Huan fretted as his grandson hefted the last sack of grain onto the sagging old wagon, and secretly wondered if this would be the last time he would enjoy the pleasure and pride of working along side three generations of strong-backed boys and men on the family farm.
There was always too much to worry about in this sort of life, but this year the worry had given way to dread, and had becoming sickening.
There had been good years aplenty, but now more than ever he wished he had listened to his grandfather and ventured in to the city, as a young man, taking advantage of his ease with numbers, and his instinctive trading skills to specialize as a merchant broker.
Let the other farmers break their backs for months on end, then risk it all on an unforeseen price at market. He could buy, sell and trade the fruits of their labours. "You have gifts," grandfather
had said.
"Use your share of our family capital to start your own trading house and build your family a fat and happy future."
Last summer was the unthinkable disaster that made his grandfather's advice seem so vivid now.
The memory of the journey to market felt like the earth caving in on his life's work.
The scant summer rains had been among the lowest in his lifetime, and nobody had ever seen the river as low as that.
He searched out the eldest sages in the region for advice on how to navigate the journey to market without mishap, but their advice was conflicting, and it seemed to Huan that they enjoyed the sound of their own voices more than they did the ring of truth.
In the end, he had to guess, and his guess nearly killed them all, and spilled their entire crop into the hungry waters.
This year, as usual, Huan sat in his perch at the stern, watching for danger, barking commands, and using his years of experience to help keep the valuable cargo from spilling, or so he hoped - with the sort of dreaded hope that hinged on disbelief.
He tried not to let on that his several decades with a well-worn parchment map were as useless as they were the previous year.
He felt a huge lump well up in his throat as he contemplated the thought of another worst-case scenario unfolding, and the rapids eating the last remnants of his family fortune. Grandfather, watch over me on this journey.
That evening, as they camped with other farmers on the shores of the river, just above the rapids where they lost their load the season prior, he wasn't the only farmer who felt sickened at the task that faced them on the morrow.
Once again he wished he was a trader, with soft hands, and a fat wife - hiring rickshaw drivers to take him along the busy cobbled streets like some spoiled son of a warlord.
He closed his eyes and envisioned the next day unfolding. Grandfather, will this river steal the shipment again and destroy generations of work? Is this the meaning of your counsel years ago?
Then like some sort of alchemy of the mind, a thought stirred, a set of ideas connected, and it just seemed obvious. He knew exactly what to do, but first he would have to convince the others. Thank-you grandfather, your wisdom is my greatest gift.
The next morning the agreement was sealed, not by parchment and hot wax, but by verbal covenant of the patriarchs, with their eldest sons as witnesses.
An inventory of shipments was meticulously calculated on each family's vessel, and they agreed to co-operate like never before. Huan, with his talent for numbers, kept the tally, and was trusted to do so honourably - after last year's disaster; he wouldn't dare tempt fate by cheating.
The agreement allowed that if one family or more lost their load in the treacherous rapids, the rest of the families party to the deal would provide a pro-rata contribution to them, softening the blow of their loss.
This would be the beginning of many years of co-operation among the region's farming families, and more importantly - as legend would have it - the birth of insurance.
Mark Ryan is an advisor with RBC Wealth Management, Dominion Securities (member CIPF).
He can be reached at [email protected].
