Between the 2 of us, we strain to lift up Jason’s milk can – first up and over the edge – then slowly we ease it down into the chest freezer.
I look down and run my fingers across the cold wet letters punched into the can’s metal lid.
“Dunno Tuck,” Jason replies, “…an old dairy farm, I suppose.”
It seems the original meaning of the Maker’s mark has long broke free from the moorings of collective memory.
And so she was left adrift for years on the CRYS’tal blue Sea of Anonymity – until this day, when she finally returned to Home Port – her utility intact but no crew aboard. Her only cargo, the Secret, safely left untold.
“What it IS, my bye….is a sign.” I say quietly.