May You Walk With Christ

Please be sure to support Mrs. Terry Ianora and all of the loving and dedicated people who work at 1st Way. They inspire me every day and their care for others motivates me to be a better disciple of the Lord.

***

One the best books I have ever read is called The Sea and the Jungle. The English writer H.M. Tomlinson wrote the book in 1912. A good friend once gave me an original edition, first-printing, as a gift and I have since handed it on to other good friends as a gift. Tomlinson was a clerk and office worker who became a novelist and a reporter. The Sea and the Jungle is a somewhat autobiographical account of a 2,000 mile journey up the Amazon River. The part of the book that has always touched my heart, however, is that there are two detailed descriptions of his daily commute through London. The first is prior to sailing across the Atlantic and, obviously, prior to the Amazon voyage. Tomlinson’s daily commute is first described as monotonous, tedious, and boring. In today’s terms, one might say it was a commute that would drain the life out of the commuter. The second description of the commute is offered after the Amazon voyage has been completed. It is marked by awe, surprise at every turn, and a genuine humility in the face of all the heretofore unseen moments of grace along the way. It is the adventure, the intrigue, the breakthroughs of God-kissed moments that give the author a brand new appreciation for the uniqueness and the beauty of all that he had formerly taken for granted. The journey he had participated in had a transformative and lasting effect. In a sense, he would never be the same and he realized his world would never be the same either. I am hard-pressed to find a better summary of the past 28 days on the Oregon Coast Pilgrimage.

As you have read here before and perhaps experienced in your life, God is with us all the time, only we don’t notice. In fact, there is so much that we don’t see. Early on, I quoted from Fr. William McNamara and his words bear repeating: “Contemplation is taking a long, loving look at the real.” I thank God that this “contemplative” journey down the Oregon Coast has been a journey into real seeing. I am, indeed, grateful for this grace, but I want to be clear, here at the closing of the posts, that one need not travel 2,000 miles up the Amazon or 300 and some miles along the coast to enter into this grace. May God’s peace be with you, His grace be upon you, and His Spirit be there to guide every step of your journey . . . short or long, with purpose or rambling, at the beginning of the day or the end of it or any time in between. “May God always help us see the beauty of creation and to comprehend the wonder of His truth in all things.” Amen.

***

At the Church of St. Mary, which I will miss a lot, we used to accompany the Catechumens and Candidates with music as they left the church for their Sunday gathering after the Liturgy of the Word. When they were dismissed to further reflect on God's Word, we would sing "May you walk with Christ beside you, saints and angels share your way. May the Holy Spirit Guide you to the dawn of endless day." Again, Amen.

***

This final photo is not meant to be me walking off into the sunset. Instead, I'm just following the path in front of me. It is a path that will now lead me to Holy Cross Parish in Portland and I am excited about the opportunities that await me there. May God bless us all . . . as we walk the path before us.



With Gratitude

One of the things which I’ve come to appreciate over these 28 days is that all of us are pilgrims. All of us are “on the way” following the One who is “the Way.” Pilgrimage can be done in month-long journeys like this one and they can be done as an ordinary way of living, each and every day. No matter how short or long the distance and no matter how familiar or unfamiliar the route, we all experience the daily possibility of great adventure. This happens when we go to work or school or church or shopping or to a friend’s house. It happens when we walk the dog, go to the doctor’s office, go out to get the mail. That’s how amazing God’s grace is; He is constantly calling us to participate in that very grace. It is impossible to not be in the presence of God.

Being a “tourist” in life or watching life unfold like an audience member would be way too easy and it would be foreign to our Christian calling. Instead, God, through Jesus, has given us the chance to walk not only toward Him but with Him. In that sense, we are all on the Road to Emmaus, constantly. Are not our hearts burning within us? I think all the emotion I felt as I drew near to Brookings and then crossed the Chetco River Tuesday was really from a burning heart that was finally “getting it”: this hasn’t been about the destination as much as it has been about the transformation along the way. The total miles can be counted, but the change in my heart is another matter. Thanks God. Thanks to you. Thanks to everyone who has provided support along the way. Thanks to my parents (my Dad has been my most avid supporter and I have felt my Mother’s love every step of the way). Thanks to all of you, in advance, who will likely hear tales of this journey for years to come. Just nod politely and say, “It must have been quite an adventure.” Yes, indeed, it has been.



