About 6 years ago, after my father passed away and my whole world got turned on it’s head by that and other things, I decided it was a good time to take a long walk. I had been studying Spanish for a couple of years and had been researching the Camino de Santiago, an ancient pilgrimage that crosses much of Europe and culminates in Santiago de Compostela where there is a relic of Saint James in the cathedral and the traditional place that pilgrims reflect and pray at the end of the pilgrimage. But the true end of the Camino is Finisterre on the coast of northern Spain. I believe that Finisterre means end of the earth in an old dialect. I set out to walk the Camino by myself, but of course coming across pilgrims from all over the world. I started in St Jean Pied de Port in France, walked over the mountains to Spain and spent my first night in an old convent after a special prayer service was held to bless the pilgrims. The first day was the hardest day of the entire 5 week journey for me: the path was muddy, it was raining and cold, it was not completely clear which way to go at times, and it was a very long, lonesome, trying day. I walked every day but Sundays, in all about 480 miles. I met a group of Norwegians who walked with me for a couple of days, but mostly I walked alone. The revelations of that time walking were really about being freed from technology and phones and being mostly concerned with the basics, like where will I find more water, how far can I go today, is this the right path? That felt like a luxury to me. The people in all the hamlets and towns and even big cities were warm and welcoming, and I was greeted with “Buen Camino” by many strangers; was given a handful of freshly shelled walnuts by an older woman who told me stories of her speed as a runner when she was a little girl; I got lost and wandered into a café full of old men drinking coffee and playing cards, they helped me find someone to take me to the right place; though I brought good walking shoes I still ended up with a terribly painful infection in my toe and hobbled along for days in pain, finally finding a podiatrist who helped me. The most profound moment of my pilgrimage came when I had been walking alone and I had not seen any other pilgrims for hours. I had decided to reflect on my father’s life and death, to ponder death and it’s mystery. As I walked, all of a sudden my father joined me. He did not say anything he just walked with me and he seemed content. He appeared in his Air Force uniform and of the age when he was teaching law at the Air Force Academy, a happy time for him I believe. After a few hours he left and I was faced with the images of the many people I have known and loved who have passed on. It felt like a door had opened and I saw it as a chance to tell them all one by one how much I loved them and thank them for being in my life and as I did each one faded and another appeared. - Nell Robinson