Inklings, Imagination, and Storytelling- bell hooks and the mythmakers

"When we lose our myths, we lose our place in the universe." -Madeleine L'Engle

Text selection from bell hooks’ (2010) Teaching Critical Thinking- Practical Wisdom:

“…by telling stories I had entered a redemptive space. I had entered a world of soul retrieval. Slowly, I was taking broken bits and pieces of my psyche and putting them together again, creating in the process new and different stories- liberating tales” (p.51).

“Without the ability to imagine, people remain stuck, unable to move into a place of power and possibility” (p.61).

Response to the text:

In bell hooks’ series of essays, I’ve found a rich and provocative cultural critique which inspires and challenges my own assumptions at times. Her perspective of teacher openness and student engagement reminds me of the work of Parker Palmer (2007) in which Palmer calls upon teachers to engage authentically with students in creating an environment in which everyone contributes to the learning through the use of reflection or introspection and the telling of one’s own story. Hooks uses storytelling to engage students in creating a space for transformative learning.

This reminds me of some of my favorite heroes in literature and academia in the 1930s-1940s; the Inklings group, a group of Oxford scholars like C.S. Lewis, JRR Tolkien, Dorothy Sayers, and others who met once a week to read each others’ work and to build community. Along with Madeleine L’Engle, these scholars defended the role that myth and storytelling plays in interpreting our world, making meaning of our experiences, and the vital role of imagination in academia. Tolkien and Lewis both wrote essays on the importance of storytelling. Not only did they write about stories, but their epic tales, like The Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia, were a type of meaning-making for interpreting their own experiences with World War I and World War II.

Hooks (2010) writes that stories connect us to the larger world. When we recount our own stories, we find relationship with others’ stories. This storytelling and interpreting of stories (data, facts, information, and emotions) is what ties our experiences to the global community, to the human experience. Stories, myths, and legends are not only a way of knowing, but of nourishing the possibilities held in imagination. Lewis (1966) writes:

The Fantastic or Mythical is a Mode available at all ages for some readers; for others, at none. At all ages, if it is well used by the author and meets the right reader, it has the same power: to generalize while remaining concrete, to present in palpable form not concepts or even experiences but whole classes of experience, and to throw off irrelevancies. But at its best it can do more; it can give us experiences we have never had and thus, instead of ‘commenting on life’, can add to it.

Hooks alludes to this ability to add to our academic experience and the richness of academic literature when we begin to use our imaginations to tell new stories. In my own work on mythmaking in international service-learning, I am intrigued by stories. How can we use myth (that is, our own hidden truths and assumptions) to make sense of our world while at the same time embrace a new perspective such as one might find in an inter-cultural exchange or study abroad program? Tolkien (1966) suggests that stories allow us to view our world and our hidden assumptions from a different perspective.

Stories, and our telling of them, have the ability to empower the oppressed, to expose inequities in our educational systems. Through imagination, stories can heal, liberate and create new possibilities, new endings. L’Engle (1963) said it this way in her Newbery Award acceptance speech,

Because of the very nature of the world as it is today our children receive in school a heavy load of scientific and analytic subjects, so it is in their reading for fun, for pleasure, that they must be guided into creativity. These are forces working in the world as never before in the history of mankind for standardization, for the regimentation of us all, or what I like to call making muffins of us, muffins all like every other muffin in the muffin tin. This is the limited universe, the drying, dissipating universe that we can help our children avoid…

I apologize for the use of another long quotation, but really did not want to rob you of the richness of these ideas as so aptly expressed by their authors. I think bell hooks, Paolo Freire, and Stanley Aronowitz would all agree that we must become storytellers in order to be agents for societal transformation.

Have we relegated imagination to the non-academic world? I close with my own poor attempt at an apology for myth and stories, In Defense of Fairy Tales (Garner, 2009):

Have you ever seen a rainbow
with a pot of gold at its end?
Have you ever heard the whispers

at night of the fairy folk, friend?

Did you ever catch a glimpse,

in a secret vale, of the fauns?

Perchance upon a moonlit night
see the dance of the leprechauns?

And when you were drifting to sleep
did you ever happen to spy
the Sandman or pixies or trolls?
Or perhaps hear the elves' lullaby?
I've trembled with fear at the sound
of the hooves of the great minotaur
and fell to my knees in awe
of the proud, majestic centaur.

But what I fear most is the throng,
with banner held high called "Progress",
as they vanquish all mythical things,
spurning magic they do not possess.
Heedless of things they cannot see,
they're blind to the grace of the naiads.
But poorer yet the ears must be
which ne'er have heard strains of dryads.
How miniscule the world must be
which lacks imagination
and where the soul's ascent
from cave to illumination?

Small minded men would impugn us.

"Great intellects" might accuse
that we hide in Atlantic polity
"which can never be drawn into use."*
How tragic a world unpeopled
with angel or hero or demon.
And this, greatest threat of all-
the real world's devouring dragon-
a fragile world sans mystery,
whose glory is in banality.
A world so un-apocryphal
with hopelessly un-epic beauty.

Where are the prophets called artists
like L'Engle and Lewis and Milton?
Where are the mythmaker-poets
like Stevenson, Homer, and Tolkien?
They fashioned a world of romance
from fragments of ancient rune,
where memories of "Once upon a time"
still transform the night without moon.

(* from Milton's Areopagitica )

References

Garner, J. (2009). Imagination’s Door and other silly rhymes. Retrieved November 7, 2010

from http://imaginationsdoor.blogspot.com.

hooks, b. (2010). Teaching Critical Thinking: Practical Wisdom. New York: Routledge.

L'Engle, M. (1963). The Expanding Universe: Newbery Award Acceptance Speech. New York:

Crosswicks Ltd.

Lewis, C.S. (1966). ‘Sometimes Fairy Stories May Say Best What’s to Be Said’ as printed in Of

Other Worlds: Essays and Stories. London: Geoffrey Bles.

Palmer, P. (2007). The Courage to Teach. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.

Tolkien, J.R.R. (1966). The Tolkien Reader. New York: Del Ray.

Down with the Man!

Selected text from Aronowitz' Against Schooling: For an education that matters (2008):

"But schools do not transmit a 'love for the world' or 'for our children,' as Arendt suggests; instead, contrary to their democratic pretensions, they teach conformity to the social, cultural, and occupational hierarchy. In our contemporary world, they are not constituted to foster independent thought, let alone encourage independence of thought and action." (p.19)

Reflection:

As I read Aronowitz' text, I was stunned by his abrasive, arrogant, and judgmental tone and use of language. Claiming a lack of "tolerance for boredom" (p. 5), Aronowitz goes on to claim that though he didn't need credentials, he got them and on his own terms, thanks to no one but himself. He boasts about skipping undergraduate school and getting his PhD without the interference of any professors, whom he obviously deemed as moronic influences and beneath him intellectually.

Thinking about some of my own experiences in action-learning labs and co-intelligence, I was saddened that Aronowitz was so arrogant that he didn't think that he could benefit in the least by trying to learn in a community of students and professors. I'm not saying that formal schooling is the only way to learn. I just think that Aronowitz robbed himself of an opportunity to learn independently and with others, the very thing he rants about as the great evil in our school systems today. I began to ask myself “Where is the love that Aronowitz spoke of?” His writings seem devoid of love, but seem to be rants and raves against every order or perceived authority.

The more I read, the more disenchanted I became with Aronowitz and his hypocrisy…and my own. He rails against credentialing, but certainly used it for his own gain. Though I am against credentialing for the sake of driving an economic, consumer machine, I also am in the credentialing industry. He claims to represent the working poor, but has used his privilege to pull himself up by his own bootstraps, climbing the social ladder he denounces. I don’t claim to be from working class intellectuals, but I have touted the “pull yourself up by your own bootstraps” mentality at times. He rails against authority, yet sets himself up as an authority in alternative schooling. Though I have benefited from the existing authority system in public education, I have also praised the benefits of alternative education programs from garden-based education to environmental schools. So, I began to ask, "What is Aronowitz saying that he's not saying with words? Where is he coming from?"

