WHEN THOSE TECH STOCKS were collapsing in recent months, pundit after pundit compared the rampant speculation in and subsequent rapid decline of these securities to “Tulipomania,” the rampant speculation in and subsequent decline of tulip-bulb prices in 1630s Holland.
There were problems with that oft-used metaphor.
For one thing, tulip bulbs, unlike many dot-coms, came with a business plan. A bulb of a new, rare, and appealing variety could be propagated and sold all over Europe and Asia Minor.
For another thing, tulips are tangible physical objects of beauty and desire, as shown off at the annual Skagit Valley Tulip Festival. (Somehow, it’s hard to imagine hordes of tourists descending by car, bus, and Victoria Clipper boat to see the blossoming of the latest business-to-business turnkey solutions website.)
I went on the tour last week. I found it to be about what you might expect me to find it–a gentle clash between the sublimeness of nature (albeit heavily selectively-bred nature) and the institution that is modern middlebrow tourism.
It was all cute little kids, nature-awed adults, and ploddering garden-buff oldsters. Just about the only people I saw in the fields (out of hundreds) who were between the ages of 13 and 30 were working at the food wagons, the flower-sales stands, and the identically “unique” shops back in La Conner (where the Victoria Clipper docked).
Central La Conner itself is, as other writers elsewhere have oft mentioned, a tourist-trap nightmare. Not a single storefront (except a Bank of America) exists there anymore which is not totally dedicated to one or more of the following: Espresso, ice cream, desserts, cat toys, “fine art” (that stuff that’s not as creative or interesting as just-plain art), windsocks, repro “antiques,” etc. etc. Each and every one of these buildings bears an historical-society plaque stating what they were originally used for, back when it was a close-knit fishing town far from the main highways and further from the suburban consciousness.
I’m told there are still eateries and watering holes for locals to hang out in, where you can sip a cold one and watch a game without being expected to be one of the white upscale Monoculture, but I couldn’t find them in my brief time there. I did see a couple of real fishing boats tooling up the Skagit River, amongst all the hordes of big-ass yachts and middle-class recreational power boats.
I’ll have to go back there and find the real town, whatever of it is left.
NEXT: John Keister gets canceled again.
ELSEWHERE:
