"Industry comforts us, hard work with no respite, provided only that the elements do not rage while we are at work." ~ M.C. Escher, "Beehive," from XXIV Emblemata, 1931 Hardwood from our forests, then knuckle- bruised years of hewing and planing. We knew how to lash thousands of trees into a vessel that would sail half the year to carry silver and gold, porcelain, teak and tea, silks and cinnabar to worlds most of us would not see. Those of us who did sail endured hunger and sickness, maggots in our food, poisonous water. We swung our bloated bellies in hammocks, the hold made more humid by our pummeling despair. Tragedy and mutinies; slow death. Bleeding gums, teeth fallen out of our mouths. In Morro Bay, touching land again for the first time: shadow of its rock on water a portal through which we passed.