Aronowitz came out of the 1960s counterculture movement with its anti-authoritarian “Down with the man” slogan. His mistrust of authority is evident in his glorification of his own alternative school experiences (until “the man” came in and laid down some rules) and in his praise of music and media which rebel against societal norms and middle class morality. However, Aronowitz lauds the music and media scene in order to prove his point that students learn from a variety of sources, the least effective of which is the public school system in its present form.

Finally, at the end of chapter two, Aronowitz offers up a spark of hope in an abysmally dark rant against social class, culture, and education. He proffers an outline for changing both societal structure and our educational system; changes which will, hopefully, spawn creativity and independent thought in our children.

References

Aronowitz, S. (2008). Against Schooling: For an education that matters. Boulder:

Paradigm Publishers.

Jack and the Beanstalk: Disparity and the American Dream

Note: This is the latest in a series of essays I have been working on as I struggle with the complexities of what it means to be human and to live a socially just, environmentally sustainable and spiritually fulfilled life. I'm a dreamer and optimist, by nature and by choice, but I am also a realist in that I am not oblivious to the struggles and inequities experienced by myself and others around me. So, before you judge me too harshly or think that I have "lost faith" or am anti-American, I simply ask that you suspend judgment until I have posted some of my other work which might provide a more complete picture of my thought processes. Also keep in mind that I am unable to expound on certain ideas at times, simply because of the limitations in length of the essay. So, if you have a question, please feel to ask: "What did you mean? or where are you coming from? Or did I understand you to say...? or Could you clarify...?"

Thank you,
Jana (Gigi)

Jack and the Bean Stalk:

Disparity and the American Dream?

For the purposes of this paper, I will address chapters 26, 27, and 28 of Schools and Society (Ballentine & Spade, 2008) in reverse order. In my opinion, the issues of spending, education, and No Child Left Behind are a result of the hidden assumptions of meritocracy and the American Dream. These underlying myths are the driving forces behind the American education and university system, in which students have been promised guaranteed success. Johnson writes that “If the American Dream of meritocracy is our country’s promise, public education is what ensures that promise to all children” (Ballantine & Spade, 2008, p.274).

The myth of the American Dream built on meritocracy says that no matter who you are or where you come from or what your family background or position or financial situation is, you can “succeed” if you work hard enough. Success in America is most often defined by one’s wealth or ability to accumulate things like houses, cars, boats, degrees, power, or influence. Like Jack from the children’s tale of Jack and the Beanstalk, generations of Americans have traded the family cow for a promise of guaranteed wealth.

Looking back on my own education from a position of privilege, I am grateful for the opportunities afforded to me, but I am beginning to understand the hidden message of our educational system: “Do well in school, so you can do well in college, so you can get a good job, so you can be successful, buy stuff and be happy.” Our schools and universities have adopted massive marketing strategies to sell parents and students the American Dream, a consumer mentality which has pushed our ecologies to the limit, led to greater disparities in socio-economic levels, and vast inequities in our communities.

In chapter 27 of Schools and Society (Ballantine & Spade, 2008), Condron and Roscigno see disparities in spending as a major cause for inequities, saying that schools made up of mostly poor students are often characterized as run-down, dangerous, unhealthy, or overcrowded. They found that race, though it did play a part in inequalities, was not as significant a factor as social class. From my own experience in predominantly white schools, socio-economic status was hugely significant for many of my peers. Many of them did not have parents who read with them at an early age. As Johnson pointed out in chapter 28, forty percent of impoverished adults hold at least one job (Ballantine & Spade, 2008), leaving little time or energy to read with young children. Those students who were from outlying towns whose constituents lived in poverty, were most likely to score poorly on standardized tests and to drop out of high school.

Based on the amazing marketing strategy and name of the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001, one would assume that students like the rural poor from my high school would never drop out again. Though the ostensible driving purpose behind NCLB was accountability and an attempt to bridge the achievement gaps in education, the trend toward an economics-based, greed-driven, mechanistic business model of education was already under way. Starting with the “greed culture” of the 1980s, followed by the “global competition” mentality of the 1990s, it’s not too surprising to see the merger of the education system (already perceived as mechanistic, that is, like a factory whose product is “good students”) with the capitalist business model, including its rewards and punishment system.

In my opinion, the greatest myth perpetuated by NCLB with its data collection, assessments, numbers crunching, and timelines, is that teachers are the ultimate determination in whether a child “succeeds” or not. I’ve seen more than a dozen elementary teachers, friends and colleagues, quit from the stress of the requirements of NCLB. They gave up, tired of “walking around on eggshells” and trying to “teach to the test”, while seeing their students continue to flounder for any of a hundred reasons which are out of the teacher’s control. The hidden “truth” or myth of NCLB is that schools have all power and control over a student’s ability.

While I don’t deny the incredible power exercised by teachers in shaping children, this narrow view ignores the complexity of human systems. A whole systems approach to this vast problem would show that within even one given school system, there are thousands of relationships and dynamics which influence a student: home life, socio-economic status, abuse, circles of friends, acquaintances, neighborhoods, teachers, principals, hierarchical structures, race, gender, divorce, conflict, religion, siblings, disabilities, media, sports involvement, extracurricular activities, district funding, teacher compensation and qualification, school building/environment (safety, aesthetics, surrounding neighborhood, class size), teacher-teacher dynamics, culture of respect and love, or a culture of violence and hate, social capital, emotional intelligence of peers, etc. These are only a fraction of the elements which contribute to or which detract from a student’s ability to learn.

In the old story of Jack and the Beanstalk, Jack traded the family cow for three magic beans. In today’s culture, those magic beans would be primary school, secondary school, and post-secondary school. All Jack has to do is climb the beanstalk to reach his dream of wealth (the ability to purchase things) and success (power, influence). Wealth and success are rarely associated with contentment with one’s circumstances, good health, emotional and social intelligence, or healthy relationships. If inequities in society are to be addressed, including those in education, we have to acknowledge all of the dynamics (opportunity, chance, privilege, etc.) which brought Jack those magic beans.

I am by no means advocating that we stop dreaming or that we stop working hard or that we just give up. On the contrary, I think dreaming or imagination is the key to envisioning our future; a future with fewer inequities, more opportunities for all, and the pursuit of happiness. In fact, I’ve written several children’s poems on the subject, such as Dreamin’ (Garner, 2009).

They say that it cannot be done.
They say don't even try.
They say that I am only one.
They say all dreams must die.

They say not even Attila the Hun,
though he was a brave sort of guy,
would ever attempt what others shun.
They say I am aiming too high.

But they don't know what I know-
no matter what they say.
And little dreams begin to grow
in spite of the "no's" anyway.

They say that dreams are for sleepin',
that day dreams will just make me fall.
But I know that even pipe-dreamin'
is better than no dreams at all.

Finally, I believe we have to redefine success, wealth, and the American Dream as that which is more socially just, environmentally sustainable, and spiritually fulfilling. When we have changed the concept of the American dream, then we can address some of the inequities created in our schools by that myth. Maybe it’s time we became mythmakers and poets and dreamers.


References

Ballantine, J.H., and Spade, J.Z. (2008). Schools and Society: A Sociological
Approach to Education (Third Edition). Victoria, AU: Wadsworth.

Garner, J. (2009). Imagination’s Door- Poetry and rhymes for kids. Retrieved October
27, 2010 from www.imaginationsdoor.com.

Through Tuscany and on to Rome

How does one recapture two weeks' worth of adventure in a short time? In my last blog, I had just met up again with Marie-Josephine, or Marie-José as we call her, and Michel. At Santhià, we met a pilgrim on bike, an italian named Dennis. He's an architect and helped us immensely by translating for us as we ordered dinner. 

In Vercelli, we met two other italian pilgrims on bike, Ermanno and Hugo. They were great fun and cooked us a delicious pasta dinner. We also arrived in time to eat lunch with the priest (whose name was Alberto, not Roberto as previously reported). Very kind man. 

Sunday morning, we rose early, went to the church to pray with Father Alberto and continued on our way. We had clear skies! Yay! We knew it was going to be a great day when a young woman on bicycle shouted a "Bravi!"at us early in the morning. We had no idea just how many gifts God would send us in that one day! 

