Towards the end of each day’s walking segment, when the last few miles seem interminable, Denis tells us he has been breaking into song — a Zulu favorite I first heard at the Shipley School:

Siyahamb’ ekukhanyen’ kwenkhos’, Siyahamb’ ekukhanyen’ kwenkhos’, We are walking in the Light of God, We are walking in the Light of God.

We join in, then add verses: We are walking in the light of Nan, We are walking in the light of Bradley, of Eric, of David, and everyone else who has suffered from these terrible disorders.

The song buoys our stride as we hit mile 16 today on a stretch of highway that can only be described as monotonous and noisy. Anny Ewing, a faithful companion on many walking segments last year as well as today, joined us this morning. We love her company. Despite leaving her walking shoes by her front door at home, her feet do well in an extra pair she had in the car, and I take advantage of Denis’s walking stick with the spring loaded tip to spare my knee.

The width of the road’s shoulder determines whether we can walk abreast,  solo, or as a threesome. Conversations ebb and flow about our children, our jobs, our summer plans. We only stop twice, once for lunch, where Anny spreads out her colorful bandanas on a grassy spot behind a row of 18-wheelers in the parking lot of a WAWA, and later at a McDonald’s to fill our water bottles. The sign by the restrooms admonishes patrons that there is “No Loitering” and that people have to eat their meal in under 20 minutes. We are out of there before we get questioned by the burger police. Then we stumble upon
a No Trespassing sign along the road. Are we being followed?

When we arrive at the Best Western in Edgewood where Denis will spend the night, we find that we have apparently strayed off path, as we appear to be in the Caribbean–or perhaps by the Gulf of Mexico. We pause for photos on the beach before Anny shuttles me back to my car at Havre de Grace. “I am blissfully weary,” she sighs, capturing our feelings exactly.

Parting is sweet sorrow, but I will connect again with my dear pilgrim in Washington D.C. next week.

Synchronicity in the Harbor of Grace — Guest Blogger: Judy

Sometimes the universe conspires to meet our desires.

With typical foresight, weeks before the pilgrimage, Denis reserved two nights for us in the Old Chesapeake Hotel. All the other B&Bs were booked due to Memorial Day weekend, so he found an extended stay suite with full kitchen, a den, living room, dining room, and huge bedroom–way too much space for two people–but the generous owner knocked down the price to support the Walk.When I walk in, I exclaim, “We ought to be having a dinner party.”

After settling in, we wonder the quaint riverside town full of antique stores, small restaurants, and historic brick buildings and end up at a local wine bar before dinner. A resident couple notices Denis’s Walking With Nathaniel cap, and we start a conversation. By the end of it, they have invited us to a music gig at the Laurrapin Grille on Saturday and have recommended Price’s seafood — the local favorite where you order your steamed crabs in advance. Sounds like our kind of place.

We head to Price’s to make our reservation for Saturday, and outside the restaurant, I notice three heavily loaded road bikes, reminding me of our two-month biking adventure in France 31 years ago. As we book our table for Saturday night (afternoon, actually; the only time available is 4:30), I tell the waitress about Denis’s pilgrimage. Her face lights up and she says, “Well, you need to talk to these guys…” gesturing to three young men at a table covered in brown paper and the remnants of a pile of steamed crabs. They are the owners of the bikes.

Stephan, Danny, and Dave are en route from Manhattan to D.C. where Danny will continue cross-county to San Francisco to raise money for Multiple Sclerosis. Coincidence? We exchange cards, and when we realize they have yet to find a campsite for the night–they have already biked over 65 miles, and it is 8:00 at night–my dinner party materializes. We invite them to spend the night at our palatial suite, and they politely decline, planning to hunt first for a campsite.

Back at the apartment, while Denis is making an online contribution to Danny’s website for MS, they call to take us up on our offer, and we spend a terrific evening sharing our stories over a bottle of Pinot Noir that they have brought for us, along with a gift certificate to Price’s. Denis shares fund raising tips with Danny, we share stories about our bike trip in France, and we admire their hi-tech biking gear; our crossed paths seem so right.

After they set out this morning on their last leg to DC, Denis and I have a sumptuous breakfast at the Tidewater Grille where our waitress, Windy, tells us she is a massage therapist and NLP practitioner interested in brain patterning. She takes a card and promises to make a contribution.

Bright sun and strong wind accompany our walk through town where we buy an antique chestnut bench for our living room, two basil plants and a dozen eggs at the farmer’s market, and adorable felt slippers for Zoe Feierman from Ellie at the fair trade boutique — who snaps our photo for her website.

