Found a twenty-year-old field notebook, still smells like the bay

Spent tonight going through a box I'd forgotten existed — logbook from a summer I spent sampling eelgrass beds off the Sound. The pages are brittle and the pencil's faded but I can still tell you which tide I was on by the handwriting. Never thought I'd say this, but I miss the way my hands smelled after a day of sieving sediment. Trying to decide if I digitize them or just leave the box alone.