In Pastrelo, a woman saw M-J and I (Michel walks much faster), and wanted to bless us with a cup of espresso, which we gratefully accepted, of course. When we arrived at Robbio, where M-J and I had planned to take the train, the conductor let us ride for FREE. At Mortara, our destination for the day, we were met with bad news. Though we had called and reserved 3 beds, the custodian would not let us in at the Abbey. We were tired, HOT, and did not know what else to do. So we sat down in the Abbey grounds as the mosquitos ate Marie-Jose for dinner, when we decided to pray and believe that God would provide. After all, he had already blessed us with many other gifts, we knew he would take care of us. 

No sooner had we finished praying when Roberto and Donnatella Stefani arrived, walking through the abbey grounds at Sant'Albino with their dog, Bobo. They saw us, stopped to chat, and when we explained our situation, they offered to take us on to the next village (another 8-10 km away): Roberto even called ahead, made sure we could stay, then took us to their home around the corner where they served us coffee and water. We chatted for some time. And before you knew it, they were giving me a bottle of their home-made wine. Donatella brought out a jar of home-made preserves for the road. They even gave us a can of insect repellent since we were walking through rice fields. Amazing!!!! 

They took us on to Tromello where Carlo greeted us, gave us ice cream (came back later and gave me a cake), and set us up to stay. Above and beyond this, Roberto returned the next morning to pick up Michel to take him back to Mortara, so Michel could walk the entire via francigena from Belgium to Rome! 

The blessings just kept coming! On Monday, August 16, we continued on to Gropello, 12 km away. Just as we were on the outskirts of Gropello, a man stopped to offer us a ride and insisted that we had to see the Madonna della Bozzola, a shrine in the woods along the VF (but we had taken the shorter road and had missed this wonder). M-J and I took our time, waited for the priest to arrive to "okay" Sam staying in the Oratorio, went to the bar to order a hot chocolate (YUMMY, like hot chocolate pudding), and met up with Michel later. 

In the meantime, I spent the afternoon getting to know the locals, and working on my Italian language acquisition. Dinner was free. Since all the stores were closed for "ferie" (a feast day/ festival week in the church/ or just vacation time), the nun brought us pasta which we cooked in the tiny kitchen. We drank the wine from Roberto and Donnatella. Nice. 

On August 17th, we continued on our way, greatly refreshed. As M-J and I entered the town of Carbonara al Ticino, we almost bypassed it, but decided that we could stop for some water. I really wanted a cup of coffee. As we entered the town, a man met us on bicycle, explained that this was part of the via francigena commune and went on his way. 

 The next thing we know, several townsmen were headed our way to welcome us and usher us to the town hall where we could register, get a town seal or stamp (very important for pilgrims), and sign the guest book. A few minutes later, Sandro appeared. He's a local college professor; bio-chemistry. Sandro offered to buy us coffee and escorted us to the bar where he bought us cappucino and brioche. Now lest you think "bar" like in America, in Italy, a bar is where you go in the morning to grab a cup of coffee, read the paper, hang out and chat over a card game, etc. You can also purchase alcohol there later in the day. But it's really more like a coffee shop and bar rolled into one. 

After our delicious break, Sandro escorted us back to via francigena. We continued on along country roads and trails until we reached Pavia. At Pavia, we took a bus (since it was getting unbearably hot in the afternoons) to Santa Cristina.

The next morning as we walked through the little town of Chignolo Po, we were met by a nun who had seen us walking along or had heard that some pilgrims were coming through. She brought us very cold water and had another woman run across the street to get us a stamp for our 'credentiale'. SWEET! When we arrived at Orio Litta, the mayor, Pierluigi, met us, talked about the town, explained our accommodations (which lacked a kitchen but were very nice), then offered to meet us the next morning to walk with us for the first 3km toward the ferry. We wanted to take the more direct autostrada, but were told that it was impossible. Road construction just outside of Piacenza prevented foot traffic across the Po river. So he called ahead for the ferry and arranged our transportation. 

 

On August 19, Pierluigi gave us a short tour of the town as we walked toward the ferry. We said our goodbyes as he pointed us in the right direction. At Corte Sant'Andrea, we were met by a group of locals who offered to stamp our credentials (these are pilgrim passports) and who offered us a cup of coffee and a nice, cool chair to sit for a while as we waited for the ferry. 

They explained that the ferryman, Danilo, was chronically late, so we might as well enjoy ourselves for a bit. So we did. And they were right. Danilo, who had insisted the day before that the orario (schedule) could not be changed and must be kept, showed up 30 minutes late. But he was funny and hospitable, gave us a stamp as well, took us about 4 km up the Po river (which we paid dearly for- at 10 euros each! that's $15, people, to go 2.4 miles). But it was pleasant and we continued on our way.

Michel went on ahead as usual. And as the day grew hotter, we entered Calendasco. As we entered town, a gorgeous Italian man met us, offered us cold water, brought Sam puppy treats, a package of dogfood for the road, and a huge bowl of water, asked us if we needed anything else, then sent us on our way. A few minutes later, we ran into Michel and his new friend Carlo, who offered to buy us a cool glass of white wine. We chatted for a while and Michel ran ahead. 

Then, M-J and I decided to walk to the next town where we would try to catch a bus. We enjoyed fresh figs along the way and found a field of Roma tomatoes (which had already been harvested). There were thousands of ripe tomatoes lying in the fields. We gathered up tomatoes from the ground for dinner that night! Timing is everything. 

In Piacenza, I stopped at the local market to purchase fresh basil and garlic to go with our tomatoes and pasta. We had to change buses. I asked the bus driver for directions to our stop. We had JUST passed it, so he stopped and let us off, pointed us in the right direction, and we trekked back to the "ufficina". The pilgrim accommodation was amazing: washing machine, drying racks, kitchen, chapel, 2 bathrooms and showers, 2 bedrooms with 3-4 beds each: immaculately clean. I think it was a 10 euro donation. 

On Friday, August 20th, we walked from Montale (just south and east of Piacenza) to Fiorenzuola d'Arda. The priest met us, showed us to our room, Sam had to stay in the hall. That night, there was a very special ceremony to celebrate the relics of Saint Bernard, complete with a Templar guard and sacred music concert. We joined the town procession and took photos of the relics. 

On Saturday, we walked to Fidenza. It was very hot! So M-J and I had decided to try to find a bus at Fidenza. Again, God's timing is perfect. As we stopped near the train station to get a Coca-Cola and to ask about buses or trains, we met Adriana and Marina at the "bar". Turns out, they are both Templars, and Marina spoke French quite well. They wanted us to see the procession that night from Fiorenzuola to the Madonna della Bosche. Marina offered to take us on to Costamezzana, where she also knew another Templar called Oliviando. At Costamezzana, we were not warmly met, but the old woman agreed to let Sam stay in the old school (pilgrim accommodation). We met Marina again at the local restaurant and talked for hours. Really sweet! We talked about God and faith and what it means to each of us. 

On Sunday morning, August 22, we took off early, but were stopped by the old bat (ha ha ha). She threatened to call the police. All because Michel had put the key to the room in the mailbox outside the front door (which is usually what we are told to do). The old woman had obviously missed her calling in life: hospitality just ain't it. When we gave her the key, she calmed down and said, "Va bene. Va bene", and motioned us away. It was a hard walk that day. Started out cool, but got very hot by 11:00am. 

At Medesano where we stopped for a cup of coffee, everyone ignored us until I put Sam's backpack on. Then everyone came over to talk to us, to tell us how to walk on, etc. No one offered us a ride to Fornovo di Taro. So we walked on. When we thought it was unbearable, M-J tried to hitch hike. No one stopped. So we walked on. 

Just as I prayed for a cup of cold water, we met Pierra, an old woman who was sweeping her porch. We saw no other signs of life in the sweltering town of Ramilda. She saw us, called to us to offer us water, ran inside, brought two HUGE bottles of cold water, offered us a chair, brought Sammy water, and then ran inside again. This time, she came out with photos which were very sacred to her and began to tell us of the miraculous signs and wonders which had happened at a church not far away.

