Although this quote is attributed to Margaret Mead, it could very easily be the motto of the Environmental Defenders of McHenry County. For over 50 years, they have worked diligently protecting our ecosystem and preserving our natural environment all while educating residents. They have successfully protected valuable areas such as Ryder’s Woods in Woodstock and the Volo Bog State Natural Area. They also assisted in the development of the Crystal Lake watershed protection ordinance and the McHenry County Stormwater ordinance.

And then stay home. Fire up the grill. Char those burgers and brats. Lay into that potato salad and coleslaw with a vengeance, as if it offended you somehow.

Our campsite turned out to be mere steps from the shore of Lake Superior, and if it weren’t for the 40-degree temps, I would’ve been tempted to wade into the crystalline blues and greens of the water. Instead, we sat as close as we could to the frigid waves that lapped the shore, reading, napping, and occasionally commenting on cloud formations or seagull antics.

No, not the jewelry kind of rings. It wouldn’t take me long to do that, because I only own one — my wedding ring, which I haven’t worn in seven years, since I lost my wife of 48 years.

And not the rings of wood on the front of my guitar, which has a sort of tiger-swirl pattern that defies count.

Tuesday night rehearsals have become a sacred space for me. During these evenings, nothing else gets scheduled, and I often trudge into rehearsal still carrying the burdens from the day. As I climb the steps to the second-floor choir room, the day’s headlines swirl around in my head, bumping into family worries, missed deadlines, and things I wish I hadn’t said. But as soon as 7 p.m. hits, our director plays a full chord on the piano and we begin our vocal warmups. For the next two and a half hours, my entire focus is on deep breaths, reading notes, and counting rests.

Oh, that wasn’t my intention, I assure you. When I started out, it was a cool and cloudy day, perfect for a bike ride of 12 miles or so. But the drizzle began by the time I hit mile four, so I turned around. By the time I got home, I was pretty wet.

The scale tips for me, too. I’m far removed from my season of firsts: First apartment, first home, first pet, first job. From now on, there will still be firsts, but they will slow considerably. From now on, I will have to seek out new experiences intentionally, because they will no longer be coming at me like water from a firehose.