The Heaviest Things, Objects, Items & Stuff
The Heaviest Things, Objects, Items & Stuff
by Jean Christie Ashmore | Seattle, WA
Easter morning, 2001. Roncesvalles, a village high in the Spanish Pyrenees.
I started the 500-mile walk to Santiago de Compostela full of enthusiasm.
My backpack was full of the essentials, plus “I might need this” things; “what if that happens” objects; “what if I can’t find this on the Camino” items; and “this might be nice to have” stuff.
By Day 2 on the Camino, I was a wreck. Carrying too much weight had contributed to serious blisters and inflamed calves. Even worse: discouragement swirled inside me. I thought this long-walk idea wasn’t for me. Maybe I should quit. Luckily, a “Camino gift” was about to present itself.
A tall guy approached as I sat beside the trail bandaging my blisters. He wore a scallop shell around his neck and gripped an enormous wooden walking staff. He glanced at my huge backpack. He saw my emergency-care scene: adhesive tape, scissors, and gauzes. Surely he noticed the weary expression on my face.
He sat down nearby, took out a water bottle, and asked how I was. I told him the truth: my pack was too heavy and I was suffering from the consequences. Then he gave it to me. The gift.
“We carry our fears in our backpack,” he said.
Aha!
Several weeks later, I arrived in Santiago, hardly noticing the lightweight pack on my back. I felt fit, exhausted, and happy.
Since then, I’ve walked more than 2,000 miles on old pilgrimage trails in France and Spain. A lightweight backpack helped me enjoy those long walks. So I continued to gather ideas and tips from other Camino pilgrims I met along the way. Eventually, I wrote a book to help aspiring pilgrims: To Walk Far, Carry Less. I didn’t want anyone to get as close as I did to quitting such an extraordinary life experience.
I mention the tall pilgrim with the wooden walking staff and scallop-shell necklace in the book. He vanished after that short visit on the trail. I never saw him again. But I did get his name.
I remember you well, Vidal. Your name means “life.” I thank you for enhancing mine, and for giving me a lasting gift to share with others. Buen Camino, Vidal, wherever you may be.
And Buen Camino to aspiring pilgrims. May you go far by taking your fears out of your backpack.