She told us of her grandson who was 21 and had been burned badly in an accident and asked us to pray for him. Then she offered us tomatoes and peaches from her garden, called her neighbor over and instructed him to take us to the bridge before Fornovo di Taro. I think we all teared up as we said goodbye. It was such a sweet moment. Such an incredible and simple act of kindness which opened all of our hearts! 

It took us 30 minutes to cross the bridge over the Taro, because Sam wanted to stop in each bit of shade he could find. It was miserably hot. But we made it across, stumbled down into the town, found a few locals to ask directions to our casa d'accoglienza, and they very kindly offered to drive us there. We accepted! The casa di spiritualità was run by 2 or 3 nuns from Madagascar. The house was huge, had a gianormous kitchen which we gladly used to cook the pasta we had been carrying in our packs for 3 days, and was clean. They even had seperate rooms for men (Michel) and women (Marie-José and I). Sam was allowed in as long as he slept on the floor. 

On August 23, we walked on and took the bus to Berceto. The hills began to get much larger again as we started to approach Pontremoli and the Passo della Cisa. At Berceto, a beautiful village, we enjoyed a last supper together at a local pizzeria. 

On August 24, we would go our seperate ways. I was too sick to continue hiking up another mountain pass. By this time, I had been sick with a fever for 3-4 days and had serious respiratory problems. But there were no buses to Pontremoli from Berceto. So I had to walk another 8-12 km to the town of Ghiare di Berceto the next morning. There was a bus at 8:47am to Borgo, where I could change to a train to Pontremoli. 

As I left at 6:30am, Marie-José and Michel and I said goodbye. It was a sad moment, but I knew I could not climb. As I walked to Ghiare, I prayed that God would help me. I felt sick as a dog, ready to pass out at any moment, but had no choice. I needed to walk on. So I prayed that if I couldn't reach the bus in time, that God would send us help, a ride.

Literally, 1 km from town, a man stopped, turned around, and came back for us. He asked me where I was going. He said you are only a kilometer from town, but I'll take you to the bus station. When we arrived at 8:47am, he pointed me to the bar to buy a ticket. I bought the ticket for the bus and train to Pontremoli, stepped out to the bus stop, and 30 seconds later, the bus arrived. No kidding! 

We rode the trains all day to get to Siena. At Siena, we took a bus to city centro, walked to our accommodation, but were told that Sam could not come in. He had to stay in the courtyard all night. I met two other pilgrims there: one from Italy, one from Switzerland. 

Sam was very quiet until 4am, when he "woofed" softly 2-3 times. He was looking for me. I went out and sat in the courtyard with him until 5:30am. I watched the moon and the morning star until around 5:00am when a heavy haze covered the sky. Fog was rolling in. Thick, pea soup fog covered Siena and Tuscany as we made our way back to the train station where we would take a train to Monteroni d'Arbia, then walk 7 km to Campriano. 

By the time we reached Campriano, the fog had burned off and it was a scorcher. We ran out of water before we reached Campriano, and Sam was searching for every shadey spot to rest. As we reached Campriano, we were warmly greeted by Claudia who ran to get us cold water. 

I rested for 3 days, took one day to run back in to Siena to get Sam groomed, and slept, did laundry, etc. No internet there. But enjoyed the views and short walks each day. 

Sunday, August 29- We walked on to Ponte D'Arbia where I had reserved a bed. It was a beautiful Sunday morning and we had left at 5:30am to avoid the heat. We walked by moonlight for a while, were surprized in the dark by a small, wild hog, and enjoyed the rolling countryside. As we left Campriano in the dark, early morning hours, trekking along a dirt and gravel road, the superfine dust of the area, called Sienese Crete, rose in clouds from every step we took.  Within only a few yards of walking, we were covered in a fine, powdery, silvery dust. As we wound our way through the hills, it seemed we could see Campriano from almost every bend in the road.  Just 2 km shy of Ponte d'Arbia, Carlo stopped to take us on the rest of the way. He had just been to the local thermali, or hot springs.  He apologized for the sulfur smell, but assured me that it is great for the skin.  He goes there every Sunday morning, it is his ritual.  He chattered away in Italian, telling me all about the local history and sites.

At Ponte d'Arbia, we met two French pilgrims: Denis and his 80 year-young mother. She had already walked Saint Jacques de Compostelle and wanted to walk another pilgrimage in her lifetime, so she was doing it. The next morning, we enjoyed coffee together at the local bar before taking off. I strolled along, taking photos, and giving Sam rest breaks. We continued on to San Quirico d'Orcia where we could not stay at the Parrocchia, so we stayed at an albergo (a roadside motel/ truck stop). It was very clean and I had a bathroom to myself. 

I met Cristiana and Andrea at San Q, a couple from Siena. I took the more direct route along the via Cassia or the SS2 highway. More cars, more dangerous at times, but definitely much shorter. It was a very narrow, two lane highway with sharp drop offs from the asphalt and trees growing right up to the edge of the road.  Somewhere along the way, I saw a sign for VF so I decided to leave the highway and try the quiet country lanes. I ran into Cristiana and Andrea again on the trail. From a distance, we saw Denis and his mom ahead of us, but they must have had a different map, since their route crossed over fields. We quickly lost sight of them again and headed on to Gallina where we hoped to catch a bus to Radicofani. 

 Too hot for Sam, and poor Cristiana had blisters the size of Texas on her feet. We waited for 3 hours to catch a bus...which would still leave us 8 kms shy of Radicofani. So we still had to hoof it in the heat. 

 But we found fresh blackberries along the way, took our time, and climbed up to Radicofani. It was beautiful! I waited for about 20 minutes for the fratelli to arrive. They don't accept dogs, but they made an exception as long as Sam slept on the floor. 

 Our reception was amazing that night. Michaele and Don Giovanni welcomed us, made us dinner, they even washed our feet and prayed for us! The next morning, they made us breakfast and prayed for us again. The dinner conversation was sweet. Don Giovanni has a beard like Merlin, a deep voice which resonates, and an amazing ability to bring out everyone's story. He listens keenly and just oozes compassion and life and joy. Michaele was also serving for one week at this house for pilgrims, volunteering his time to cook and wait on others and pray for them. It was a very moving experience to have these two brothers in Christ serve us, because they said, "Jesus came to serve, not to be served. He is our example." 

Radicofani sits high above the plains and is a gorgeous town with a castle. It was cool there, a refreshing mountaintop island above the sweltering plains.  You can see the castle tower for miles and miles. I still saw it this morning as I crossed toward Bolsena. 

 From Radicofani, we descended for 11kms along a gravel road. Very slow and hard going. Downhill on gravel= slippery slope. We took a small break along the way, then continued on to Acquapendente, where I met Alessandro just a few km from town. He offered us a ride. As usual, I accepted because it was getting too hot for Sam. Alessandro took us on a tour of his family farm and organic orchards. He also took me to the convent where they would not accept dogs, but I had another place to call. So Alessandro called for me, secured a bed, and there I ran into Cristiana and Andrea again.

 Alessandro invited me to dinner, so I accepted, met his parents, enjoyed dinner at the farm, where they do not live but have a summer kitchen and wine cellar just for family gatherings. Alessandro wanted to talk business. He wants me to bring back a group of Americans next year to tour the area. It is really lovely here with tons of things to do and see. He convinced me to stay an extra day so I could see the churches, cathedrale and crypts beneath the cathedrale. Then he took me to the thermal baths or hot springs at Saturnia. I think I still smell like sulphur, but my skin does feel better! 

 This morning, September 3rd, I walked from Acquapendente to San Lorenzo Nuovo. It's starting to cool off a bit, but the afternoons are too hot for Sam. So, we stopped for a cup of coffee for me and bite to eat and a drink of water for Sam at a local cafe, where we met Leonnia, an older woman from the area who owns a large house with 600 olive trees. We talked for a while, then she offered to take me on to Bolsena, only another 10 km. She really enjoyed finding this place; the ex-convent is set up for pilgrim accommodation. I have to say that Leonnia was impressive. At 80-something years old, she drove a standard transmission like a pro, stopping on hills, asking directions, and exploring the area around Bolsena. She said she loved it because she had never been up this road before. 

