Of all the fieldwork I'd never repeat, I keep circling back to this one

There's a particular cafe table I inherited for three months in a small Andean town — same table, every morning, same red checkered cloth with the corners fraying differently each week. I thought I was studying how a village prepares for a harvest festival. What I was actually studying was how the old women in the corner would argue in a whisper about whose turn it was to feed the stray dog, which was everyone's turn, every single day. It's the only ritual I've ever documented that I'd probably botch now — too much observation in the way of just being there. That table taught me that the best