O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!

I grew up hearing my mother quote those two most famous lines of Robert Burns’ poem, “To a Louse.”  She probably hoped those gentle words would keep me humble and help me to realize that everyone doesn’t see the world exactly as I do.  Seventy-eight-plus years later, I’m here to tell you that her good intentions didn’t work.

When I feel strongly about something, it always comes as a great surprise to find that someone else – especially someone who I like and admire – doesn’t feel the same way.  Take Oysterville, for example.  It simply never occurs to me that anyone would not love it, especially if they live here.  But, apparently, that is the case.

A few days ago, in answer to a request for assistance with our summer vesper program – (the program that helps maintain our Historic Church) – I received a refusal.  That in itself is not unusual –there are many reasons people cannot devote an hour on a summer Sunday to a vesper service.  In fact, I thought I had heard about every excuse possible, but this one absolutely flummoxed me.  It had to do with being discouraged by the “new” Oysterville.

I’ve been mulling that thought over for the last few days, trying to decide what the “new” Oysterville might be, when it changed from the “old” Oysterville, and what the up-coming 37^th vesper season to support our 1892 church might have to do with it all.  I have to confess that I am totally bewildered and am awaiting an opportunity to ask the person who made the statement.

Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to analyze how I, myself, perceive Oysterville.  For sure I enjoy perpetuating the stories of the “old days” and honoring the traditions that were started by generations past.  Certainly, I miss the people who worked and lived here and who contributed to the Oysterville we know today – all those familiar names up at the cemetery on Davis Hill.  And, though I don’t embrace every modern “improvement” to the village and don’t always bond instantly with new neighbors, in general I see the changes as a dynamic that show Oysterville to be ‘alive and well’ and a promise that the village will survive all of us – hopefully even the tsunami that they say is inevitable.

In the midst of all these imponderable thoughts, my friend Mark Petersen sent copies of pictures he had taken this weekend, including some of me.  Not a single one showed my head in the sand.  Or, in the clouds, for that matter.  I felt a little more grounded seeing myself in the “Now Oysterville.”  Thanks, Mark, for being the “ither” in my life at just the right moment!