DAY 95 - Creston & Osceola, IA - 1829 miles from home

I write this on October 7th - mindful of the war in Gaza, mindful of the possibilities of peace, mindful too of troops in cities most dear to me: Chicago (where I grew up) and Portland - just up the road from my home for the last thirty years... my home in the state I love best, with its coast, forests, rivers, mountains, valleys, and high desert. The gorgeous state of Oregon.

We all love something best - and these days, on pilgrimage, I'm finding myself more and more consciously stretching beyond my known loves, beyond my known comforts... stepping, as we say every morning in our Liberty Walk affirmations ("The Way We Walk"), into the unknown.

Yesterday, Day 95, did not begin auspiciously. It had rained all night, and was still raining, as Chris and Bob left our Airbnb in Creston to hike 15 miles down Route 34. As I drove through the rain to my rendezvous with them, I passed mountains of corn alongside commercial grain elevators: a gold and silver industrial park. The world seemed to be weeping; the land being pillaged. A few hours later, Elijah, our videographer, called me with word of a sudden death in his family.

My heart aches for Elijah and for those he loves.

And the line from one of my favorite songs - the Avett Brothers' No Hard Feelings - comes to mind: "life and its loveliness / And all of its ugliness" ... Both things are here. Loveliness and ugliness. Both of them. As I walked my leg of the day's thirty miles, I saw much of both. A rain drenched pasture with content cattle. A decapitated raccoon. A sudden, inspiring glimpse of the long and winding road.

At one point, east of Afton, IA, I passed an Amish home. A sign said "No Sunday Sales" - advertising eggs. It was a Monday. Encouraged by the sign, I approached. A man sat in his buggy at the front door; a woman, presumably his wife, with head covering and long blue dress stood nearby. As I waved, the woman scurried out of view. Five or six dark brindled border collies crouched low, giving me the "stare" - evidently trying to herd me. I asked if I could photograph the sheep standing by, curious. "I don't care," the man said - but he definitely did not want me to photograph him, or his home. "No no no!" he called out, as I turned toward him. I waved, turned around, respecting his privacy as best as I could.

Further down the road, a car pulled up on the shoulder in front of me. I approached, ready to give my spiel - no I don't need anything! I'm okay! I'm walking across America! - but realized it was Angie Pearson whom I'd met on Saturday. Oh! It's you!!

Angie was with her other daughter - another beautiful young woman - more big smiles. The daughter had seen me on the road earlier, as had hubby Mr. Pearson.

I was just blogging about you, I told Angie. "I know! I just read it!,” she laughed. “I was thinking about you last night with the rain!" We’re family now!” I laughed.

And we were all three laughing and smiling ear to ear. "She's going to want to take your picture," Angie mock-warned her daughter. And of course I did.

Family. Kinfolk. Maybe that's what this pilgrimage is about. Refusing to be estranged, even from the strange and the stranger. Resisting division and divide with all my might. I have feelings, positions, opinions. I have rights and responsibilities. Sometimes I’m just damn angry. But even so, I am walking toward - not away. "I have no enemies," the Avett brothers sing.

As I drew near the end of my hike I finally got really curious about the little splashes of purple along the side of the road. Chicory flowers - popping up only now, in the cooler, wetter days of autumn. Lovely little weeds that enjoy the side of a busy road like highway 34.

The Pearson family, one more time! Highway 34, en route to Osceola, IA.

Leaving rainy Creston, IA.

The view from Highway 34.

Just east of Afton, IA is Amish territory.

Well-shorn, highly curious. Amish homestead, near Afton.

Home outside of Murray, IA.

Chicory flower and "Nasty Beast Hard Tea," near Osceola, IA.