Rumor Has it that the Highway Has Been "Straightened"

in Places, but the Mileposts Haven't Been Adjusted

(Take it Up with the Dept. of Transportation!)

At the Border (I Guess You Figured that Out!)

Ready to Head Back to Astoria, But Not Today

Dipped My Hand in the Columbia for a Blessing 28 Days Ago

and Here in the Winchuck to do the Same

June 28 is the Feast of St. Irenaeus. His name means "lover of peace." May he intercede well for us today and always, that we might also be known as lovers of peace. The final prayer for today’s posting is ascribed to St. Patrick, himself a lover of peace:

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

***

If you have not read the comment by Jim Givens (cf. Grace Abounds), please do so. It is so true that the freedom of these days has allowed me to both focus intently on some things and be completely unencumbered by others . . . the fruit of which has been a blessed journey. I don’t want to embarrass Jim, but his comments over this month have been more eloquent than I could have ever written (he and Ilona are quite a team!) . . . I should have had them along as ghost writers!

It has been quite humbling to have visitors to the blog from Germany, India, Mexico, the U.K., France, Malaysia, Nicaragua, The Netherlands, and the United States. There have been over 6,000 “hits” on various pages, 42 Followers, and lots of comments. Some of you don’t have my phone number, nor my email address (sorry), but the comments shared through texting and emails have been a source of encouragement. The comments here have been especially encouraging along the way and they have been helpful in more ways than I can say.

After 28 days on the road, trails, and beaches, there are some things which I will miss:
trying to skip down the highway with a 15-pound pack on my back; truck drivers, who looked at me skeptically at first, but who have seen me so often that they now offer a polite tap of their horns and an easy glide closer to the center lane and away from the variance (which I understand is the official name for “the shoulder”); the Eagles, Herons, Osprey, and all the other winged creatures who have soothed my thoughts with the graceful way they fly; the roar of the ocean, which still leaves me in awe when I think about how constant it is and for how long it has been that constant; the many St. Francis Moments when the goodness of God and His creative beauty have shown through hopping bunnies, creeping caterpillars, dancing deer, and so many more animals; feeling bridges literally bounce when heavy trucks cross them (though this is disconcerting when one is 345 feet above the creek or river below); encounters with people who were genuinely curious about what I was doing and where I got “that stick”; the bicyclists who have been eager to say “have a safe trip”; parishioners at various parishes who offered such a warm and generous welcome and cash and checks (unsolicited) for 1^st Way; rain-free days (it rained half a day and a total of 2 hours and 40 other minutes the whole time I’ve been walking); the Run Keeper app on my phone, which has helped me stay on pace and keep an idea of how long I’ve been on the road each day; Matt Maher’s music; the satisfaction of the little achievements each day, like x miles as a goal and x miles walked; the ready assistance of Paul, David, Paula, and Bruce each day - and their company (by the way, please pray for David and his family, their Dad died on Sunday - may he rest in peace); all of the God-kissed moments and seeing the beauty of the coastal flora at 3 miles per hour; the variances in Curry County - they must have some dedicated pedestrians on their transportation committees, three cheers for them!

There are also some things which I will not miss:
Scotch Broom (a plant which is everywhere on the coast, is not native to Oregon, and sends me into sneezing fits; I have refused to take any photos of Scotch Broom because I didn’t want to encourage it in any way!); restaurant food; those tricky corners around hills and mountains where the variance disappears on both sides of the road; vehicles which have a passing lane and, therefore, two lanes in which to drive, but stay as close to the variance as possible (aargh); getting all “geared up”, as I called it, with moleskin and tape and bandages each morning.

***

Please be generous in supporting 1^st Way or the outreach to young pregnant mothers in your area. There is no more valuable work to be done as far as our future is concerned. The last report I got was that over $6,000 has been pledged to support 1^st way. So, one more time: God is good.

***

I wish I knew how to draw this to a close. I may write again before the end of the week, after I’ve had a day or so to reflect more. How about if we agree that Thursday morning will be the final time that I post something? I believe the site will remain open until I choose to close it, but I cannot imagine when that will be. For now, thanks again!

A couple of final St. Francis Moments:

An Egret

(Perhaps sent by the Eagles and Herons

to say "So Long!")

The Winchhuck River Flows into the Pacific Ocean

"Help us to see the beauty of creation

and to comprehend the wonder of your truth

in all things."

