It is summer in the northern hemisphere, and gardens are blooming—at least here in the Pacific Northwest. Cucumbers are abundant, as are zucchini and artichokes. Berry picking has become an essential ritual: for pies, for crisps, and for sharing with neighbors.
I live on what some might call a semi-rural road adjacent to Puget Sound. The old-timers around here lament that when they pull in their pots these days, the crabs aren’t as plentiful as they once were. But there are still crabs. And salmon. And what is perhaps most remarkable is this: the bounty that sea and land provide is regularly shared.
I sometimes feel a twinge of guilt when our stack of cucumbers and zucchini earns us a salmon. Yet, I also feel a quiet joy knowing that when the tomatoes are ripe, the apples are heavy, and the pears are ready to fall, I will return the gift. When the fishing season ends, my giving will increase, so that over time, what I receive and what I give remain in balance.
I wonder—is this what Gandhi meant when he spoke of “shared surplus?"
Mahatma Gandhi believed that everything beyond our basic, honorable needs is not truly ours to keep.
In his words:
“What belongs to me is the right to an honorable livelihood, no better than that enjoyed by millions of others. The rest of my wealth belongs to the community and must be used for its welfare.”
This idea, known as trusteeship, doesn’t mean giving because we’re told to. It means giving because we recognize that we’re part of something larger. It’s a moral responsibility, not a legal one. It says: What I have extra, I hold in trust for others.
It’s important to recognize that Gandhi’s model is not socialism. While both value equity, trusteeship is voluntary and spiritually rooted, not enforced or state-driven. Gandhi believed in personal transformation—not in seizing wealth, but in rethinking our relationship to it. Where socialism often demands redistribution through political means, trusteeship invites redistribution through conscience, compassion, and choice.
Socialism is a system. Trusteeship is a practice. A way of living.
And in that way, what happens on our road—where salmon, squash, fruit, and crab are generously shared—might just be a humble reflection of what Gandhi envisioned. Not a grand theory, but a quiet ethic of 'enoughness.' Of living simply so others may simply live. Of holding abundance with open hands.
This model of shared surplus offers a distinct path: one that is neither capitalist in its accumulation nor socialist in its mandates, but deeply compassionate in its roots. It begins with individual responsibility—and grows through mutual care.
In the end, maybe a good garden and a generous neighbor are more than seasonal gifts. Maybe they’re reminders that the most enduring models for a just world begin in how we treat one another. Not just with fairness, but with love in full expression.
With warmest regards,
Marilyn