Our experience in the Harbor of Grace matches its name: we are in the right spot, at the right time, meeting just the people we should be meeting. Perhaps this is true every day of our lives, if we can be awake to the opportunities that surround us.

The day starts slowly as I resist leaving my charming hosts’ comfortable and welcoming home–chickens freely roam the yard, a white horse frolics in the open field, and “Kitty” purrs on the front porch table. The morning’s cooler weather beckons me forth but not the low-moving, threatening clouds with spits of rain. Oh good, I get to pull out unused items from my backpack–a long-sleeve synthetic t-shirt and my Camino raincoat. Goodbye, Angela, David, and Hazel, and a big thank you!

Back at the junction of Routes 40/272 (yesterday’s final destination), I head south on Pulaski Highway. There is no redeeming feature to this grotesque human monument to the cement gods. Trucks roar by, forcing me to anchor more securely my WWN hat. I’m grateful for the wide shoulder of the road, but nothing else. Well, not quite. I do appreciate the route’s direct access to today’s final destination, Havre de Grace.

There is one big problem to face, however, in order to get there–the long bridge across the Susquehanna River. No pedestrians allowed. Anticipating this challenge, I resort to Plan B–sweet Judy in a Prius. Isn’t that resourceful of me?

We rendez-vous in Perryville (the north side of the bridge with no real town associated with the name), I turn off the GPS, and cross legally (and alive) by car. Oh my, how quickly the landscape flies by! It takes some psychological adjustment on my part. And voilà, we are in Havre de Grace, our oasis for two nights together before moving south. A perfect Memorial Day weekend getaway.

Havre de Grace! There’s a blog begging to be written there. Havre de Grace pronounced à la Maryland sounds nothing like the French. Why the name? What’s the story of its origin? Stay tuned.

Day 4 ends with the best of everything: dear Judy, a roof over my head, a town that honors its maritime roots, no plans to walk until Sunday, food, food, and food, and no set agenda. Now that sounds like the very definition of grace!

Hey Nan! I wake up refreshed and ready to go again–a common phenomenon we experienced on the Camino de Santiago two years ago.

Not wanting to be late for my first official appointment, this one at Wilmington Friends School, I leave early. Good thing. The Lower School campus is separate (and further away) than the Middle/Upper School campus. A few more miles get added to my underestimated itinerary for the day. Fire the Itinerary Director! (me).

There is something magic about Friends schools. Of course each institution argues that they’re more Quaker than the others, but that’s all nuance, in my opinion. However, I sense a little apprehension on your part, and then I remember. Schools and schooling were difficult milieus for you, often getting in the way of your education and learning.

We meet Annette Hearing, Lower School Head. The connections between us run deep. Mrs. Hearing was your 5th grade teacher at Shipley. She and I were colleagues at the same school. Later we reunited at Westtown when she became Teacher Annette. She reminds me of another connection we had earlier than that when she sought my advice to help her decide if leaving her former job to teach at Shipley was a good move. Good memory, Annette.

With delicious snacks before us and the comfort of a couch beneath me (a big deal for me), the three Division Heads, Rebecca, Jon, and Annette as well as the two school nurses, Stephanie and Karen, and I gather. We discuss you, your school career, your journey with OCD/BDD, and why mental illness in schools has become so hard for parents, siblings, and the institution to navigate, without even being able to imagine what sufferers like you go through. Why are we so ashamed of brain disorders? Why do we clam up when they happen? Why this veil of secrecy that makes candid communication and effective support for all so challenging?

When Jon asked what advice I would give to schools on the issue, I paused. What an essential question he is asking. If awareness is to grow, then we all need to pay close attention to our students and their behaviors, and we need to talk, talk, and talk. Bring in the experts; learn how to have the difficult conversations; include parents in the dialogue; bring in students if at all appropriate. Mental illness affects everyone who lives in its presence. It certainly affected Judy, Carrie, and me. So much to say that the hour slips away. Thank you, F(f)riends, for welcoming us in.

Leaving the school is like leaving Rivendall in The Hobbit. The beautiful trees, lush greenery, and the deep enchantment of the school grounds evaporate quickly as I walk many miles on Route 2 toward Newark. We pass from paradise to hell with a hint of Limbo in between: too many cars, too much rushing, too much  noise, too humid and hot–and 15 miles of it too.

I’m dragging my feet (blisters) so we compromise on today’s segment and skip the last 2 miles. 18 miles for Day 2 will just have to do. The itinerary said 13-miles: fire that Asselin guy! Downtown Newark is experiencing a lovely rebirth, so you and I decide to enjoy it blossoming. Turn off the GPS. I never thought I would call a Super 8 Motel our home sweet home for Day 2.

Sweet dreams, Nathaniel!