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.

Just Ask

I have my poles.  I have my shoes.  I have my desire.

I could go on a hike but.......

It needs to stop raining.


Mount Subasio looms in the not-too-distant background.  It's a destination I have been dreaming about re-visiting since returning from the Camino.  I know where I want to go and I am, much to my amazement, ready and able to physically take it on but.......it rains, the sun comes out, it rains again, making planning a day hike impossible.  So, I will have to wait it out.  The Eremo will be waiting for me.  St Francis hung out there in the Thirteenth Century, talking to the birds, and things haven't changed all that much since so I can wait a few more days.  I just want to get on the road and I need some new stories soon.

I spent a month here, on my own, six years ago.  I came back with more stories than F. Scott Fitzgerald.  I want more.  I'm a glutton for a good story.

In the meantime, I'm getting back my Assisi Mojo and making each day a happening.  I am grateful for the strength that allows me to make it up and down the hills that the town is known for without breaking a sweat.  This is one very beautiful place to be, rain or shine.  The apartment that I rented is in a fabulous neighborhood.  I could not have been more fortunate. All the elements are ever-present. Narrow cobblestoned roads, gracious building facades, complete with blooming flowers in pots on walls and beside doors.  The smell of umbrian wood fires coming from cozy homes.  Church bells.
Caffes, trattorias and pizza.  Any day now, my eyes may totally jump out of my head from being overwhelmed.  I'm waiting for my pulse to slow down so that I can simply enjoy the gift I have been given in arriving here safely.  I have been granted graces and graces I plan to use.

I'm grateful for people who have been so kind, old friends and new.  I'm grateful to the staff in the trattoria on the corner who came to my aid last night as a can of tomatoes needed to be opened when the kitchen at the apartment was lacking a can opener.  No problem.  Slippers on feet, can in hand, I ran up the street and was directed to the chef who was only too happy to help.

There's something so lovely about being open and honest with people, no matter where in the world we find ourselves.  I had a minor emergency, and I needed help.  I have no idea how to ask for a can opener in Italian but I do know that for every crisis, there is someone who is willing to help if we just ask.

And now, I'm asking you God......please make it stop raining.  My journey awaits me.  It's time.