Water, Water Everywhere...

With all the news lately about the drought in the Southeast region and the continuing disputes over the freshwater in Apalachicola Bay, I've been thinking quite a bit about my Uncle Corky over there in Apalachicola. His claim to fame is being that area's last oyster tong maker, and possibly the last oyster tong maker in the world.

We called him my "Uncle" when I was growing up because he and my grandmother were raised for all practical purposes as brother and sister, although he was actually a cousin.

Back before my extended family fell apart with the death of my grandparents, my immediate family was extremely close with Corky and the whole Richards' clan. But it's been many, many years since I've seen any of them now.

I've been reflecting a lot lately on the fact that my son Ander doesn't have much of an extended family to speak of on my side of the equation. My remaining relatives in the states are all scattered and we no longer maintain any contact with them. My family in Germany hasn't fared well since my mother died either, and though we still occasionally hear from my sisters and my uncle Olaf and his family, even my contact with them is sporadic, at best.

Ander's really the only blood-relative I have that plays any meaningful role in my life right now. And over this past weekend, he was nearly killed, or at least badly injured, during a visit with my wife's side of the family in Orlando, in an accident involving a shoddily-constructed shelf and a three-hundred gallon aquarium.

Ander tugged on one corner of the shelf, and the whole structure just collapsed unexpectedly, teetering over and dumping the 300 gallon aquarium almost directly on top of him. If my wife and I hadn't gotten there in time to push and pull him out of the way--anyway, we did get there in time to get him out of the way, and apart from a small scrape on his chest, he wasn't even hurt. But I've felt badly shaken up ever since.

My uncle Corky, in addition to being the world's last great oyster tong maker, is a top-notch cabinet maker and all-around master carpenter. Pieces he's built have been featured prominently in several national architecture and design magazines.

If he'd built the shelf that the aquarium was sitting on, the accident this past weekend would never have happened. His work is solid, made to be passed down from one generation to the next, made to withstand the abuses of time.

But he didn't build the shelf that almost killed my only son. That shelf was made in an anonymous factory somewhere, out of pressed ply board, for pennies on the dollar.

What a bargain.