 The former convent sits high on a hill, even above the local castle, with an incredible view of the Lago di Bolsena (the lake) below. Stay tuned for more... I'll be including my top 10 travel trips in the next blog. Tomorrow, we walk on to Montefiascone. Sunday, September 5 (my sister, Cyndi's birthday)= Viterbo. Monday, Sept 6 arrive Vetralla or just beyond. Tuesday, Sept 7= Capranica. Wednesday, Sept 8 a very short walk of 6 km to Sutri. Thursday, Sept 9= Campagnano di Roma. Friday, Sept 10 (my niece, Sarah's birthday) arrive La Storta. And Saturday, September 11 we walk the final 10-12 km to Rome and Saint Peter's Square.

Only 31 days left!

Just arrived from Santhia in Vercelli today. Will have to write more later to recapture the last few weeks. But the climb across the Alps was hard, but delicious! The weather was perfect and I was accompanied by 4 beautiful Belgian men; Geert, Laurent, Karl, and little Jonathon (16 years old). I lost my way as I crossed the alps and had to backtrack (a 3 hour detour- ay ay ay). After that, Geert and the others made sure I didn't get lost again.

Sam is doing well, but the descent was murder. We walked 30km from the top at Grand Saint Bernard to Aosta, Italy in one day. Then Geert, Sam, and I returned to Bourg Saint Pierre by bus to retrieve Geert's car. We joined the other guys around Nus and Chatillon, Italy.

I've been incredibly blessed to meet with so many wonderful people along the way. God is good! Just as I was feeling sad about leaving behind my four gorgeous Belgian men, I ran into Marie-Josephine (last name?) and Michel Hoeken, 2 other pilgrims which I met in Saint Maurice at the Abby with Laurent and Jonathon. I had been on the road for a month and had not met any other pilgrims. My first via francigena pilgrim friends!!!! Lovely.

So happy to see them again in Santhia where I thought I would have to travel alone for the rest of the route. Even better news is that Michel and M-J have called ahead for the next week or so and have made reservations at abbeys and hostelleries where we can stay (pilgrims just pay a suggested donation). So I have a place to stay for the next 10 days or so until I reach Campriano in Tuscany, where I will stay at Ranuccio Neri's vineyard for a few days.

I will have to take the train again to keep on track to get to Rome before September 14th. I need a day to find a new dog kennel for the airplane. All is well. God continues to provide in so many wonderful ways. Today, just as it began to rain, a woman stopped and insisted that Marie-Josephine and Sam and I get in her car. She took us on to Vercelli, then drove us to the convento where we are staying tonight. Father Roberto is sooo kind and gentle-hearted. Again, even though they do not accept dogs, he said they had room enough for me and Sam. Sweet! M-J even prayed that the priest would say, 'yes' and he did. So we are warm and dry for the moment.

My heart is full. I spend most of the days walking and singing and praying for you all. You are in my thoughts everyday. I wish I could be there with you now to hug you and let you know that you are loved and appreciated. Peace and love and joy be yours in overflowing abundance today,

On the road to Rome...by way of Vesouls, France

It's hard to believe that it is July 23rd. Happy birthday to my nephew, Gabriel today! I've traveled way more quickly than I had anticipated. I was not scheduled to reach Dampierre-sur-Salon until August 3rd or so. I just realized that the blog I posted on July 11 did not upload, so I'll have to repost as much as I can in the time I have. 

 After walking from Guînes to Licques, Francine Guoffroy found me on the side of the road. She took me home, fed me dinner, and insisted that I stay at her lovely home for the night. Then, the next day, she took me on a tour of the region and to lunch, then drove me on to the Abbey of Notre-Dame de Wisques. 

 At Wisques, I met Soeur Lucy, the only nun who is allowed to leave the walls of the convent. She is the liaison for the convent where the other nuns are cloistered. I'll admit that I had a hard time understanding how these nuns could live the cloistered life until later. The sisters at Clairvaux-sur-Aube explained that the cloistered nuns had a different calling, a call to intercede for the world in prayer. Seven times a day, the sisters at Notre-Dame intercede in prayer. They live in a small community within the walls, only 26 nuns in all. The prayers take the form of Gregorian chants and ancient prayers and songs. It's really quite lovely. But they are separated from the world. There is always a wall or a fence or a grill between them and the rest of the world, in order that they might consecrate themselves to prayer. It's a different world.

 At Wisques, I met Dominique and Soeur Marie-Thérèse(a nun who teaches epistemology and history of scripture). Sister Marie-Thérèse was holding a conference for the cloistered nuns at Notre-Dame. They offered to take me to Laon and to Reims where Sister M-T was incredibly knowledgeable about the history, the art, and the architecture of basilicas, cathedrals, and churches!!! Amazing! I stayed with Dominique's family one night in a village called Nesles. Dominique's husband, Stéphane LOVED Sam, since Sam reminded him of a cocker spaniel he had seen in his favorite childhood stories. 

 The next day, Dominique's daughter Marie and her husband drove me back to Reims where they were performing with a small theatrical troupe. I continued on my way, along the canal from Reims to Sillery (where I met a group of champagne vineyard workers who were playing petanque and who invited me to dinner with champagne to drink, of course) and on to the village of Beaumont-sur-Vesle. 

 At Beaumont-s-V, it was getting quite late and I had not found a place to stay when I ran into an older Belgian couple in an RV, a 'camping-car' as they call it here. They were concerned for my safety, and since the local hotel would not accept dogs, the couple insisted that I camp next to them in the town park. 

 On Sunday, July 11, Jean-Claude and Denise Michel dropped by the park. Jean-Claude was on his way to the canal to walk his dogs when he saw Sam, fell in love (with my dog) and made me promise that I would not leave until he had returned with his wife, who loved cocker spaniels as well. They had a black cocker spaniel and a griffhound(?). Of course, being so very French and absolutely hospitable (not to mention in love with cocker spaniels), Jean-Claude and Denise invited me to lunch and offered to take me on to my next destination. I am now beginning to realize that lunch with French people is not a simple, one-hour affair. It is a day-long event. J-C let me use his computer to blog (which subsequently did not post) while Denise ran to the store to pick up a few items for the barbeque and meat for the dogs! no kidding! She actually bought fresh meat to fry up for the dogs, especially Sammy. They even gave me a package of dogfood for him. Talk about spoiled! Ils ont gâté mon chien, les français! (These French people have absolutely spoiled my dog!!!) 

 After lunch and a stroll along the canal, J-C and Denise took me on to Sommesous, way off the track and further south of Chalons-en-Champagne. It was literally a truck stop in the middle of nowhere, but J-C, being a retired policeman thought it a better place to leave me to fend for myself than in C-e-C. Sweet! really, they thought they were doing me a favor. They thought that perhaps I could meet a family in an RV and catch a ride.  Jean-Michel had informed me that a young woman had been murdered recently in the area and that he could not rest easy if he did not take me further south.  The killer had not been apprehended at that point.  He said Chalons-en-Champagne was too dangerous.

 I didn't have the heart to tell them that I was way off course and that I was trying to retrace the footsteps of Segeric the Serious, since they were trying to help. So they bought me a coke, waited for a bit, and since it was after 5pm, I told them I'd figure it out and sent them on their way home. 

 After Jean-Claude Michel and his wife Denise dropped me off in Sommesous, I trekked south through the blazing temps to reach Mailly-le-Camp at dusk. Poor Sam. We had to stop every few hundred meters or so, to allow him to rest and recuperate from the heat. It was 97° F in the shade that day. We try to stay in the shade as much as possible, but there are stretches which seem interminable under the broiling sun. 

 At Mailly-le-Camp, I finally found a park just before dark (nearly 11:00pm) where I could set up my tent for the night. The hotels were closed in this little military training ground town. On Monday, just as I was decamping, a horrific storm set in. Gaelle, a young woman who had invited me over to watch the World Cup the night before (and had offered to let me camp in their backyard), invited me in to weather the storm. 