Grace Abounds

In a completely unexpected development, I’m getting a little emotional about the end of the journey! The Pilgrimage has been such a profound grace, there have been such amazing encounters along the way . . . I’m getting a little choked up at the possibility that tomorrow will mark the end of the walking part of this experience.

When I crossed the Chetco River in Brookings today, the math said that there were only 4.6 miles to go. There was a momentary temptation to carry on, even though that would have meant 17.2 miles altogether today. But I was walking at what I call “Paula's Pace” (19 min./30 sec. per mile) and I could have been done in time for dinner! That’s when a whole day of emotions reached a peak and I thought I’d better gather myself and wait until Tuesday to head for the border. The Curry County Sheriff might have seen me weeping at the side of the road and who knows what would have happened after that?

The Pilgrimage Prayer has reminded me each day to take in the beauty of God’s creation and remain open to the truth God sets before me. Well, the truth is that this whole journey has changed me in so many ways that I’m kind of overwhelmed by it all. If I may, let me share some of the photos from Day 27 and, later tonight (to be posted Tuesday morning), I’ll offer some more thoughts . . . .

For now, please note that I deliberately said above that “the walking part” of this journey is about to end, but the journey itself is far from over . . . and may never be over. God is that good.

St. Francis Moments filled the day:



The Curry County stretch of the coastline has been a joy to experience. Here is more of its beauty:

Near Boardman State Park

View from the Thomas Creek Bridge

(Oregon's Highest Coastal Bridge: 345 ft.)

Whaleshead Rock

(Looks like the Whole Whale to me!)

Twin Rocks

Near Harris Beach

Rainbow Rock

Near Ferrelo State Park

The day was already filled with emotions, then this sign appeared and made me think of all the times I'd explained (over four weeks) that I was walking from Astoria to Brookings . . . but the Brookings part of that phrase wasn't ever very clear in my mind . . . especially with 300 miles to go . . .

and with 200 miles to go . . .

even with 100 miles to go.

So, here we are.

More tomorrow before we jump in the car and go home . . . faster than 19  minutes and 30 seconds per mile!

***

One last homage to Rembrandt, not the artist, for all the hard work he put in when we were training for the Pilgrimage:

Good Boy!



Corpus Christi

Sometimes we’re better at receiving the Body and Blood of Christ than we are at becoming the Body and Blood of Christ. Whether we eat, drink, receive, adore, or worship the Body of Christ is of no avail if we do not become the Body of Christ. The meaning of Eucharistic Spirituality must center on what we become because of what we do. Sitting in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament must make us more like the One whose presence is the focus of our gaze. Receiving the Body of Christ must make us more like the One whose Body and Blood we consume. St. Augustine said, “We become what we receive.” We become one with the Christ, but we also become one with others. That is the motive, the consequence, and the reality of what we do at Mass. But unity doesn’t come easily, just like it didn’t come easily for the Apostles. They struggled to understand what it was they were called to become . . . and we still share in that struggle. St. Paul mentioned that the Corinthian community, especially, struggled to get the point. They were self-satisfied and comfortable in their ways. They were attentive to their friends and those who could do something for them. They gathered easily for the Eucharist. Maybe they looked around for those they knew and maybe they hoped to be noticed by others. All the while, they ignored the poor and hungry. For the Corinthians, the gathering together had become a time to get something or even to take something. Today’s Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ has hopefully reminded us that we didn’t go to church today to get something. There is not a single Sunday on the calendar where we are invited to take.

Maybe we can best understand the Eucharist by paying attention to what we are given: something that has been broken. We do not receive the whole thing. We do not get something that is perfect. Broken is the point here! Broken bread for a broken people because of a Christ who was broken for His people. Our brokenness becomes His brokenness so that His wholeness can become ours. As challenging as it is, it is not until our lives have been broken in service and in love that we will grow to understand better the Eucharist we share. Fr. Gregory Duerr, now Abbot Gregory at Mt. Angel Abbey, once preached that it is not until we have nothing left, until we cling to nothing more, until we have surrendered all power and pride that the One most broken and most humiliated can transform us into a Eucharistic people. What's more, the whole of the New Testament says that the wholeness, the unity, the oneness that the Eucharist is, is not just unity with Christ, nor unity among us, but is also unity within that comes from healing and forgiveness. In the end, it is good for us to celebrate on days like today that we are, yes, a broken people. But a broken people who have reached out and touched and been touched by love broken for us. That’s the miracle of the Eucharist, the Body and Blood of Christ. It is a miracle as much about what we are becoming as it is about bread becoming flesh and wine becoming blood. The Real Presence, then, is not simply or only there in the tabernacle of your parish church . . . is it?

