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  • I think a lot about my ancestors lately.

    I don't know why. Maybe it's age.

    I think about how I'm the end of the line for my unique DNA.

    I wonder, if after all that work, those who came before me will be pleased, relieved, or full of sorrow to cease to exist.

    I wonder if my love of fermenting things, making things, imagining things comes from them.

    I wonder if they did great things, or small things. If they were good people, or wily. Industrious or innocent.

    I wonder what their names were.

    No one remembers.

    I wonder if they're lonely.

    Of course there are more of them than there are of me.

    Collectively, they know a hell of a lot more than I ever will.

    I wonder if they're happy with me, their final expression. If they laugh with me. If there was a collective gasp when I dropped that five gallon glass jug of water on the kitchen floor.

    I wonder if I remind them of one of them, or two of them, or all of them.

    I wonder how far back they remember or how far forward they looked.
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