The Ghost with Trembling Wings by Scott Weidensaul
Well-written, enjoyable but ultimately rather depressing. Lost species... there's just so many of them, and even the ones that reappear are so fragile, clinging to existence on the fringes.
Tea and crochet are the two things I most associate with my grandmother. Tea because of the wonderful little gossip-fests she'd have with friends and a steaming pot in the kitchen, while I watched round-eyed, allowed to stay as long as I was quiet, sipping from a cup of heavily sugared tea. Crochet because her hands were always moving, always making something, a crocheted afghan, a knitted sweater. Not as a craft but from depression-era thriftiness, a need to be productive.
For me, crafting is what I do when I don't need to be productive. Crafting and reading, cup of tea in hand, recharging for another day's productivity.
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