under his blousy T-shirt. “It pays to be vigilant. But I’m still not sure what you’re tryin’ to tell us about that land of yours.”

“Let me make it real simple for you.”

“That would be good,” Charlie said, “I don’t have all day.” He tapped on his watch and looked up at the clock on the wall.

“We agree, don’t we, that things are going from bad to worse?” All nodded. “That it’s only a matter of time?” More nodding. “And not that much. That we need to get ready? Be prepared for all eventualities? About that, strictly off the record, I’m shiftin’ all my money into gold. Coins. I’ve got a case full of ‘em ‘cause this stuff,” he pulled a billfold of cash from his back pocket, “this stuff is just about worthless.” He spat out the words and some of his saliva sprayed the money.

“I’ve been thinking that way too,” Louie said. “My brother knows about these things—he works for a bank—and has been telling me to get into heavy metal. Not the music kind but, like you said, the coins. He likes those Cougarrands from Africa.”

“Krugerrands from South Africa,” Stan corrected him. “I like them too but if you can get the Eagle ones from the U.S. Treasury you’d be better off and nicely diversified.”

“Those too,” Louie said.

“Back to this land deal like I was tellin’ you about. The ranches are ten acres each with at least three cultivatable. Which is all you need for yourself and two or three other family members. If you intend to take any of them along. To tell you the truth, when it hits the fan I’m thinkin’ I want to be by myself. Sally ran off last year and my kids are out on their own. As I see it it’s gonna be every man for himself.”

I had remained silent not knowing where this was going or if I could think of anything appropriate to say; but, knowing a couple of the guys, and after hearing this, I couldn’t resist asking, “What do you see about to happen? This sounds pretty serious. To me things feel as if they’re getting a little better. Some companies are hiring again. McDonalds the other day hired 50,000. The stock market is off on a tear. I even read . . .”

“Forget that,” Stan shot back at me. “What they put in the papers is all bunk. You need to talk to those guys who know what’s really goin’ on behind the scenes. The stuff that doesn’t get reported. Not even on Hannity or Beck.”

“Which is?” I asked with skepticism.

“I know you well enough to suspect I’m one of those religious fanatics, like those Hale Boop lunatics waitin’ for the end of the world.” He was right—I was.

“You couldn’t be more wrong. I’m listenin’ to those folks who have studied the economy and are seein’ that behind the so-called good news there’s another bubble inflatin’ that will make the one from 1929 and three years ago look Mickey Mouse. They see the sky fallin’. I mean fallin’ for real. And if you want to make it through to the other side you’d be wise to be pickin’ up some land yourself you can live off of and be sure you have what you need to protect it and your loved ones.” Louie again patted the bulge under his shirt.

“Listen to me carefully since I know the Second Amendment is not your personal favorite.” To that I was the one now doing the nodding. “But if you get yourself set up and prepared for all eventualities, word will get out that you have what you need in the ground and stored for the duration; and those who now think you’re crazy—similar to what you think about me—well, they’ll be comin’ after you to get their hands on your stash. And unless you’re OK with that, like the Boy Scouts say, ‘Be prepared.’”

Stan broke into a broad grin as did his friends.

“So, like I was sayin’,” he continued, “this land I’m talkin’ about is good for crops and there’s also that access issue.”

Getting up, having heard enough, I said, “Time for me to go fellows. We have to get packed up. We head for New York first thing Monday.”

“Make sure when you get there,” Stan said as he waved goodbye to me, “that after you cross that Brooklyn Bridge of yours be sure to pull it up behind you. Remember—only one way out and one way in is the way to go.”

“See you next year,” Louie said.

With a wink, I said, “If there is one.”