The Catholic community here in Gold Beach welcomed Bruce and I very generously today. It was a special joy to celebrate today's Corpus Christi Mass in the presence of my cousin Jerry Herbage, his wife Cathy, and their daughter Clara. The Herbages were the only "family" we had in Oregon as we were growing up and we've had a tight bond with our Oregon-cousins over the years. Jerry and Cathy and their daughters have lived in Gold Beach for nearly thirty years.

After Mass with Cathy and Jerry Herbage

On a different level of miracle, let me share the miracle of God’s immense beauty encountered today on the road. Enjoy!

First Vista After Cape Sebastian

A Look Back at Cape Sebastian

Beach Near Pistol River

A Wider Look Back to Cape Sebastian

A Beautiful Contrast to

Big Rocks and Roaring Surf

Pistol River

Near Boardman State Park

Breathtaking View of the Coastline

A View like this at Every Turn

Coastal Rocks

Boardman State Park



Here's a reminder (from many posts ago) that there is a prayer which I’ve been praying (every day) on this journey. Feel free to make it your own, however short or long your pilgrimage is each day.

Lord Jesus,
you traveled with two disciples to
Emmaus after the resurrection and set their
hearts on fire with your grace.
Travel also with us and gladden our hearts
with your presence.
We know, Lord,
that we are pilgrims on earth,
seeking citizenship in heaven.
During our journey surround us
with your holy angels and keep us safe
from seen and unseen dangers.
Grant that we may carry out our plans
and fulfill our expectations
according to your will.
Help us to see the beauty of creation
and to comprehend the wonder of your truth
in all things.
For you are the way, the truth, and the life,
and to you we give thanks, praise,
and glory forever.
Amen.

A St. Francis moment:

***

The "What should I do as I reach the end?" contest:

It seems that Johnnie Walker and Wild Turkey are recurring themes for some of you! Prayers of thanksgiving are front runners right now, but it's not too late to send me other suggestions. I may combine some of your suggestions . . . there's nothing that says I can only do one thing as I arrive at the Winchuck River and mark the end of the journey. Thank you.

Breathe In The Beauty

One of the most enjoyable two-week stretches of my life was when I was able to take a small group (including my parents) to Ireland. With family names like Bachmeier and Tuchscherer, we’ve never been mistaken for being Irish by birth. There are a lot of things about Irish culture, however, that make it attractive and give many a longing for a share in the Irish heritage. Our tour guide for the two weeks in Ireland was a very funny and quite happy man by the name of Patrick Buckley. Patrick laughed easily and was a joy to have along as we toured the land of his birth. Near the end of the trip, when I told him that Ireland was so green that it was all starting to look the same to me, he said, “But Father, breathe in the beauty. Breathe it in.” I had a strong recollection of that phrase today when the first eight miles of the journey were made up of an uninterrupted, long piece of Highway 101. The trees and shrubs were all looking the same; there were no rises and no falls, no curves to the right, nor to the left. What made it more monotonous was that I could see so far down the road that I knew it wasn’t going to change for, well, eight miles. All of a sudden, I heard that Irish brogue in the back of my head, “Breathe in the beauty.” I’ve offered the same advice to others over the years, but it was advice that I both needed and gladly received today. It won’t help to mention the beauty that I breathed in, just trust me that everything changed in appearance, no matter how boring it had previously seemed. I was grateful. God is, indeed, good, all the time.

Emerging Out of the 8-mile Stretch

Breathe In the Beauty

Breathe it In

It has been good to share the few occasions when people have overtly said, “God bless you” to me during the past three or so weeks. People who were previously complete strangers have wished that blessing on me, sometimes without even knowing much about the underlying theme of support for 1^st Way that has been at the heart of this. Far more often, people have said, “Good luck.” Just like at home, there have been occasions when I’ve answered, “I don’t believe in luck, but thanks anyway.” If they ever look like they are curious enough to hear more, I say, “I believe in grace, God’s grace, not luck.” I know that makes me sound like a smart aleck, but it’s still true.

First View of the Rogue River Bridge

Entry Into Gold Beach

Atop the Rogue River Bridge

One of my Mother’s nine siblings, Anne Marie Weiler, has always been respected by my generation of the family as a deeply spiritual woman. The whole Tuchscherer clan is well respected, but Annie, as we call her, has always had a special spark when it comes to her relationship with God and God’s created beauty. When our Mother died, nearly ten years ago, Annie told me to be on the watch for birds that may remind me of the spirit of my Mom. My first thought was, “She’s been reading too much Native American spirituality lately . . . that’s kind of weird.” But, lo and behold, I cannot drive up or down Interstate 5 anymore without seeing a Red-tailed Hawk alongside the road. As a sort of homage to Annie, I always pray a Hail Mary for my Mom and a Glory Be for her when I see the Hawks. There are some times of the year, when the Hawks are plentiful, when I could just as easily get the Rosary beads out, because I’m going to end up praying just about the whole thing anyway! It might come as no surprise that I’ve been reminded of this along the way for 25 days now. The Eagle in Arch Cape, the Heron in Wheeler, the Hawk near Beaver, the Gulls in, well, pick a place, the Turkey Vultures at Waldport, the Stellar’s Jay yesterday south of Port Orford . . . . This morning, when Bruce and I ventured out of the St. Charles rectory here in Gold Beach, there were two doves on the power lines over the parking lot. What a beautiful sound it was as they sang to each other! All of these birds have been a reminder to me to be grateful, to pray in a spirit of gratitude. I no longer think that Annie’s notion that such creatures can remind us of the ones we love is so nutty. The Holy Spirit of God, after all, descended upon Jesus at His baptism in the appearance of a dove. “Come, Holy Spirit, enkindle in us the fire of your love.”

The Kissing Rock (Gold Beach)

Climb to Cape Sebastian

(Endurance Test at the End of a

Fourteen-mile Day!)

Thought for the day: If walking clears the mind, I’m not signing up for an I.Q. test anytime soon!

***

A new contest is now underway: please help me decide what to do as I reach the Oregon-California Border this week. I’ve been told that there are now only thirty miles or so between where I ended today (80 Acres Road, south of Gold Beach) and the border itself. So, Tuesday, at the latest, will be the day I pass through Brookings and make the final part of the journey. Should I flash the Oregon “O”? Make a peace sign? Kiss the ground? Throw my shoes in the ocean? Keep going to San Diego? Help me, please. Send me an email, call me, text me, or leave a comment here. Time is short. Creativity will be rewarded!

***

1^st Way: please Google 1^st Way or go back to previous posts to find the link. We haven’t set up a quick and easy “Donate” button on their website, but all the contact information you need is there (phone, address, etc.). Any contribution will be gratefully received. If you are in Eugene, drop by their office and ask if there are any practical ways you can help them. As I suggested to the parishioners at the Church of St. Mary, making a per mile pledge would be a great gesture of support; that number will likely be in the low 340’s, so even a dime per mile wouldn’t break the bank! Thank you and good luck God’s blessing be upon you!

Sunset at the Pioneer Cemetery (Gold Beach)

John the Baptist

The summer solstice earlier this week, marking the first day of summer, always reminds me that the celebration of John the Baptist’s birthday is only days away. The actual birth dates of both John and Jesus are not known, but the Church has placed them in theologically-important places on the calendar. From this week until Christmas, the days will grow shorter. From December 25 until the summer solstice, the days grow longer. This choosing of the dates of the Lord’s birth and John’s birth is directly related to the Baptist’s expression in Jn. 3,30: “He must increase, I must decrease.” Today’s celebration of John’s birth is unique. In celebrating the memory of the saints, the Church’s calendar normally doesn’t celebrate their birthday, but usually the day of their death. There are only two exceptions: Mary the mother of Jesus, and John the Baptist. In fact, John gets preferential treatment in that he is given two feastdays a year (both his birth and his death). John’s humility has deeply impressed Christians through the ages. Before anyone had heard of Jesus of Nazareth, people were coming distances to see John. Yet he pointed to Jesus and away from himself, again, “He must increase, I must decrease.” John actually encouraged his disciples to leave him and follow the Lamb of God. Today’s personal prayer along the way of the Pilgrimage was all about joy because, even though some still see John as a grim figure (his dress and his way of speaking were equally rough), the Gospels always associate him with joy. At the presence of Jesus and Mary, he leaped for joy in his mother’s womb; and referring to him, Jesus said, “The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom's voice.“ The source of John’s joy was probably the humility that so characterized him. But let’s be honest, humility is not a fashionable virtue today. It tends to be seen rather as a condition calling for therapy. Humility, though, means to be well-rooted in or down to earth. St. John the Baptist reminds us to be humble in this way, but to always have a longing for heaven. There is cause for joy here.

The journey today was from the base of Humbug Mountain to Ophir State Park. It was interesting to see Gold Beach draw nearer as the day went on and to see Humbug Mountain grow more distant. I’ve been trying to adopt Fr. Junipero Serra’s motto: “Always forward, never back” . . . but I had to at least look back in order to take some photos of the coastline. Winding roads offer mixed blessings: sometimes you can see far enough forward and ask, “I’ve got to go all the way up there?” And sometimes you can look back and say, “I’ve covered all that ground?” When I was walking with my sister Paula we were on the beach much of the time and we were able to talk a lot, so there wasn’t really a need to recognize landmarks or points of progress. I’ve noticed, however, that walking alone is easier when I have an idea of how far it is to the next climb or where I can find a place to get off the road and have a bite to eat. Paul, David, and Bruce have been very helpful in driving me ahead at the end of each walk to scout the next day’s miles. Again, if I have some intermediate “goals”, it seems that there are brief moments of a sense of accomplishment. One the other hand, there are also those moments when I think, “I haven’t reached Brush Creek yet?”

 

You Guessed It, Brush Creek

The scenery on the South Coast is continuing to impress me. When I have to go inland, like when I had to negotiate Humbug Mountain -- without going over the top of it (1,700 ft.), I am beginning to appreciate the diversity of the foliage and trees. I can now distinguish firs from spruces and myrtle wood from alder. Before the Pilgrimage started, I think I knew Douglas Firs pretty well . . . but most other trees were known by me simply as “not Douglas Firs!” They say that U.S. Grant used to say that he knew two songs. One was Yankee Doodle . . . and the other wasn’t! I’m delighted to be better-versed about our rich treasure of trees here in Oregon and now I’m ready to go to work on shrubs and flowers.

Humbug Mountain captured my attention yesterday. I knew it was my goal at the end of about 13 or 14 miles of walking. I saw it all afternoon as I made my way around Port Orford Bay. It maintained my attention today because I couldn’t avoid seeing it every time I looked back, north. It must be one of the highest peaks right along the coastline and I’m grateful they didn’t carve a road out of it that went up and over. Not only has the mountain been preserved, but walking around it, I guarantee you, had to be easier than up and over. On the route around the mountain there were a few little waterfalls. I could hear their sounds before I could see them and then I could feel the coolness of the splashing water as I leaned in to get a closer look. I hadn't done that since Arch Cape and it was a pleasant return of that experience.

Roadside Mini-Waterfall

A Look Back at Humbug Mountain

First View of Sisters Rocks

Sisters Rocks

View Toward Ophir Beach

Descent from Colebrook Butte

Gold Coast Vista

Lookout Rock

Nesika Beach

Out of the Mountains Toward

Gold Beach

Ophir Beach State Park

(Final Look Back to Humbug Mountain)

A few random notes: Junipero threw a shoe today! He wore out the boot which is where the stick meets the pavement or gravel or sand. The boots are also used on legs of furniture to avoid scraping, but on the walking stick they cushion the impact of the stick on a hard walking surface. It's the second one we've worn out in 24 days. The day wouldn't have been complete without some "St. Francis moments":

She Popped Up Out of Nowhere

He Flew in Hoping to Share My Lunch!

***

A final word on Humbug Mountain: A local resident in Port Orford told me how it got its name. It seems that there was an expedition team from a boat during the age of exploration and they were sent ashore to find the mountain (in dense fog); it happened that they went north from the bay and didn't find it. When they turned around and eventually found it (south of the bay), they were in poor spirits . . . muttering things stronger than "humbug", but things you couldn't use to name a mountain! The joy of this day was in stark contrast to the poor spirits of that day. "Lord, always lead our feet into the way of your peace . . . and joy."