 We talked for a while. She made me a cup of coffee, and I took a short nap sitting up on the couch while the storm raged. After the storm dissipated a bit, Sam and I got back on our way. I had to continue heading South and East to get back to the via francigena. 

 Just as I entered the little farming village of Trouane, it began to sprinkle. Just at that moment, Mme Jeanne-Marie Thomassin picked us up and offered to make me lunch! Sweet! Now, the French know how to enjoy lunch. Most people still have 1 1/2 - 2 hours to eat lunch (usually the largest meal of the day). And being a 'practical woman with her feet on the ground' as Jeanne-Marie said, she asked me if I needed a shower. I said "no", but she offered me a towel and a bar of soap, and pointed me in the direction of their barn (where they had a shower for the farmhands) and told me to relax while she made lunch for her husband and his helper. 

 It was fantastic, of course. Salad, baked chicken with zucchini and tomatoes and potatoes in a béchemelle sauce, bread and cheese, and fresh raspberries with crème chantilly (whipped cream), and a white wine, too. After lunch, since it was pouring down rain, Jeanne-Marie decided to take me all the way to Brienne-le-Château. When I arrived at the Office de Tourisme, a young gal greeted me. When I explained that I was a pilgrim and had a dog, she gave me the key (though dogs are not allowed) to the 'local de nuit', a small, rustic apartment behind the bakery which had 5 beds, a small W/C and a tiny shower. 

 Since no one else was expected, she gave me the key. It was FREE for pilgrims. They also use it from time to time for homeless folks. It's owned by the Mairie (mayor's office) and was quite clean. I found an entry in the guest book from Anne, a pilgrim whose blog I read before beginning my own journey. Anne made the trip completely on foot, by herself, in 2008. She's Irish. And when I saw her journal entry in the guestbook, it was like meeting an old friend along the long, empty road. 

 After the rains subsided, I took a stroll through the village towards the old château, which had been converted some years ago into a psychiatric hospital. This was Napolean Bonaparte's stomping grounds. He had gone to military school here. During the Revolution, the château was seized by the people, its owner put to death, and so on. But when Napolean came into power (after defending the region quite brilliantly against the Italian invasion), he invested money in the region and established a new military school in the town. He is definitely the town hero in Brienne-le-Château! 

 The next day, I dropped off the key, dashed into the bakery (where the owner personally came out to give Sammy a treat), and continued along the via francigena toward Bar-sur-Aube. We trekked from village to village, stopping at churches and cemetaries along the way for fresh water. Not far from Bar-sur-Aube, Eric, a local worker offered to take us on to Bar-sur-Aube since it was turning into another blazing hot day. I accepted. 

At Bar-sur-Aube, I waited at the presbytery, but they had no room in the inn- ha ha. So a deacon from the church showed up and took me on to my next destination, the Abbaye of Clairvaux-sur-Aube, where Saint Bernard built the largest Cistercian abbey in the world. At Clairvaux-sur-Aube, the church was destroyed during the Revolution, the abbey seized by the people, the monks put to death, and eventually (during the Napoleanic years) turned into a prison. It now remains a maximum security prison. The 'abbey' consists of 2 houses across the street from the prison walls, which are run by 3 eldery nuns. 

 Oh, I wish you could meet these precious saints! Of course, there are rules. No dogs allowed. The deacon dropped me off and took off immediately. Great! They don't take dogs. Where was I going to stay? I asked if I could set up my tent in the yard. The nun I call 'Sister Harbaugh' was quite firm. There are rules. And then Sister Anne-Christine showed up. All smiles. The woman almost never stops smiling. Filled with grace, she offered me a drink and a meal with a very sweet 'why don't you sit down and we'll figure this out in a moment'. The next thing I know, they were offering me a house to stay in. Again, since no one else was expected (usually they house the families of prisoners -- very cheap--- only 8 euros per adult and 2 euros per child), they made an exception to the rules for me. 

 And guess who was on the phone asking a reporter to come by and bring his cocker spaniel named 'Max'! Yep! Sister Harbaugh! She LOVES cocker spaniels! As usual, Sam was quite spoiled as the 3 elderly nuns pampered him. I have to say that I felt so much love from these nuns, it was overwhelming. I was sad to leave them the next morning. However, I had the rare opportunity to join them in morning prayers in the 'oratoire', a small prayer room, and then continued on my way, so happy to see how they demonstrate the love of Christ for every family member who comes to visit a prisoner there. They just gushed love and kindness and joy. The average age among the three was 75 years old. 

 From Clairvaux-sur-Aube, I continued toward Châteauvillain along a gravel road (following the guidance of Sister Harbaugh). It was a lovely morning. Along the road, I met an Italian by the name of Richard who was biking from Bar-sur-Aube to Langres. He stopped me for a photo. He had heard of the crazy American girl and her dog who were trekking to Rome!!! Incredible!

 By late afternoon, between Cirfontaine-en-Azois (where we rested for sometime in the shade watching the town prepare for the July 14th celebrations) and Châteauvillain, it began to blow. The winds were insane! I had a difficult time staying on my feet and Sam was being blown across the road, luckily still attached to me by leash. 

And then the rains started. Oh la la! Quel orage! What a storm! I had no choice but to continue on. On a positive note, the temps dropped by more than 20 degrees! Woo hoo! It was cool out, so we didn't mind the rain so much...until it really began a deluge. 

 By the time I reached Châteauvillain, we were drenched. We had trudged for over 3 hours in blinding, heavy rains and unbelievable winds.  I just accepted it.  It was a relief from the heat, so who was I to complain?  I considered putting Sammy’s little rain gear on, but it would be pointless.  I considered putting my own rain gear on, but I was already drenched, so we walked on in the rain, hour after hour.  It was what it was.  I was content.  Luckily, I had had the presence of mind to call ahead to the Syndicat d'Initiative to ask about a room. It took hours to arrive, but we got there around 7 pm, after closing time, and the local girl had stayed just make sure I had a key to the room they kept for visitors. It was warm and dry. With only a toilet and sink, it was a site for sore eyes. Though the beds were horrific roll-away beds, the place was clean with a few food items on hand, and it was FREE! We crashed immediately. 

 I was too tired to get up and stroll through the walled city until the next morning, which was gorgeous. Châteauvillain is fantastic, with its moat and its ancient walls and narrow, winding streets. I took the time to run a few errands in the morning. Of course, by then, the locals had heard of my arrival; the crazy American girl with her dog who arrived in a torrential downpour the night before. Most of the treck ran along an old logging road through the Fôret de Châteauvillain. A pleasant walk in the morning, since the rains had cooled things a bit, the day turned into another scorcher as Sam and I dodged from shadow to shadow along the 'route fôrestière'. 

 Before I could reach Arc-en-Barrois, Sam had had enough. So I found a picnic shelter, not far from the main road, only 6-8 km from Arc-e-B, but too far for us. I pitched the tent under the shelter, figuring that if it rained, we would be even more protected. It was dry and relatively clean, no bugs. And since the cement floor was flat, I figured I could sleep better anyway. It was a long night in the wild. And I'll admit that I was a teeny bit frightened to be so far from civilization and to be so isolated. But I was exhausted and had no choice. It was camping sausage, wild or primitive camping.  We had food and water and even the picnic shelter, so we made the best of it.

 On July 16, I arrived just outside of Arc-en-Barrois, another charming village, when 2 French teachers in the US (one grew up just outside of STL, MO) offered me a ride to the gite at the Domaine du Val Bruant, which means 'the noisy valley'. They refused to speak to me in English, darn it! And so, I dropped my pack at the Domaine, went back to town 3km away, and bought some yogurt from a mobile cart, a crèmerie, took a nap on the town lawn outside the church, and eventually tried to make my way back to the Domaine. 

 I swear those 3 km were the longest 3 km of my life!!! It was so hot and broiling under the summer sun, that Sam needed to stop every few feet to rest in the shade. He dragged me off to the woods just before reaching the Domaine. He couldn't take the heat anymore and the road was in full sun for the last 1/2 mile. I call it the Domaine du val BRULANT, which means the BURNING or Broiling valley. I was thrilled when M. Jeanson said he could put me up for 2 nights! it was lovely and peaceful there. 

