A Walk Up the Hill

The rustic road that leads into the Eremo.  Silence begins here.

The Tau, last letter of the Hebrew alphabet. Reminded Francis of the Cross and has become his symbol.

Yesterday morning was absolutely gorgeous.  After a week, my body and brain are finally feeling "normal". A perfect time to take the two mile walk up to one of the most beautiful places I know, the Eremo dell Carceri.  "Eremo" translates to "Hermitage" and "Carceri" comes from the Latin, meaning "islolated places; prisons".

The road up to the Eremo starts at the Porta Cappuccini, one of the many entrances to the city. After passing under, I chose the paved road and passed in between groves of olive trees.  This is the harvest time, the season for picking olives and transforming them into liquid gold.  Along the way, there were several racollte in progress (think little groups of people), performing the ancient custom of shaking the fruit out of the trees, getting ready to head out to the frantoio (think olive mill).

Two hours later, I reached my destination, the entrance to the place where St Francis came to pray and where his followers established their first home.  The entrance way signs remind visitors that this is not an amusement park, that picnicking is prohibited, and that silence would be very much appreciated.  This is sacred space, and has been since 1205 when Francis first arrived.  At the time, the only building was a 12th Century oratory.  He lived alone, in a cold cave, on the side of Mt. Subasio.  Soon after, other men followed him to the mountain, finding their own isolated caves in which to hang out and pray.

In 1215, the site was given to the Benedictines and remains as a small monastery.

It was the perfect time and place.  The evening before, Joe called and delivered the sad news that our friend Steve died suddenly on Monday morning.  I felt frustrated and helpless, unable to comfort my dear friend Nina.  Her loss is profound.  Steve was in her life for a short but sweet time and his death, tragic.  All I could do is pray for both of them and, leaving behind a crudely structured version of a cross, laid at an outdoor altar, I prayed again on the walk back down.