I generally don't do this (whatever "this" is) on weekends, but it's Monday — no longer the weekend, technically. And in Newport, where it's busybusy given that Memorial Day is essentially the kick-off to "the season," it's very much a work day. That's my reasoning. Not that this is work. And not that weekends are my topic. Flags are my topic, and I don't have much to say about them, except there's a big one (and a whole bunch of little ones) flying over Bowen's Wharf this morning. And another bunch at the end of Bannister's Wharf. I saw them en route to the Coffee Grinder, where I'd wandered down to fill my cup ...
But upon seeing the Black Dog flag in the rigging of the Schooner Alabama, thus being reminded of my sweet dog P who at this time last year may have accompanied me on just such a morning journey, I remembered that flags on Memorial Day aren't about big, beautiful loveliness or even the vestiges of patriotism. They're about remembering ... right??
At which point I remembered that I'd seen a number of flags at Fort Adams on Friday, no doubt in preparation for the Big Weekend. One little flag for John Adams (for whom Fort Adams was named), two for William Brenton (for whom Brenton Point was named??), and many little flags for those residing in the cemetery on the hillside. They don't seem like much — these flimsy little flags — after all these people did and/or went through. But they're something. In the end, maybe no one deserves a bigger flag than anyone else anyway. And any flag is better than no flag, I suppose.
That said, we're off!! Let the season begin ...
