Living in the same house for fourteen years, we see how long things last.

The dishwasher that came with the house lasted six years. Its replacement began to leave debris on the plates after eight years, eventually complaining loudly by buzzing and then bleeding water all over the kitchen floor. 

The boiler for our heating system failed after four years into our residence, because the solenoid that shuts off the gas to the pilot light needed to be replaced. Today, about ten years later, that same thermocouple needed to be replaced. The repair guy said that they can last one day, or twenty years — there’s no way of telling.

…

On the other hand, some items are built so well and have such straightforward functionality that, with a little care, they can last a lifetime. Victorinox, for example, makes solid Swiss Army Knives and other tools.

So what is the business model for Victorinox? How can they make money when their products are so durable? They have a loyal customer base who recommends their products. And there are two additional reasons for me. First, I have misplaced and needed to replace some of mine: a Super Tinker and a Climber, as well as my first SwissCard, from moving across the country, loaning them out, and related to confiscation during air travel. Second, I have come to trust Victorinox for quality anytime I need different sets of tools for different occasions. As a result, although I already have three 91mm knives as well as four other models, I am already considering what my next purchase would be.

My heftiest Victorinox tool is the SwissTool RS, which is the first item I grab whenever I need to repair anything around the house. This well-crafted block of steel is an entire toolbox in one hand. My lightest is the SwissCard Lite, which crams so much into an incredibly easy-to-carry package. I also have a NailClip 580, which I purchased even though it is easy to find clippers at the pharmacy, and a Precision Compass, for my neck lanyard.

My oldest 91mm Swiss Army Knife, which I have had for more than a quarter century, is a Climber. This particular knife has served me well on brief and lengthy camping trips; it has more than I really need on a daily basis around town. Looking to lighten the load, I found a heavily discounted Serrated Spartan, which is very similar to the Climber except the large blade is serrated (two different edges is great) and is one layer thinner because it lacks scissors. Missing those scissors, this month I stepped up to the Explorer as my EDC, to replace both a Benchmade Bugout and the Victorinox SwissCard Lite. The Explorer has all of the Climber tools, plus an eminently useful magnifier and a solid Phillips screwdriver. I’m thinking of replacing its scales with Plus scales, to carry a pen and a pin in addition to tweezers and toothpick.

(The following family tree is from SAK Wiki, a great resource for information about Swiss Army Knives.)I carry the Explorer in my shirt pocket, but still long for something that is thinner while retaining my favorite tools: scissors, magnifier, and can opener. A sensible way to slim down is to merge the bottle opener and can opener into a “combo tool” that replaces the small blade. This would also require going without the awl, which is on the back layer of the standard opener tools; although I have occasionally found the awl useful while camping, I can live without it. In addition, some users indicate that the combo tool is a bad compromise and is not robust for prying. Still, making this change reduces the Climber by one layer to the Compact model (which comes with Plus scales), and the Explorer trims to the Yeoman.

I prefer the Yeoman, in order to retain the magnifier, even though the Compact already comes with Plus scales. But Victorinox no longer manufactures the Yeoman. My grail knife would be a Yeoman with Plus scales (preferably dark-colored low-density metal scales, such as the aluminum and titanium ones made by Swiss Bianco), the uncommon hook with a nail file surface, the standard magnifier in production since 2012 (6x glass mounted in clear plastic), the “old” scissors (with an adjustable screw for a pivot), and well-stamped liners. To honor its custom manufacture, I would call it a “Yo, Man” or “Yahmin” or “Gnomon“.

I did mention “well-stamped” liners because, sad to say, my new Explorer has ugly liners. The aluminum is rough instead of polished on the edges, and there is even a little divot out of one of the internal liners. The corkscrew was rough and had some extra metal I scraped away with my fingernail. These issues don’t compromise the usability of the tools, but it’s disturbing that they passed Victorinox quality control, because these tools, with care, last a long time and proclaim the reputation of the company.

Artifacts survive us when they are durable, prove useful, and/or hold sentimental or informational value. Perhaps one of these knives, well-worn and one day freely given, will continue to serve beyond me.

As a child the spectacular daring of men on the Moon inspired me. One small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind extends a hairline beyond the terminator of my memory. I am old enough to remember the later Apollo missions. I zoomed around the living room during the opening credits of TOS before we called it TOS: to boldly go where no man has gone before. It was a time in my life and for the country when every boy dreamed to be an astronaut. And it was always man, mankind, boys: this was a decade before I began to penetrate beyond a skin-deep awareness of gender, coinciding with the biological imperatives of adolescence, visions from encountering New Wave science fiction, a broader diversity of crew on the Space Shuttle.

As an adult I maintain a general sense of optimism about the future. I’m still transported by videos and images from the Space Age, starting with we choose to go to the Moon. Thinking about space continues to influence my thinking, from teaching my history of ideas course on the circle, to archiving information across the solar system.

Yet here we are, fifty years after Armstrong set foot on the Moon, and what has changed? Here on Earth, the place where I work remains way behind the curve along many measures of diversity. The city where I live is segregated and surrounded for miles by one of the most monochromatic parts of the nation. The politics of the nation itself are fractious.

As for the Moon, we are going there again, or so we’ve been saying for years, and then beyond. But, as with any endeavor, who is actually doing the work? Who receives the credit when things go well, who distributes the blame or spins the narrative when things falter?

In Kennedy’s speech, he declared, “There is no strife, no prejudice, no national conflict in outer space as yet.” But as we humans fling ourselves into space, we carry the politics of difference with us. To a certain extent, this is inevitable, even welcome — individual distinctiveness is good. And I want us to be adventurous as a planet.

However, when we leave the development of rockets to a tiny group of plutocrats, we should wonder whether only the wealthy should control access to space. When art on the Moon or communication with potential extraterrestrial intelligences is dominated by small groups, we should question how broad their perspectives and methods can be.

I am not interrogating whether we should go to space. I think it is inevitable. We are a wondering, wandering species. All of us begin our lives as curious explorers. Instead, I am wondering how we should go about space exploration and development. Sometimes when I consider our ventures in the early 21st century I think: yes, let’s do it, let’s go to space. But no, don’t do it like that. It hurts that way.

We should be more grown up by now, acknowledging the value of multiple efforts, values, and perspectives. Otherwise, it’s just Whitey on the Moon all over again.