I pull a bag of fish fins and assorted parts from the freezer. I’ve been saving them since last summer when Gerry returned from his annual salmon fishing trip. We work together when my (not so) old man returns from the sea to fillet fish, tuck little packages in the freezer, and stuff some in jars I process in the canner. It’s messy and companionable work.

We’re still eating from his catch—often—in anticipation of this year’s bounty and a need to empty the freezer of salmon before then. The bag of fish parts is in the fridge, thawed and ready for today’s work.

I’m planting tomatoes today. The tiny seeds I dropped in pots back in March have transformed into tall plants, and it’s time for them to take their place in the garden. I’ll dig holes, drop fish parts and eggshells in them, and lay tomato plants on their side within—tall plants becoming shorter and stronger in the process.

There’s something satisfying about the turning of life, and how the fish feeds the vegetables, and how satisfying labor in the summer nourishes us through the dark months of winter. It is as it is meant to be. The garden teaches, and the living of life instructs, and I do my intentional best to pay attention to the still, small voice.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
  1. Lovely!

    1. Thank you!

  2. This is so perfect. My mother canned fish and also tucked fish parts into the freezer. They used it for crab bait. Thank you for this memory. And thank you for you beautiful writing.

    1. Ah, a wise and hard working woman, your mother. Glad this post brought special memories.

  3. Nothing like having your own fresh food.

    1. Absolutely! Last night’s dinner was delicious and satisfied in multiple ways.

  4. Oh, I love your writing style!
    🙂 gwingal

    1. Thanks so much for your kind words, Nikki. 🙂

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