May 10, 2026 (Sunday)

Intention

Before we began our Via Francigena pilgrimage, we reflected on our intentions and aspirations. Rome, as the Catholic center of the world, does not hold a religious force for either of us. I grew up Catholic and was once married in the Catholic Church, but I journey now, as does Paul, with the Lutheran community and with Buddhist teachings.

Medieval pilgrims were drawn to Rome as the center of their faith. Jerusalem was often unsafe or impossible to reach for European Christians in the Middle Ages, so Rome became a kind of stand-in for the Holy Land: it was the site of the martyrdom of St. Peter and of St. Paul and had become the holy city of Christianity.

For us, our intentions are not relief from purgatory, absolution of sins, or earning credits toward salvation (though perhaps we need them!). Influenced by Buddhism and its emphasis on mindfulness, our intentions are to be present — to walking, to the landscapes, to spirit within us and those we meet, and to each other. With gratitude for being able-bodied, we are animated by this ancient route, trod by generations of traders, soldiers, emissaries, and pilgrims before us. Andiamo!

We start out from Vetralla under overcast skies. Along the way, we stop into any church with an open door and are particularly drawn to images and statues of Mary (my Catholic upbringing!) or to ones of Mary as Mother with child. Paul has a new grandson so babies on our on minds. A light drizzle comes and goes, so the 2 Euro poncho becomes essential.

We are soon out of the town area and pick up a trail into the thickly wooded oak forest of Bosco Montefogliano Park where we hike for an hour or so. With the spring rains, it is incredibly lush with every possible shade of spring green, both in the tall forest canopy, in the verdant undergrowth, in the tangle of wildflowers, and in the open meadows. We see two pelligrini this morning, heading out of town, and two more coming from the direction of Rome; other than that, we have this incredible bosco on this Sunday morning to ourselves, awash in birdsong.

After the forest, we travel through landscapes shaped by human culture: acres and acres of hazelnuts (we are in the land of Nutella, and Italy, after Turkey, is a major producer. Coming from Oregon, I chauvinistically thought the Willamette Valley was the hazelnut capital of the world, but I learn that it is the hazelnut capital of the U.S. and only a small part of world production.) We pass by an iconic country villa driveway, lined with Italian cedars and umbrella pines, and, in the town of Capranica, see that a wedding happened earlier in the day.

In the afternoon, I become aware that I have thrown out a rib or pulled a muscle (by frequently twisting around to get my camera out of my backpack). By now, a deluge has started and we two pilgrims scurry through a dark woods in pouring rain, mimicking Tolkien’s hobbits hurrying through the foreboding Mirkwood Forest. The rain is pummeling down in earnest now. Ponchos on, head down, about 5 miles to go til we get to Sutri.

At last, we see the clock tower of Sutri ahead and experience the relief pilgrims must have felt in coming out of the forest and into a town. But we are so downward focused due to the rain that we walk right by our inn and trek an additional 2 miles past and then 2 miles back. We arrive cold and stiff.

Still, the rains enforced our intention of being present–we could do nothing more than walk, step by step.

[We can] learn to live in an awakened way, living deeply every moment of our life, treating those with who are close to us with gentleness and respect . . . Living in the present moment we are able to be in touch with life’s wonderful, refreshing, and life-giving phenomena, which allow us to heal the wounds in ourselves. Every day we become more wonderful, fresh, and healthy.

— from Thich Nhat Hahn, “Deep Seeing,” The Pocket Thich Nhat Hanh

The wisdom of the Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hahn, is reflected in this sign along the muddy forest trail:

Sign in photo: Ambulo Ergo Sum. Translation from the Latin: I walk, therefore I am.