It's the Climb

We were quite sad to leave our little bit of heaven and private room. The hospitaleros (hosts) were so kind - making Jill herbal tea last night when she couldn't quit coughing. It was a lovely rest with only each other's snoring to listen to, not 40 others. 

The paved stone street out of town went straight up, a perfect foreshadowing of the day ahead. We climbed continually through wild flowers, trees and green grass. Little springs seeped across the path in muddy patches. We stopped for breakfast in a small village. We have had fresh squeezed oj every day and it revives me. As we sat outside we listened to a large South African man named Shiloh recount his many exploits as a writer and semi famous person in the music industry. We have crossed paths with him several times. He wears a tank top and has long stringy sparse black hair. I'm pretty sure he has more hair on his back than his head. A lady from France listened politely. We have dubbed him "The Wolf".

The climb was hard. We huffed and puffed and stopped for more rests than we ever have. On a shady stretch we noticed hundreds of crosses made of sticks woven into the wire fence. This continued for probably 300 yards. I said "let's make a cross for Abe".  Jill's not quite 2 year old grandson Abe died a year ago in an accident. We lashed a cross and tied it on the fence with a sprig of flowers. The lady from France came by and we told her about Abe and Jill showed her his picture. She took ours. 

When the French woman went on we said a prayer, which we had forgotten to do that morning. As Jill prayed for our husbands, children and grandchildren we both felt something so powerful and sweet. It was my favorite moment on the camino so far.