 M. Jeanson feeds the deer every evening, calls them in like cattle to feed them corn. There are spotted deer called 'daims' and then there are the larger ones called 'cerfs' or just deer. It was pretty impressive. There was an old chapel on the hilltop behind the large farmhouse. 

 And the next day, M. Jeanson took me and the dogs and his 16 month old grandson to the local spring across the way. There's a story there which is very similar to that of the movie, Manon de la Source. I wandered through the woods and rested. 

 On Sunday, July 18th, we had a pleasant start. The mornings are often cool and calm. So we headed as far as we could toward Langres, our next étape (or stage). We walked more than 20km, when a man from Langres stopped in the heat of the day to offer us a ride. Since it was so hot, again, I accepted. Daniel gave us a short tour of Langres, an impressive, medieval fortress town which really hit its stride in the early 1500s as a model military city. 

 With its ancient Roman archways and walls, and layers of history, Langres is a beautiful outpost which towers above the plains. With natural defensive features, Langres has outlasted and preserved its culture and art and history. We camped within the city walls at the terrain de camping, located next to the impressive Tour de Navarre. The military tower which dates back to the early 1500s, has walls which are 21 feet thick! A second tower was constructed with a ramp so they could move their cannons into position, should the city be attacked. We walked the ramparts the next morning, 3 km around the city center.

 Xavier, who runs the campground, is fluent in many languages. My second night, a group of Hollanders on motorcycles camped next to me. They were fun and outgoing and spoke English, of course. 

 On Tuesday, July 20, Sam and I headed out early trying to evade the heat as much as possible. We were headed to Champlitte. It was not bad in the morning, but by afternoon, again, the sun was unbearable. After walking nearly 15-18 km, a Mme Danielle Pinot from a tiny village along the way, found us, offered us a ride to the next town, set us down along the busy D67 road, and went on her way. 

 We rested for at least an hour in the shade of a tree along a long stretch of sunny highway. Eventually, I convinced Sam to move along, a little bit at a time. But when it was just too hot and Sam refused to move any further, I got out the scissors and began clipping his fur. Still 98° in the shade, it was oppressive, but we had to continue on. Then a few kilometers outside of Champlitte, a local girl stopped to pick us up and take us on to the campground there. I was grateful. The campground was sparse, but clean with showers, toilets, sinks for dishes, sinks for laundry, a small snack bar, a tiny baby pool for kiddos, and flat ground to sleep on. 

 I met a truck driver from the island of Réunion (off the coast of Africa), who invited me to join him and his friends for a drink. I only drink water on most days. And though it was nice of them to offer to buy me a drink, after sweating out liters of water each day, all I want is water, lots of water! The next morning, I walked to the village of Champlitte, another dazzlingly beautiful village with its castle and winding streets and amazing vistas and local bakeries and shops. From Champlitte, we continued on through the winding country roads, passed miles and miles of farm country. 

 We followed our own yellow brick road, which turned out to be wheat kernels strewn along the side of the road to form a thick yellow stripe. Seems they have a bumper crop of wheat this year. By 3:00pm, it was blistering, but then the clouds rolled in. Ahhhhh. We passed village after village until we found Dampierre-sur-Salon. By the time I reached D-s-S, I was exhausted, ready to cry from sheer exhaustion, and fearful that I would not find a place to stay. We went to the hotel mentioned in the guidebook, but it was closed, permanently. 

 Then a local pointed me toward M. Monney's house, a chambres d'hôtes. Of course, I could stay there! yes, even with my dog! no problem. I almost cried for joy. M. Monney showed me to the patio where it was still drizzling, but which had a lovely umbrella, gave me carafe of orange juice, and introduced me to a local gal who was renting a room there. 

 Sylvie and I became friends while M. Monney and his wife readied my room. I decided to stay for 2 nights so my feet could recuperate, as well as Sam. It was a lovely family home which M. Monney said was built in the 1700s. My room was perfectly clean and came with a spotless shower and toilet and sink. Nice. We settled in nicely. 

 The next day, Thursday, I read a book, Ce que je crois by a guy named Gilbert Ceslons or something. It was exactly what I wish I could write concerning the condition of the earth and humanity. Anyhoo, we passed a very quiet day. 

 I met Dider, a biologist who was also renting a room at the gite, who invited me and Sylvie to dinner at Chez Berthe that night. Chez Berthe is famous in the region for its perfectly seasoned and crafted dinners and its hospitality. And it lived up to its reputation! A salad with warm goat cheese, followed by bison cutletts with mushrooms and creamed veggies, a plate of fries, the cheese cart with its local specialty cheese, a fondue cheese, and a chocolate mousse for dessert. Aye aye aye. Topped off with a nice rosé wine. 

 On Friday, Sylvie and I drove to her dad's house in the country where we are staying until this evening. I can't believe how open and generous these people are. Her dad made us lunch yesterday, the fried potatoes and pork chops, and again today. He knows how to cook. We hung out last night with her sister, Natacha, and her mom who just had knee surgery. Lovely, the family. So sweet, so generous. I'm stilling typing away at her brother's computer. But Sylvie is off to gather lavender with her buddy this week, so she'll drop me off again at Beaujeu, not far from Dampierre-sur-Salon, where I'll await the arrival of my guide books. Then, next week, I'll hit the trail again toward Rome. Feeling happy, satisfied, and most of all grateful!!!! Until next time, Gigi

Mini-meltdown

Well, Janine was right. I did have a hard day yesterday. I think it was just the combination of a lack of good sleep for over a week (except when I stayed at Francine's house for one night), plus the heat, and dehydration kicking in. I was exhausted.

 Sister Maria-Therese and Dominique were wonderful! They took me all over from Wisques to Laon to Reims. I suddenly felt emotional. I actually teared up at dinner, much to the concern of Dominique's husband, Stephane. anyhooo.... like everything in this life, the moment passed and I enjoyed the conversation at dinner. 

 Sister Maria-Therese was an amazing guide. She studied the history of the church, and has served at several of the abbeys along the way. She understood the architecture and design of each place. And as intimidating as an old nun can be, she was also wonderfully generous. She bought several postcards for me to share along the way. 

 So, I stayed last night in a tiny village called Nesles, about 10-20 miles or so from Reims. It's very hard to judge distances now. We toured the cathedral of Laon in the afternoon, then went to Reims to see the pilgrims cathedral (constructed around 1100-1300). Reims is the place where St. Remy baptized Clovis, the first frankish king. It is also the place where the kings of France are coronated and consecrated. 

 Joan of Arc helped ensure that Charles VII was crowned King of France at this very spot. 

After Sammy and I got back on the trail, we stopped by a champagne vineyard in the heart of Champagne-Ardennes in the late afternoon. This is a region which was practically obliterated during the war of 1914, as they call it here. Many of the cathedrals are still under renovation after World Wars I and II. 

 We passed by many cemeteries with thousands of crosses of soldiers who died during the First World War. Though in this part of France, they consider that they have fought 3 major wars here. The war of 1914, the war of 1917, and the war of 1939 against the Germans. But, it's time to run. 

 Will post photos later. Can't seem to be able to find my photos on this computer right now. Next? I think I'm off to Reims to pick up the trail there. I will try to walk early in the mornings to avoid the heat of the day. It's a bit much for Sam to walk in the afternoon. Temps are in the 80s during the day. Not bad. But very hot in the sun. I'm feeling very grateful for the help of strangers!!!! 

 It's only been a week, but I've been incredibly blessed to meet such lovely people who have opened their homes and hearts to me. Thanks be to God!

From the road...

It has been a fabulous week. I arrived in Paris on Sunday morning, spent 4 hours trying to figure out how to get Sam's kennel to Rome. Then, another 4 hours at the train station before heading to Calais, dragging Sam's kennel behind me. We were very popular everywhere we went.

Of course, people laughed to see Sam walking along beside me while I dragged his kennel along. It was quite a picture. Finally, we arrived in Calais. ( Yes, Dana, you were right about the trains. Though we took the TGV to Lille -that's the fast train- we took the SNCF from Lille to Calais...very slow, hot, and crowded.) Who would have thought that Sunday would be market day at the port city?

 So, after getting my bearings, we headed to our hotel, dodging through a massive crowd. Imaginez-vous! I had my gianormous back pack, Sam had his backpack, and of course, there was the kennel! Ohhh la la! Trying to navigate through the crowd was more difficult than trying to navigate a French keyboard... the letters and numbers are all different, by the way.

The Hotel Belazur was dodgy, but relatively clean-ish. The staff tried to help me post Sam's kennel to Rome. But in the end, I could not find a box large enough to ship the kennel in. And the post office would not accept it without a box. Et alors? In the end, I donated it to a veterinary clinic. They were happy to receive a large kennel. 

In the evening I took Sam for a stroll through a park where I could hear African drums beating. As I passed by a group of young people dancing and singing, they saw me and invited us to hang out. I declined at first because I was exhausted. As I passed them a second time, I thought 'I should get some video of this music.' uh-oh! They saw me with my camera and came at me. They were shouting (not angrily, but forcefully) 'no, no, no! You cannot take our photo! First, you must know us! You must come inside the circle!' 

So I joined them. They were from all over: Eritrea, Ethiopia, Sudan, Ireland, England, Holland, France, Italy... We talked for bit. They told me their stories of living on the streets in Calais. And now they were living in the park, like gypsies. After a little while, I excused myself, careful (in spite of their friendly overtures) to not allow them to know where I was staying. ha ha ha. 

I think some of them were hoping that I would let them stay in my room; a room which was barely large enough to hold my backpack! And so, after sorting my things again (getting rid of every unnecessary article of clothing or item possible), donating my clothes to a local church which aids immigrants, and disposing of Sam's kennel, I was finally on my way. 

We followed a track of sorts along the canals and through the marshes for about 14 kilometers. This was easy. We had gorgeous weather, a pleasant day, and locals along the way who were curious enough to stop us and ask what I was doing. I wish I had taken a photo of the boys who were fishing along the canals. So cute! They asked me questions and wished me 'bon courage!' 

This is the part of the trip which I call 'the game'. In this game, one tries to find the trail which is buried beneath weeds which are taller than me. I'm attaching a photo above. Can you find the trail? It's there. Really. 

On arriving in Guines (I skipped the trek to Wissant along the coast because this way was more direct), I found a camp site. Camping in France is huge! And because I was a pilgrim and had my own tent, it was FREE! Yay! Almost as soon as I arrived, a gorgeous Dutch couple with two young twin girls adopted me. Janine and Rolfe Post hold their PhDs in microbiology and organic chemistry. I couldn't have landed in better company! They invited me to sit at their table, join them for a cuppa coffee, and later a glass of wine. 

They were fluent in English, of course. So we talked late into the night. It was still twilight at 10:30pm. I will admit that I was miserably cold, but was sooo grateful for the loan of Nicolle's flannel sleeping bag!!! I barely slept at all. But I was still in good spirits. 

In the morning, the Post family invited me to breakfast with them. And they offered to mail my books back to the US. After only one day of hiking, I knew that I had to lighten my load even more. So, back went the Canterbury Tales and my Bible. To be honest, I thought that I would be alone at nights, but after only one day, I realized that I would be too tired to read at night! The kindness of strangers just blows me away everytime. And so, Janine and Rolfe walked me to the entrance of the campsite. Oh, I didn't even mention the clean showers and bathrooms and washing facilities, the bistro, restaurant, the cabins, the caravans, the permanent tents or RVs which one can rent.... It was truly impressive and so welcome after a long day of walking. Oh, and the park attendant gave me a list of places to stay along the way. Best of all, they are FREE or a donation. Sweet!!!! Anyhoo, we got under way around 11:00am. 

 I'm one day ahead of schedule since I bypassed Wissant. So, I began walking from Guînes to Licques...another 19 kilometers. It was warm in the sun, cool in the shade. But I quickly lost my way. My guide book did not have street numbers or names...not one! Luckily, I had a terrible map from the park attendant which had a few streets or roads which were marked. So, after stopping to ask for some water from an old woman, we were back on track. I should tell you about the old woman. It was very hot by now, Sam had already refused to continue on. So I had let him take a nap, while I took his backpack, changed my socks, and took the time to try to prevent my blisters from forming, and ate a protein bar. 

Sam did not want to drink. It was disconcerting. So, after wandering a bit down a road, I stopped when I saw an elderly woman hanging out her laundry. I asked if she an outdoor spigot where I could get some water to refill our water bottles. She went inside to get me some fresh water and returned with her husband. Again, I'm kicking myself for NOT taking their photo!!!!! Darn it! They were so cute and so chatty.  The husband brought a bowl for Sam to drink some cool, fresh water, which he DID drink. Then they ran inside to get a treat for Sam. They were quite heart-broken since their dog of 18 years had died a few months before. They invited me in, but it was getting late and I had only gone about half-way to my destination. M. Mentez had retired from the SNCF railroad years before. He was 89 years old. His wife was only 86! They were sooooooo kind and sweet. So they pointed me in the right direction, and I continued on my way. I would have loved to have stayed longer with them. They were sooo sweet. It just brings tears to my eyes even as I type now. 

The road to Licques ( highway D 215) is a long uphill climb. Did I mention that it was long? and uphill? Oh la la! Sam refused to continue on several times. It WAS hot and sunny. But the view from the top was pretty amazing. I could see the port of Calais in the distance. As we topped the hill and began our descent, Sam began to perk up. It was easier, the sun was less intense, and the fields of wheat were perfectly golden. Like any road in France, it was lined with gianormous ginko trees. Just lovely. 

Just before reaching Licques (sounds like LEEK), a woman stopped to ask me where I was going. When I said 'Licques', she offered me a ride. Since I still wasn't sure how much further it was, I accepted. I had just prayed for a ride. I had just been thinking how Segeric the Serious probably would have accepted rides in a cart or whatever he could on his way to Rome. Et voilà! Here comes Francine. She told me that she had seen me walking along the road from Guînes earlier that morning and saw that I was still walking, so she had had a brief conversation with herself, something like: 'Why do we always watch others struggle? huh; Well, today, I'll do something about it! Rather than just see that pilgrim walking along, I'll see if she wants a ride.' 

More than that, she not only offered me a ride, she invited me to her house to get some water and a bite to eat. After that, she offered to take me on to my destination, a campground which was free for pilgrims along the via francigena. I also had a name of a family further south in the town of Alquines, thanks to the park attendant at Bien-Assise campground in Guînes, where I could stay for a donation. So, Francine went with me to the camp site, which was really just a little way from her house. She talked with the park directeur. He said I could stay there for free and could put my tent wherever I liked. But then Francine amazed me even more, she invited me to stay at her house!!!!!! Wow! 

It's a beautiful home with a garden, a workshop, a horsestall, cats, a Bernese dog (HUGE), flowers, fruit trees, etc. It is so beautiful here. She made dinner. I tried pastis for the first time. Pastis is a licorice flavored (anise) liqueur. Her grandparents built this house. Francine is 61 years old. She helps immigrants who land in Calais and volunteers her time with local kiddos who have problems reading. We keep laughing because I asked her what she does with her free time. HA! The woman does everything! She fixes her car, tends the garden, entertains friends and her children (when they come to visit), volunteers in the community, etc. She stays very busy! So we watched a bit of the World Cup during dinner, of course. One cannot be in France and NOT watch the World Cup! It simply is not done. Even older women are quite fanatical about the sport. We talked late into the night. And now, she is letting me use her laptop to blog while she putts around the house taking care of her chickens and ducks and geese and animals. 

Later, she will take me on a tour of the village which was established by Italian monks from Pontremoli (another village on my route). So much more to tell, but the day is burning. After our tour of the village, Francine will take me on to the village of Wisques. I need the rest. I did not realize that my feet were in such bad shape until last night. Darn these super long middle toes. I have blisters on both my middle toes and on both of my heels. So, in reality I'm still a day or so ahead of schedule. Anyhoo, time to go. Au revoir!