Decades ago, I was rocking on the porch of a Victorian house we had rented for a week in Cape May, New Jersey, our beautiful summer city by the sea. I was alone when I looked up and noticed the way the ends of several beams came together in a corner of the porch ceiling.
You would never notice this detail unless you had too much time on your hands, which I did that day. The carpentry of that wooden marriage was absolutely perfect, and I wondered about the long-gone person who had done this wonderful work. I reached for my notebook and wrote these two sentences: