God bless you!

As you may know, I’ve left the actual “miles walked” tally up to others. It’s been enough to keep one foot in front of the other at times, although the amount of practice I’ve had for three weeks hasn’t forced me to think about walking all that much. Muscle memory is a powerful thing. I discovered today that there is one sure way to keep up a good pace at the end of the day: 35 mph winds at my back and a downhill path! The backpack got “caught” in the wind a few times and nearly blew me off course, but I tried to position myself so that the wind was directly at my back and forcing me forward. I did have a close call with a long-haul truck today as it was a little wind-blown. I jumped into a ditch, collided with some rocks, and one of them had the indecency to fall on my shin and cut a dime-sized piece of my skin off. Believe me, I’m being cautious. Some of you already know that I faint at the sight of blood, so I waited until I got to the car to see the damage. It’s to my advantage to see blood when I’m already sitting down (the fainting-fall is not so far!), but there wasn’t too much to worry about.

After three straight days at 13.1 miles, yesterday was 14.3 miles and today was 14.2. I was ready to head all the way to Humbug State Park, with the aid of the wind, but I’ll leave that extra half mile for the start of Friday. I should be finishing Friday’s walk at Ophir State Park and then there are only 8 more miles or so to Gold Beach. Then its 28 miles to Brookings and 5 miles to the border. I think Gold Beach is visible from near Humbug Mountain. The end is getting so close that I can almost taste it . . . but it tastes like salt in the air . . . and that may be more a natural phenomenon than anything else.

Bandon, Cape Blanco, Port Orford continue to ROCK! Here’s more evidence:

From Downtown Port Orford

(View While Eating Lunch Today!)

Battle Rock, Port Orford

Port Orford Bay

Port Orford Bay

Port Orford Beach

Port Orford Beach

Base of Humbug Mountain

Brush Creek, Humbug Mountain

　
I read a comment last night by the Irish Dominican priest Donagh O’Shea. It was a perfect prelude to today’s journey: “A rock is a single, consistent thing, but sand is billions of tiny rocks that have no connection with one another; they are like words that pour away, this way and that, according to the way the wind is blowing.” I have found over these weeks that silence makes me appreciate words all the more. But isn’t it true that we often use so many of them that it seems they really do just pour away? Someone once told me that extroverts talk “until they have something to say”, whereas introverts talk “when they have something to say.” I don’t intend that as a broadsided insult at extroverts, just a further comment on how much the silence of these days has made me deeply grateful for words, all of them and each of them.

The Sixes River

Elk River

While I have admitted that the actual “miles walked” number doesn’t concern me much, I have to admit that it was pretty awesome today to reach the State milepost that reads 300. Within a few minutes of passing the sign, a woman pulled her car over and said (through her window), “I saw you walking back in Coos Bay the other day. How far have you gone?” “Well,” I told her, “I’m not really keeping track, but, more or less, 300 miles.” She said, “That’s great. God bless you!” Clearly He has . . . and is.

　

Rocks

Yesterday’s tease was: Bandon and Port Orford ROCK! I was thinking about their beaches and seascapes. There are enormous rocks and rock formations that genuinely set these two places apart. Everyone gets so excited about Haystack Rock in Cannon Beach, but there are at least three or four such rocks in each of these places, plus lots of other smaller rocks. All of this leads me to think Bandon and Port Orford need to do some better marketing. They are like hidden gems on the coast. Yes, they are quite a drive (or walk!)
from Eugene, Salem, and Portland, but they are beautiful places with unique vistas from many different angles. A drive along the Beach Loop Road in Bandon left me speechless. When you throw in Cape Blanco as an extra feature on the southern coast, there is a beauty here that is unmatched. I’m already making plans for next year’s vacation(s), but I think I’ll drive down here, instead of walk, and give myself some extra days to take in the scenery.

Bandon Coastline (Fog Still Lifting)

Bandon

Bandon

Cape Blanco (Fog Fully Lifted)

Cape Blanco Beach

Cape Blanco Lighthouse

Cape Blanco (Port Orford, Upper Right)

The five hours I dedicated to prayer and “meditation” today were for the administrators, faculties, staffs, students, and benefactors of O’Hara Catholic School and Holy Cross School. I finished each decade of the Rosary, for example, praying that God would grant each of these groups His joy, blessing, and protection this summer. The community at O’Hara gave me very personal reminders that they would be praying for me this month and many of the children at Holy Cross wrote notes to me, even before I have arrived there. If that weren’t enough, the faculty and staff at Holy Cross gave me a nice card when I visited Portland in May; that card has been in my backpack every step of the journey so far. I’m grateful to all of those in the two school communities who have been so kind to remember me for 22 days now.

An All-School Art Project?

Beach Grass

Totem Near Langlois

Willow Creek

Did you ever notice that some things seem to happen in groups of three? Whenever a death is announced, either on the news or in the parish office, I nearly always hear someone say soon after, “You know, these things happen in threes.” Whether they do or not, a couple of different groupings of three have popped up this week. First, I walked 13.1 miles three days in a row. I sent a text to my sister Paula saying that we should buy lottery tickets, but she told me there are no games that have 13.1 as a possibility. I was kind of working on the “string of luck” theory, but the lottery isn’t my game anyway. I also encountered three priests during the last week. Fr. Karl Schray was kind enough to host Bruce and I at Holy Redeemer parish in North Bend. Fr. David Cullings, from Marist High in Eugene, nearly drove into me in the parking lot at the Bandon Shopping Center! He was returning to Eugene from a visit with a classmate and friend in San Francisco. He’s actually a safe driver, so the near-collision is mostly in jest. Then, Bruce and I were welcomed into the house of Fr. Michael Patrick in Bandon. The church, parish center, and rectory of Holy Trinity parish are on top of a hill in Bandon. They are not only in a beautiful setting (with a great view), they look great. In about 12 years I may be making a request to the Archbishop for a parish assignment that will lead me to retirement . . . and Bandon looks like a strong candidate! I hope these priests know how deeply grateful, how deeply grateful, how deeply grateful (these things happen in threes!) I am.

One More Thing to Make Bandon Attractive:

Wild Turkey

There have been many chances to partake of fresh seafood over the past three weeks. Nobody can match my sister’s cooking, but many have tried this month with rock fish, halibut, salmon, and shrimp. Paula’s crab salad was a memorable grand prize winner, so far. When I lived in Astoria and was pastor at St. Mary, Star of the Sea, I found myself dining on occasion at The Ship Inn. It was an English-style fish and chips restaurant and they were quite proud of their award-winning clam chowder. I love clam chowder, I especially loved their clam chowder, but the taste of clams (and their texture, to be honest) have never agreed with me. I used to ask Jill Stokeld, the owner, if she would make the chowder, just once, without the clams. She would laugh. She never thought I was serious, but I was. Nonetheless, I have always judged all other clam chowders by the standard they set at The Ship Inn. No one has matched it, yet. [Have you heard of the idea of the bucket list? Clam-free clam chowder is one of my items!]

Junipero was a star today! I stopped for a sandwich at the Langlois Market. Langlois, the town is located a little north of Denmark. Yes, there is a Denmark, OR. There were about nine or ten people in the store and four more employees. A young man in his twenties looked at me and said, “We’ve seen you on the road for three days now.” I told him about the Pilgrimage and then his attention went right to the stick. He wouldn’t stop talking about how great it looked and, before long, everybody in the store was taking a look. It was a great way to say a few words about the project for 1^st Way, but the stick was definitely center stage. It’s a little strange sometimes when I am silent, praying, and without human contact for three or four hours . . . then, all of sudden, I’ve got people coming at me from all sides, eager to talk with me, very curious about what I’m doing and what the stick is all about. I sort of have to brace myself for such encounters about a half-mile before I get to a store or town or whatever. When I went outside the Langlois Market, a man in a pickup with Texas license plates drove up, got out, and came immediately to see Junipero, too. He even asked, very politely, if he could touch it! I said, “Go ahead and grab it, it’s carved with finger grooves and everything.” He admired it for a time and then said, “Well, God bless you.” I said, “He is.”

A couple of St. Francis Moments; the kinds of things you can only see at three miles per hour:

Skipping

Do I get extra credit for skipping? The skipping I’m talking about is not skipping stages along the journey and cutting out miles, but the kind of skipping that we did very naturally as children. You know, moving in a light, springy manner . . . bounding forward with alternate hops on each foot. Do I get extra credit for that kind of skipping?

Some St. Mary (Eugene) parishioners will remember Zoe Bartlett. She died a few years ago at just 14 years of age. Zoe had some developmental disabilities and, even into her teenage years, enjoyed leaving the church on Sunday morning for the Children’s Liturgy of the Word (aimed at those who were pre-readers through 5th grade). As I mentioned at her funeral, Zoe was uniquely without pretense, she was as real as real gets, all the time. There was nothing fake about her, ever; that was both good and bad because she was radically honest in all circumstances. Well, one Sunday morning I went with the children to their Liturgy and the other priest stayed in church to offer the Mass. As I was making my way to the parish center with the kids, Zoe looked at me and asked, “Can we hold hands?” I said, “Sure Zoe, I’d love to.” And then, moments later, as we made our way through the parish courtyard, Zoe asked, “Fr. Mark, do you want to skip?” I knew she wasn’t asking to skip the Liturgy, as in duck out and do something different. She was asking to move in a light springy manner . . . bounding forward . . . well, you know how to do it by now. My first reaction was to look into the parish center where the people from the previous Mass were sharing coffee and donuts. I was anxious about what the adults there would think about their pastor skipping across the courtyard. But then it hit me: who cares what they think? Zoe just asked me to skip with her! And so we did. And I felt free . . . like a child . . . a feeling which I hadn’t had for a very long time. When we got to the Liturgy, I thanked Zoe for the gift of skipping together and she said, “No. Thank God!”

So, all of that came rushing back to me atop Beaver Hill on Day 20 (Monday). I was praying by name for all the children I could call to mind (it helps if I do it alphabetically) and, when I got to Z, Zoe was on top of the list. At that moment I thought, “What would it be like to skip again?” So I did! It was a little less “light and springy” than I remember; and it was awkward with a weighty pack on my back. But skip I did. It might have looked more like stumbling than skipping, but skipping was really in my heart. At that moment, a big log truck came roaring up the hill. My initial thought was, “What will the driver think, seeing this 50-year old guy skipping down Highway 101?” Then it hit me (again): who cares what he thinks? My friend Zoe taught me how to skip like a child again and I’ll never be embarrassed to do it . . . anywhere. Even Beaver Hill, in Coos County, on the Oregon Coast. Thank God!

What makes the remembrance of Zoe all the more special is that I was wearing my Life Teen t-shirt which says: Be Bold. Be Faithful. Be Original. Be Catholic. Thank God for all of that, too.

There are moments when a particular sunset appears to be just like all other sunsets, when beach vistas appear to be very similar, and when one forest doesn’t look much different from any other forest (for all of these, see the post on Grandma’s Wisdom). I was disheartened on Monday when I encountered an Oregon Department of Transportation worker who was sitting in a car on the shoulder of the highway. She rolled down her window to make a comment. She said, “Why are you hiking here? This is so boring.” The comment was disheartening because she obviously has never seen the area going three miles per hour. There are no two trees exactly alike, there are no two shrubs exactly alike, there are no two birds exactly alike . . . and you never know when a doe and her fawn will come out of nowhere to offer a surprise blessing . . . you never know when an eagle will soar over your head . . . you never know when flowers will explode with color. I wanted to say to the ODT worker, “Boring? Can you be serious? Try this at 3 miles per hour.” Instead, I said, “Have a blessed day!” And I meant it.

The Coquille River Basin

The Coquille River Bridge

(the Osprey Nest is More Impressive!)

Grand Prize Winner

(What Nature can do with a Ditch!)

The Osprey seen today (too fast to get a photo) reminded me of the number of Turkey Vultures spotted over the past two weeks. Vultures look graceful in flight, but are not the prettiest birds when seen close up. They have a habit of showing up when the daily miles reach double-digits and walkers are more tired than usual. I pointed this out to my sister Paula and she suggested that they might be circling in on what they think is prey. So we agreed to move our arms rapidly to convince them "we're still alive!"

Tomorrow: Bandon and Port Orford ROCK!

Be Not Afraid

It has been written that the expression "Be not afraid" (and others which say the same thing, but in different words) can be found in the Bible 365 times. How many days are there in a year? You do the math! Even having said that, our working assumption for several weeks has been that it is 335 miles from one end of the coast to another. When we made pledge forms for 1^st Way, so that people could “sponsor” me for the Pilgrimage, we said “approximately 335 miles.” Then we revised the numbers up into the 340’s, but the plan was still to do 335 (total) and call it a day (or a month, as the case may be). The other night, while reading a magazine called “Mile by Mile”, I discovered that Brookings is supposedly at milepost 358! The math just wasn’t going to work, given the days remaining and the miles to be walked. But, both GPS and more careful map reading now indicate that the distance is still in the 330’s to low 340’s . . . so all of the nervous energy I devoted to fretting over this the other night, after reading the magazine, was, after all, wasted. The math now seems to indicate that 12-13 miles a day will allow us to arrive safely in Brookings by June 28 (and we’d still have the 29^th if we need it). I look forward to arriving at Holy Cross parish on July 1, so we should be pretty safe . . . or so it appears right now. Those who have been to Brookings know that it is another 5 miles or so from there to the California border, but let me get to Bandon first! That will happen Tuesday (Day 21).

Fr. Karl Schray, my first pastor after I was ordained nearly 22 years ago, has been generous in hosting Bruce Kramer and I for a couple of nights. Fr. Michael Patrick has already rolled out the red carpet at Holy Trinity parish in Bandon. And it looks like we will be able to stay for several nights at the unoccupied rectory in Gold Beach at the end of this week. The morale among priests of our Archdiocese has been high for many years and it is all the more encouraging to see how kind these brothers in ministry have been in offering hospitality. Please pray for them and for all of the others who are in out-post parishes, far from major cities.

Today I devoted myself to praying for all the people who have ever (or will ever) pass through the doors at 1^st Way Life Center. I prayed for all of the young (and older) mothers who have been cared for there, for the fathers, for the children, for the volunteers, for those who one day may visit there, for the supporters of the ministry, and for all of you who are following this journey to bring greater awareness to the important work being done there.

When I occasionally listen to music on the way, I always start with a few songs from Matt Maher. He’s a Catholic musician and artist who is at St. Timothy’s parish in Tempe, AZ. Matt is involved with Oregon Catholic Press and Life Teen Ministries. His song “Lay It Down” (a song of surrender to the mercy of God) accompanied me up the 753 foot ascent near Neskowin. That seems like eons ago! Today, although I needed to climb only 400 feet, I listened to Matt’s “Your Grace Is Enough.” I thought that listening to music would be an interruption to my prayer, but songs like those are more like a continuation of it. God is, indeed, good!

Climb to Beaver Hill

(400+ Feet)

View from Beaver Hill

(How Come They Don't Name Anything After

the Ducks on the Coast?)

A St. Francis Moment

(They Appeared out of Nowhere)

Some perspective on the worrying I did the other night about dates and distances: “I have learned over the years that when one’s mind is made up, this diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear.” Rosa Parks

A few people have asked for a look at the non-artist Rembrandt. Here you go:

Not the Artist

From Day 20:

The Bay Bridge (one last time)

from Fr. Karl's Backyard

Junipero Taking a Break

(After 13.1 Miles)

　

Tomorrow: Do I get extra credit for skipping?

Dad's Day

I've often talked about my own Father on Father's Day, so I thought it would be good to talk about Fathers in general today. Wait! What am I talking about? There's no such thing as "Fathers in general" and I've been blessed with a Father "in particular" who has blessed my life richly and generously . . . for over 50 years now. His baptismal name is John, but we've known him as Papa, Cowboy, Pops, and lots of other names over the years. When we used to travel in the family car, we would often play games to pass the time. Once, on a return trip from North Dakota, we played something like "20 Questions." One person got to pick a person, place, or thing and everybody else got 20 chances to get enough information to guess the right answer. The "usual suspects" in the game, especially when it came to prominent persons, were celebrities or historical figures. Well, on my turn on this particular trip I chose our Dad as the prominent person. I think I was razzed by my siblings for not picking a well-known person, but doesn't that sound kind of silly now. How much better could we know him? We were his flesh and blood! Over the years, Papa has shown us truly fatherly love, protection, guidance, tenderness, understanding and, most amazingly, unconditional forgiveness . . . and heaven knows he's had a lot of chances to do that! Fr. David Brown, at Mass this morning in Reedsport, mentioned that any man is capable of being a father, but fewer actually become a dad. So, Happy Father's Dad's Day to my own and all others.

Father and Son at an SF Giants Game

(World Series Champs 2010!)

Friends (Follow-up)
It was a great surprise to encounter Denice Herrmann and Chuck Kennedy this morning at St. John's in Reedsport. We have shared a friendship for nearly twenty years. They live in Deadwood, near Triangle Lake and not far from Mapleton. I've had the joy of watching their children and grandchildren grow up. It was a treat to share in part of their Father's Day observance. They asked if they could share also in part of the walk today and they accompanied me for the first 4 1/2 miles. Our conversation made the time seem to pass more quickly. After being shuttled back to their car, I continued to the Bay Bridge at North Bend and then eventually to Bunker Hill (on the south end of Coos Bay). At the 13.1-mile mark, I called Paul Swadener's "replacement," Bruce Kramer. He was only a few blocks away. Paul has been a great help and I trust that Bruce will fill in for him well. I'm grateful to both of them.

Chuck, Denice, and Yours Truly

***

So, here's what some of you have been waiting for:

The second runner-up in the Name the Walking Stick contest is: Johnnie Walker. It is, in fact, the brand name of my favorite adult beverage (rocks, please), but it’s a little too secular for something called The Pilgrimage. All those still in favor of Johnnie Walker, please offer a toast for a strong third-place finish. Thank you Mr. Derek.

The first runner-up is Hendrick, the name of the artist Rembrandt’s wife's uncle. It turns out that Hendrick was a key ally of the artist and was his agent in securing commissions for his art work. In that he was a helper and companion, this is a very worthy match for the Walking Stick and a strong second-place. Thank you Stephanie and the Mac Zoo.

Drum roll please. The winning entry and the name which will stick with the Stick for ages to come is . . . Junipero (pronounced Hoo-nipper-Oh). Blessed Junipero Serra, Franciscan missionary priest, is the inspiration here, and so is the fact that the Stick is made of Oregon Juniper wood. Below are some interesting facts about “Fr. Serra," as he was called in his day. Thanks to Pat for the winning entry and a great case in defense of the entry.

When I walked into a Quick-Mart in Lakeside (between Reedsport and North Bend) Saturday, the man behind the counter said, “Hoo-boy, that’s quite a stick you got there!” “Hoo-boy” didn’t strike me quite like “Dude . . .”, but it was delivered with a little bit of a Southern accent and was a welcome greeting at 9 of 13 miles on Saturday. Crossing the Bay Bridge today, a man said, "&%#&@, that's a mighty stick, man!" I said, "Its name is Junipero. Thanks anyway. Have a safe trip!"
　
　
Blessed Junipero Serra. Adapted from Saint of the Day: In 1776, when the American Revolution was beginning in the east, another part of the future United States was being born in California. That year a gray-robed Franciscan named Junipero Serra founded the seventh of nine missions, San Juan Capistrano. He had entered the Franciscan Order and had taken the name of St. Francis’ companion, Brother Juniper. Although a teacher for many years in Spain, Fr. Serra responded to a calling to go to the New World. Arriving by ship at Vera Cruz, Mexico, he and a companion walked 250 miles to Mexico City. For 18 years he worked in central Mexico and in the Baja Peninsula. Eventually, he made a 900-mile journey to what is now California and established the first Mission (San Diego) in 1769. He was beatified by Pope John Paul II in 1998.
The word that best describes Junipero is zeal. It was a spirit that came from his deep prayer and dauntless will. “Always forward, never back” was his motto.

Some Scenes from Day 19:

First View of the Bay Bridge (It's Out There!)

The Bay Bridge (About One Mile Later)

The Bay Bridge (Much Closer)

The Bay Bridge (From On Top)

End of Day 19 at Bunkercoal Slough

at Bunker Hill

　

Friends

Before leaving Eugene, I sent a “thought for the day” to a good friend. It bears repeating for all who have become friends and followers of this pilgrim journey: “Blessed are they who have the gift of making friends, for it is one of God’s best gifts. It involves many things, but above all, the power of giving out of one’s self and appreciating whatever is noble and loving in another.” The words were originally written by Thomas Hughes and were shared with me for the first time six years ago. I have them printed on a prayer card in my Bible, so I gladly return to them often. If I may, please let me mention the names of a few friends whom I’ve met along the way.

Walt Wollenbecker was a dependable member of the parish finance council when I was in St. Mary, Star of the Sea parish in Astoria. Walt also did my personal taxes and he was always ready with a warm and boisterous laugh. (That’s not saying that my taxes were the source of his laughter, just that I still remember Walt’s great sense of humor and his love for life.) Well, Walt was the reader at the Pilgrimage’s first daily Mass back on June 1^st. I still remember Fr. Ken Sampson’s homily on St. Justin that day and I’ve been especially attentive to those “random” encounters with people where God-kissed moments abound.

Fr. Nick Nilema, at Our Lady of Victory in Seaside, allowed Paul Swadener and I to stay in his home overnight. I’ve always respected Fr. Nick as a brother priest, but I had an epiphany the night we lodged in Seaside. If you recall, this was after day 1, the first 16-mile day, and I was sore and tired. I was so sore and tired that it took me a few minutes to walk from one end of the hallway to the other. During that long trek, I got to see all of the personal photos that Fr. Nick had hung on his wall. Among those photos there was one of the newly ordained Fr. Nick and his family. They were gathered in a very simple home and surrounded by what we would call African folk art. The difference I noticed in the picture was that, for them, it was just art . . . decoration . . . they were in Africa! It dawned on me that Fr. Nick had made a huge personal sacrifice to come to the United States as a missionary. God bless him for it!

In Waldport, I had dinner one night with Phil and Tina Hurley. Tina was the parish secretary at the very first parish I served in, St. Anne’s in Grants Pass. Many of you already know this, but most parish secretaries are nearly irreplaceable and are such “key players” as liaisons between parish staff and parishioners that they couldn’t possibly be paid enough. I used to joke with Tina that she should get the parish equivalent of the military’s “combat” pay or “dangerous duty” pay. Our friendship, while marked by long periods where we haven’t seen each other, has remained strong and it was easily rekindled over dinner.

When Paula and I were passing through the area around Heceta Head Lighthouse (north of Florence), a young man drove past us going in the opposite direction, turned around, and drove past us going in our direction. He then pulled over and came running, uphill, toward us. It was a man I didn’t recognize at first, but it turned out to be Fr. Don Gutmann, the pastor in Newberg. He had previously served in Florence and was running some errands between there and Newberg. He caught me completely by surprise, and delightfully by surprise. Even more, he said, “Don’t let me stop you, let’s keep walking.” So he walked with us for about a quarter of a mile down the hill. He even jumped the guardrail so the three of us wouldn’t take up too much room on the shoulder of the highway. Eventually, I had to tell him, “You’ve got to climb all the way back up to your pickup!” He reluctantly agreed to go back up. We parted ways with a promise to pray for each other . . . and then he proceeded to run all the way back up the hill!

" . . . appreciating whatever is noble and loving in another.”

***

Did I miss something in the newspaper? Was Saturday "Everyone-can-drive-on-the-shoulder-of-the-highway Day?" Six different vehicles drove well over the white line and onto the shoulder today. I prefer to walk on the left-side of the road so that oncoming traffic can see me and I can see it; 90% of the time today I was on that side and fully aware of fast and heavy metal coming my way . . . and, again, six times there were drivers either not paying attention or aiming for me (. . . okay, that's doubtful). Prayer was an easy calling today!

Ascent to Ocean View Point

View Point (the Ocean Really is Out There)

Descent to Clear Lake

Salmon Berry (It's Really In There!)

Clear Lake (Coos County)

Tenmile Creek

***

Tomorrow: It seems fitting that the announcement of the winner of the Name the Stick contest should be made on the Lord's Day. As soon as I arrive in North Bend and can find internet access, I'll post the second runner-up, the runner-up, and the winner. Thanks for all the suggestions.

A Tree Frog, In More Ways Than One



God's Wisdom and Love

“Father in heaven, it is right that we should give you thanks and glory: you are the one God, living and true. You are the source of life and goodness, you have created all things, to fill your creatures with every blessing and lead all people to the joyful vision of your light.” These words, from the preface to the Fourth Eucharistic Prayer of the Mass, were shared this morning at Our Lady of the Dunes parish in Florence. The pastor, Fr. David Brown, kindly arranged for Dave, Paula, Paul, and I to stay at St. John’s in Reedsport, so I returned the favor by “covering” for him this morning at the Florence Mass. He is pastor at both Florence and Reedsport, though he will soon be leaving for a new assignment at St. Paul parish in Eugene. The people here will miss him greatly. At Mass, I shared with the faithful parishioners that many years ago a young man joined me and other pilgrims in Israel. One day on the bus, that young man moved up to the front row where I was seated and posed a question. He said, “How does someone know if he’s being called to be a priest?” I asked, “Do we both know this someone?” Many conversations followed that initial exchange and today, lo and behold, I was “covering” for that very young man, now Fr. David. God is, indeed, good!

It‘s worth hearing these words again: “You are the source of life and goodness, you have created all things, to fill your creatures with every blessing and lead all people to the joyful vision of your light.” As is evident after 17 days of the journey, there are countless creatures who have crossed my path these days and reminded me of God’s blessings. Today’s path took me from Siltcoos Lake to downtown Reedsport. Along the way, I passed through the town of Gardiner and found a park bench on the banks of the Umpqua River. Before saying what I encountered, let me mention that at least one of my daily walks in Eugene, every day for 12 years, involved crossing the Amazon Canal. There were often Red-winged Blackbirds along the Amazon and I grew accustomed to their songs. Well, today I didn’t see such a bird -- but I sure heard her. I was transported, in a sense, back home and looked briefly for more familiar surroundings. Farther down on the Umpqua, I saw a Cormorant which was proudly opening his wings as he sat on an old pier. They are quite a sight when they are fishing, but today’s “wing display” was a welcome surprise. At the end of the Fourth Eucharistic Prayer, we prayed these words today: “In your kingdom, freed from the corruption of sin and death, we shall sing your glory with every creature through Christ our Lord, through whom you give us everything that is good.”

Elbow Lake

Umpqua Valley

 As I finished the journey today, between miles 11 and 12, I encountered an older man who was out for a walk. He was wearing one of those Retired Navy caps and walking with the aid of a cane. He stopped in front of me and held his cane up a little, saying that he was impressed with mine. I told him that it had served me well for 200 or so miles and it had to carry me to Brookings. He said, “Son, that’s a long way.” I said, “Yes, sir, it is.” Then I explained that I was doing all of this because of a group called 1^st Way and how much I admired their work, caring for pregnant young women both before and after they give birth. He paused for a moment and then said, “You know, young man, good mothers make for good kids and good kids make for a good world. Isn’t that right?” I also told him that, if he was a praying man, I’d appreciate his prayers for about the next 12 days or so. He said, “You can count on ‘em.”

The final word today from the Fourth Eucharistic Prayer: “We acknowledge your greatness, all your actions show your wisdom and love. You formed us in your own likeness and set us over the whole world to serve you, our Creator.”

 

Old Rail Bridge, Umpqua River

Old and Historic Umpqua River Bridge

New Umpqua Bridge (Gateway to Reedsport)