Today’s vessel evagation is neither my first nor my last meditation on vessels, the many various literal and figurative containers that pertain to my notion of home.
I’ve been reflecting a lot on vessels. Crockery, boats, homes, books, relationships, memories. And conditions. Conditions of vessels, the contents they’re asked to contain, and those of us who rely upon them, who contemplate them. (Source: Broken & Unbroken)
This Saturday dispatch takes as its point of departure a sumptuously simple ceramic jug that was wheel thrown by my godfather, OMC, in 1973. At present it occupies a bookshelf in the morning room, though it’s been known to wander a bit like this post.
Warning: I’m about to overshare. Probably. If that makes you uncomfortable, no worries. I totally understand. My cringe-tolerance is real, and I’ve learned to honor it. So, if you’re looking for the off ramp, I’ve got you covered. Here are some popular posts that you might prefer:
- What Makes a House a Home?
- Where in the World is Rosslyn?
- Protecting Strawberries from Squirrels
- How to Use Tanglefoot (And Why Fruit Trees Need It)
- Why Are My Cucumbers Orange?
- Mysterious Speckled Egg
- Bobcat Sighting
If you’re still with me, thanks!
When I mention vessels, many think I’m speaking about sailboats, skiffs, and ships. Often I am. Often I’m not. These nautical vessels are not conspicuous cousins to the folded leather purse that used to hold coins in my pocket before coin usage dwindled to the point that carrying a leather coin purse became unnecessary. And while none of these miscellaneous vessels (including the earthy crock in today’s photos) overlap obviously, they are all containers for holding something, sometimes for transporting something.
Blood vessels too are cousins, as unlikely as it might seem when envisioning our labyrinthine circulatory system, a mesmerizing maze of spaghetti and capellini channeling blood from heart-to-heart in an a closed circuit vaguely reminiscent of the electrical system that Brandon wired into the icehouse, or the plumbing that Ben and John fitted into the icehouse rehab.
Vessels all. Perhaps my vessel evagation demands a wink of clarity.
evagation noun /eva·ga·tion ˌēvəˈgāshən, ˌē(ˌ)vāˈ-, ˌevəˈ-/ 1. obsolete : a wandering of the mind 2 [Latin evagation-, evagatio] archaic : the act or an instance of wandering
Etymology Middle English evagacioun, from Middle French or Medieval Latin; Middle French evagation, from Medieval Latin evagation-, evagatio, from Latin, wandering, from evagatus (past participle of evagari to wander, from e- + vagari to stroll, wander) + -ion-, -io ion (Source: Merriam-Webster)
As I try to suss out the what, why, and where of homeness, I return again and again to this idea of a vessel. Of vessels. so humor me just a little longer as I allow this vessel evagation to wonder and wander. Maybe, together, we will stumble upon something useful.
OMC’s hand-me-down pottery, wooden bowls (including the one turned by Ron Bauer from Bob Murphy’s burl), boxes and baskets including the interesting brass kindling box in Rosslyn’s dining room that is from Susan’s mother. And furniture, the antique armoire in Susan’s study, for example, a Chinese artifact still in service despite plenty of imperfections in the black lacquered paneling. These are all vessels. As are our boats and other vehicles, and most notable our home, carriage barn, icehouse, and boathouse.
And what about more abstract vessels like my marriage with Susan, my poems, and this multimodal storytelling project I call Rosslyn Redux? Vessels as well.
These many sorts of dissimilar vessels are similar only insofar as they contain. Their form is well suited to the function of holding.
Where have I arrived with this vessel evagation? Right back where I began, in front of a bookshelf in the morning room, looking at a sturdy pottery jug. 
What do you think?