early morning fishing

this guy is standing on our crab trap watching the fishermen

One of the great benefits of moving away from a large city is discovering the ways people interact with the natural world. I’m used to nice grocery stores, neat packaging, and organized rows of buildings. A lovely cityscape at night with the bright neon colors and lights can be quite breathtaking.

But there’s also something calming and serene in a fishing community. This morning I woke up to these guys fishing right in front of us. They are quick, methodical, and fascinating to watch — it’s a strange ballet to see their coordinated efforts to lay and then collect the nets.

The fishermen keep only the legal size of what they’re fishing and throw everything back into the water, so the pelicans immediately show up to see what’s going on. The men collect the debris caught in their nets and repurpose or dispose of it. My favorite part is watching the birds follow the men long after they have finished and taken off with their catch. Greedy little birds want more.

Haha. Don’t we always want more? What a subtle lesson to pick up from them as they work. Take what you can use. Share what you don’t use. And leave things neater and better than when you got there.

Review: I’ll Never Be French

I should have enjoyed a glass of wine with the last chapter of the book.

I’ve recently read some books I might not have chosen if I had pondered the selections for long. This week’s review of Mark Greenside’s I’ll Never Be French (no matter what I do): Living in a Small Village in Brittany kind of falls into that category. I picked it up from the employee suggestions at my local bookstore. I love a good memoir, and I love France, having studied in Aix-en-Provence as a young woman.

Although Aix and Brittany are not at all the same, I hoped I would connect with Greenside’s story, and boy did I ever. It was delightful, hilarious, touching, and sweet. I loved it.

I think the art of a good memoir is finding that sweet spot when the reader connects with the narrator in the little things that make us human. Unlike the biography or autobiography of a famous person, the memoirist just needs to have a story to tell. I read memoirs not because I am curious about the details of some famous person’s life, but because I am looking for the human condition.

Greenside captures the insecurities we encounter when faced with a different culture. His spontaneous purchase of a house in Brittany after living there for a summer is not only a fascinating journey of personal discovery for him, but an entertaining story masterfully told.

The epitome of Mark Greenside’s bicultural experience occurs at his 50th birthday celebration, and illustrates just how close he is to understanding the French way, and in a self-deprecating way explains how he will never be able to feel French. And yet, he is French enough. He understands, in the end, that he has become his best self.

shadows and light

The siding has been completely removed in this phase of the restoration of our little church, and work has started on the repair and cleaning of the original siding that is now exposed. It needs a lot of work, but I have to be honest: I love the rough look at the moment.

There’s something symbolic about the whole process that speaks not just to the church building, but the Church it houses. It needs a little work, as we all do. The abuses of time and the elements have worn it down and taken away its luster in the same way sin picks away at our souls and leaves it dingy and in need of repair.

I see this siding, and it inspires hope. What a blessing to know I have the sacraments of reconciliation and Holy Communion to restore me!

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