0 Build, harvest, brew, be human

When I clam, I put a couple back. I know there will always be more when I do this. I am also keeping a promise to my niece, who has a habit of returning more quahogs than she actually rakes, though she eats them readily enough. (Hi, Claire!)

When I build something permanent, I try to get it right. Wood is forgiving, to a point, and it will last past a lifetime if cared for properly. The tree has already given up the ghost, and I will soon enough.

I obviously need sunscreen on my head now, photo credit Leslie

Every piece of wood I ever worked with had its own personality. Cedars tend to act like cedars, oak like oak, but even within a species is just enough variation to keep things interesting. 

I stacked together hundreds, maybe thousands, of rocks back in my early twenties, to build a wall that would outlast my life. I built it carefully, and I hope someone acknowledges as much a hundred years from now. No way to know, of course, and in the end, the admiration of someone who has yet to breathe is besides the point.

That's me, being human....photo by Leslie again

What matters is caring every moment we have.

Not sure my students grasp why I do half the things that I do, but by this time of year, they trust why I do them. It's a good time of year to be a teacher, if you've been doing this right.

And for all the errors I make every day, I mostly do this right. 

And all we have is moments.

   

I have a chance to write for a national organization, and I may yet, but I need to do it for the right reasons.

In the end, why we do things matters almost as much as what we actually do.