Keep going
Annie & Alison Newsletter #21
I’m standing at the edge of a long, rocky peninsula and the sun is about to rise. I gaze up at the skinny, metal flag pole by my shoulder. The air is cold and misty. I’ve walked mostly in the dark, across giant, slippery boulders to get here. It was hard work. Between every few rocks, I looked up to scan the horizon, waiting for a glimpse of you.
Yes, I crawled out of bed far too early and came all the way here to this flag pole for you. And just like clockwork, your shadowy figure emerges from the skyline. Well, not yours, but that of the sail boat you’re on. I have 5 minutes until you reach me. So I get to work.
My frozen fingertips undo the rope’s rough knots. I fumble through my backpack and unwrap two large rectangles of fabric. One is red with a divot on one side. The other is light blue with a solid white stripe down its middle. I slip the rope through the holes of the red one first, making sure to keep the edge straight and taught. Then the blue one. You’re nearer now; I can make out some details of the bow.
I begin to pull on the ropes, hoisting the flags up the mast inch by inch. The length of the flagpole always surprises me. The rope is always tougher on my hands than I remember. And with every tug, you draw nearer and nearer. Your boat angling perpendicular to the peninsula, just as planned. After what seems to be too long, I feel the first knot hit the top of the mast. I can’t help but smile.
Your boat is close now, I can see the shape of you waving to me, and I wave back! You take in the flags. They mean, “you should keep going.” Inhale, exhale. You see me still waving and smiling. You nod and I nod back. And just like that, your boat eases past and I watch as you grow dimmer and the suns gets brighter.
You: Um Annie, what’s going on here?
Me: I’m a big metaphor gal. Roll with it!
Several years ago, my friend Amy came across a 1931 copy of the International Code of Signals. It’s the dictionary of maritime language – nautical flags, their corresponding numbers and letters, and the phrases they signal when combined. Before radio and satellite, boats would communicate through this flag code. And if you’re willing to look, you’ll see the poetry of it all, the poetry of code. That’s what captivated Amy and sent her on a yearlong path of creating the flags by hand and selling them in sets in her shop, All Well Workshop.
One of the flag phrases Amy sold from that dictionary is “You should keep going.” I bought one for a friend that Christmas and wrote her a letter about how when she thinks of me, I hope she pictures me standing on the coast, waving these flags for her, cheering her on. No matter the obstacle, I’m rooting for her to succeed, to keep going.
In the past two months, I’ve found myself near a lot of people who, I think, need to hear “keep going.” Some are tired from the pandemic and fraught political environment. Some are confused about what’s next for their jobs or relationships. Some have lost loved ones or are in the process of losing them. Some are encountering doubt. And for every single one of them, I am raising my flags to say, “The world needs you, your gifts, your voice, your ideas, your doubts, your art. Please, keep journeying on. Rest when you need to and then sail, knowing that you are necessary.”
Even if we’ve never met, and there are some new subscribers here (hello, welcome, I’m not always this poetic and sappy), I’m saying this to you too. I wholeheartedly wish you to keep going.
You keep sailing, and I’ll keep cooking. Here’s this week’s reviewed recipe round-up:
127 recipes cooked, 98 to go.
During this week of cooking…
I learned… that fish seared in a skillet will splatter like nobody’s biz. Crispy skin is worth the mess, don’t get me wrong, but you’ll want your Swiffer near by.
I watched… Outer Banks. It’s a Netflix show that’s a cross between National Treasure (one of my top five movies of all time) and Teen Drama (a genre that I both love and hate but mostly love and hate that I love it). The caliber of the cast surprised me. They’re compelling actors, and they serve the fast-paced story well.
I read… Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry. This was my first Berry novel, and it won’t be my last. Jayber is a barber in a small Kentucky town, and the book is his firsthand account of his life and the goings-on of his community. He speaks of love, war, doubt, and belief in unpretentious prose. I simply couldn’t put it down.
Sail on!
xo,
Annie
