Okay, an introduction.  I’m a librarian.  I live on the American left, but I live elsewhere, too.  On the water, for instance.  Antaeus drew his strength from the earth, and weakened when parted from it.  I identify with him, for separation from water similarly saps my soul.  I’m not a swimmer, but a sailor.  And a paddler, and a rower.  So for me, water is nearly synonomous with boats, but to best appreciate the former, I feel a need to build the latter.  So I’ve built a boat — a little cat ketch — and some kayaks, and may well build more, maybe a bugeye, which is a fairly big ketch.  All of wood, which seems to connect us to our sylvan roots in a way that metals and plastic cannot.   Can sailing a boat built by some factory using techniques and techonologies utterly foreign to one’s own experience begin to compare with sailing something created by your own hands?  I would argue not, that being solely a consumer denies us the richness of forging an organic relationship with the tools of our lives.  Not that building one’s own boat is a necessity, but I find that those who create with their own hands experience their world more richly, whether the entities they build are boats or furniture or quilts or gardens or paintings or dance or meals.