Embarking on a Voyage



new year’s eve-
in the echo of fog horns
another voyage starts
–  Keiko Izawa

I grew up on a small farm located about two miles from a bay in Puget Sound.  When I awoke in the morning, I knew it was foggy outside even before looking out my bedroom window.  The fog horns located on coastal buildings and bobbing buoys scattered throughout the inlet would echo mournful moans and groans to warn freighter ships away from the rocky or muddy shallows.   The resonant lowing of the horns carried miles over the surrounding landscape due to countless water particles in the fog transmitting sound waves so effectively.  The louder the foghorn moan heard on our farm, the thicker the mist in the air.  The horn voices would make me unspeakably sad for reasons I could never articulate.

Embarking on a voyage in blinding foggy conditions, like starting the second month of a new year,  portends both potential adventure and risk.  Of course I’d prefer to see exactly where I am headed, carefully navigating with precise information and expert knowledge,  eventually winding up exactly at my intended destination.

The reality is that the future can be a murky mess.

We cannot see what lies ahead: we navigate by our wits, by our best guess, but particularly by listening for the low-throated warnings coming from the rocky shores and shallows of those who have gone ahead of us.

I am still too easily lost in the fog of my fears of the unknown – disconnected, afloat and circling aimlessly, searching for a touch point of purpose and direction.  The isolation I sometimes feel may be my own self-absorbed state of mind, sucking me in deep until I’m soaked, dripping and shivering from the smothering gray.   If only I might trust the fog horn voices, I could charge into the future undaunted, knowing there are others out there in the pea soup prepared to come alongside me as together we await the sun’s dissipation of the fog.

Now, almost sixty years into the voyage,  I recognize the fog does eventually clear so the journey continues on.

Even so, I will keep listening for the resonant voices of wisdom from shore, and raise my voice to join in, not to echo the moans and groans of my  misty childhood mornings,  but to confidently sing an anthem of hope and promise.




5 thoughts on “Embarking on a Voyage

  1. Thanks Emily, I too get sad when I hear fog horns and yet it is a pleasurable sadness to me in an odd way. I have been barnstorming with you this past month and have been blessed by your words and pictures. May God go with you and your family. Barb Tinklenberg


  2. Exquisite, and a trifle sad, Emily. But the reality that we face on a daily basis can be both..

    Two of my favorite sounds are fog horns and train whistles – especially late at night. Although I live on the edge of an urban-suburban area I hear both frequently — one from the Hudson River three miles away (Albany is a port city); the other from a railroad crossing for a local train a mile away. Both sounds evoke warnings and a heads up, memories of childhood where monstrous trains were exciting to behold and to ride on, and a certain continuity from the past, all of which we need to have on our journey.

    A real dense ‘pea soup’ fog can be a frightening, intimidating experience. Not being able to see perils or safe havens ahead of us — as imaged by our life journey or, in mundane situations like trying to find your car in a mall parking lot or the keyhole on your front door….


  3. This is so lovely and true, the inner foghorn is like our intuition, leading us toward the right path. Such wise words, very happy to have found your blog via A Design So Vast.


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