I journeyed to Barnstable Harbor on a beautiful May afternoon for a tour of Mark Begley’s shellfish farm. Here he and his team grow their Beach Point Oysters. Mark and I waded through the farm while he explained some of the finer points of oyster aquaculture and what makes for a quality oyster. We sampled a few of the oysters, savoring their briny sweetness and tasting the cold waters of the Gulf of Maine. It was my first tour of a shellfish farm, and it left a lasting impression about the care and work that goes into bringing this harvest to table.

This was the week that I learned to catch Cape Cod’s native sea-run brook trout. I started the pursuit of these unique and beautiful fish about a year ago. Until this week every outing has been met with frustration and failure. Dozens of outings, countless hours - not a single fish, barely a nibble. That was until a chance meeting with a river angel this past Tuesday. We bumped into each other in the parking lot at the trail head, negotiated our fishing locations on the river, and then he gave me a fly and said “Fish this.” And that has made all the difference.

Time is a thief, but it also whispers its stories in the wind. With age you learn to appreciate the journey, to find joy despite limitations, and that perfection is just a mirage. My ability to see the details in my art, once laser-sharp, has been loosening its grip as my aging eyesight fades. The blur forced me to slow down, to see the world in a new way. My attention has shifted from the details to the form. Drawing has become a meditative process, a way to turn inwards and let emotions guide the movement of my hand. This inward focus has added a new layer of expression to my art - something that was missing before. In the blur, I discovered not just a different kind of artist, but a richer, more compassionate human being. Life, I realized, wasn't about achieving perfect focus. It was about embracing the beautiful, messy blur. The world isn't something to copy, it's a masterpiece waiting to be experienced. And sometimes, a little lack of focus is needed to truly see it.

Once a symbol of a healthy Cape Cod ecosystem, the annual springtime migration of river herring in Mashpee has dwindled due to human impact. Dams, pollution from runoff and inadequate wastewater treatment, development along waterways, and incidental bycatch threaten these fish. However, hope remains. Communities are actively working to restore herring runs by removing migration barriers, improving water quality, reducing bycatch and raising awareness. By supporting these initiatives, volunteering for stream monitoring, and adopting eco-friendly yard practices, you can be part of the solution. Witnessing the awe-inspiring herring run, which peaks between late March and mid-May, is a powerful reminder of the delicate balance of our coastal ecosystem and the importance of working together to preserve it.

Fish chowder has a rich history, starting as a simple dish made with available ingredients by European immigrants in North America. It evolved regionally, embodying the yankee spirit of resourcefulness and adaptation. I learned this fish chowder recipe from my grandmother, a freeform cook who valued improvisation over strict instructions. This recipe is a framework, meant to be personalized, and adapted to new ingredients and locations - reflective of a place, and time. It's a starting point to create your own memorable version of this historic dish.