PilgrimDance
Celebrating the journey with words and pictures
Potomac River
Scripture reading: Genesis 12:1-9
v. 4-5. So Abram went, as the Lord had told him; and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he set out from Harran. He took his wife Sarai, his nephew Lot, all the possessions they had accumulated and the people they had acquired in Harran, and they set out for the land of Canaan, and they arrived there.
“J & M traveled tonight on a plane.
I can see the red taillights heading for Spain.” (Thanks, Elton John!) Keep reading
At the beginning of the school year our church invites students, teachers, all school personnel and anyone else to get prayed over and have their backpacks blessed. Hey, we realized, we have backpacks! So we took them to church on Sunday night for the blessing, made a craft, ate hotdogs and chicken nuggets for supper and participated in the family game. It was a delightful evening. I guess now we’re really on our way.
Santo Domingo de Silos, Spain (from our trip in 2010)
Our intention is to read scripture before we walk each day…or, if it’s somewhat disorganized in the albergue and/or we are turned out in the dark of early morning, we will read later along the way. If you would like to share in the Word with us, everything you need is printed out below. (Passages are all from the New International Version of the Bible unless otherwise indicated.)
Monday September 5, 2016
Genesis 12:1-9
The Lord had said to Abram, “Go from your country, your people and your father’s household to the land I will show Keep reading
People know we like to travel and sometimes ask if we have any trips planned. “Why, yes,” is my current answer. “We’re going to walk the Camino de Santiago. Do you know what that is?” They almost never do, so I give a quick explanation before interest fades. “It’s a thousand-year-old pilgrimage route across northern Spain.” “Oh,” says the inquirer with mild curiosity. “How far is that?” “Five hundred miles,” I say, ready to break into song. “WHAT?” The surprise is delightful every time. “Who are you going with?” “With Maurice.” “But with what group?” “Oh, it’s just us,” I say. (Us and the other thousand or two people along the trail on any given day.) Eyes widen further as questions form: How long will it take? (Maybe six weeks.) How many miles a day will you go? (Maurice says twelve to fifteen.) Do you usually walk that far? (No.) Have you ever backpacked? (No!) Will you have to carry a tent and build a campfire? By now I am laughing. “We must be nuts,” I say, and no one disagrees.
Keep reading
We took a short trip (between Sundays) out West to visit Kate and Tom. Keep reading
In 2102 on our 40th anniversary we rode our bikes from Brunswick to Harpers Ferry and back on the C&O Canal, so it’s not entirely crazy that this year we picked that route again, though, instead of biking, we hiked in preparation for the Camino. Every time we see Eric he asks us how far we can walk. “We did a five-mile walk at the park yesterday,” we told him on Wednesday. He rolled his eyes. “You should just go out and do fifteen,” he said. Hmm. Probably right. So that was our plan for a fun anniversary activity yesterday. Keep reading
in Vallo di Nera
For our last day in Umbria Maurice had agreed to a brief walk on the Spoleto-Norcia rail trail, a hiking path I read about online. He had even looked it up himself and picked a starting point, Sant’Anatolia di Narco, just on the other side of a 4000-meter highway galleria. The weather was perfect as we parked near the old train station, tightened our hiking poles, checked out the map on the signboard and headed up the road in the direction of Borgo Cerreto at 10:45.
As we neared the village of Castel San Felice, perched picturesquely on a hilltop, we turned right at a sign for the 12th century church of San Felice, a short way off the road between the hill of the town and the river. Keep reading
On Thursday morning Maurice and I headed to la Bruna to do some errands. As we passed La Bruna’s fortress-church I noticed its door was open so we stopped in for a look. A half-dozen people were at work dusting, vacuuming, polishing, taking a drill to the hem of Mary’s gown, chatting. “Buongiorno!” said a smiling young man. “Buongiorno!” I replied. I looked like such a tourist with my orchid rain jacket and camera in hand. Another man waved toward the balcony and said something. I looked. He waved again and smiled. I should go up to the balcony? Si, si. I climbed the curving wrought iron staircase, barely wide enough for me and so spare of frame that I felt like I was hanging in midair. An ancient organ took up most of the small balcony and there was music sitting on the wall so I suppose it is still used (it occurred to me later that I should have asked to play it). I went back downstairs, looked around and sat in a pew. The balcony man came over and handed me a card with a picture of Mary and Jesus (the one painted at the front of their church) and a prayer on the back. Soon Maurice wandered in. Naturally he wanted to talk to the workers, meaning he wanted me to talk to the workers. I don’t make small talk in English, much less Italian. “Pulito,” I said, looking at the Mary statue, tall and shining. “Per una festa?” Between all of us and the young guy they brought over who knew about three words of English, we understood they were preparing for the upcoming celebration of their Madonna della Bruna on Monday night, with the service at 9 pm (!) and a short procession through town with the statue at 9:45 pm. There would be food to buy outside and we were invited. Sounded like fun. Maurice put it right in his phone to remind us. Keep reading
Ponte delle Torri, Spoleto
Christina at the bridge
Christina and I planned to hike what, from my research, seemed to be a popular trail to one of St. Francis’ hermitages, yet specifics were pretty vague. Maurice took us into Spoleto and we managed to find the tourist office. The woman there gave us a tourist map, which a writer of one of the articles I had found said was perfectly adequate for the walk. (And yet, with the HQ of the CAI in Spoleto, you’d think we could have managed to get a real topo map….) We set off about 10:15 from the tourist office toward the bridge. The bridge! The Ponte delle Torri (elevation 396 m) is a soaring medieval aqueduct, perhaps on Roman foundations, crossing the deep gorge of the Tessino River. As breathtaking as it looks on approach, only one side of the pedestrian walkway is open, with a high enough wall on the other side that it wasn’t scary to traverse. Keep reading
Terry and Maurice
Jerry had made reservations for the group for dinner at a place they had stumbled onto years ago, Gaspare Restaurant e Rifugio, a nondescript building high in the mountains above Giano dell’Umbria. We sat at an L-shaped table arranged along two of the stone walls and were immediately served pitchers of wine. Opposite the door was a fireplace, maybe ten feet wide, on a hearth about two feet above the floor. There was a roaring fire but it was obscured by two round discs propped against a metal frame in the front. Pizza stones? After a while a cook at the counter in front of the fireplace caught my attention when he lifted a circle of dough. He wielded tongs to grab the heated discs (large stones) and laid them flat on the hearth then eased circles of dough onto them. Two more flat stones were placed on top of the dough circles. Then, with a long-handled shovel, the cook lifted burning coals from the fire and arranged them on top of the stones. After a while he lifted the top rock for a progress check, shoveled more hot coals on top, and soon the flat bread was done. The cook lifted the top rock, grabbed the bread with one hand and tossed it onto the counter, where a waitress quickly sliced it into little squares, dumped them into a basket and served it to us immediately with thin slices of salami, prosciutto crudo and pecorino cheese. We split the bread and made everything into tasty little sandwiches. Jerry warned us not to overdo it because there was more to come. Keep reading
Recent Comments