Expectations

What do I expect of the St. James Trail? 

I expect it to rain 22 times.
I expect to walk 6 hours a day and sleep 10.
I expect days to be short and dim.
I expect people to be kind.
I expect mud.
I expect wildflowers.
I expect old churches and Celtic beehives.
I expect to be homesick.
I expect spare accommodations.
I expect freezing nights. 
I expect to be overwhelmed by beauty.
I expect my foot fungus to act up.

What do I hope for?

I hope to find fresh vegetarian food.
I hope my camera works.
I hope my Spanish is good enough.
I hope to have energy to read.
I hope to see a multitude of virgins.
I hope to see the prince.
I hope my back tolerates this.
I hope my husband misses me.
I hope my animals stay healthy.
I hope to be overwhelmed by beauty.
I hope I make it.

THE WALK

It's official: I am going back to Spain this spring to walk the St. James Trail.  In just seven weeks, I'll be flying overnight to Paris and from there taking the midday train to the foothills of the Pyrenees.  I'll have supper in St. Jean Pied de Port and try to get a good night's sleep because I'm going to need it.  From the city's west gate, it's 10 miles straight up to the Roncevaux Pass and from there, another 470 miles and two high ridges to the gravesite of St. James the Apostle.  I'll have 32 days.

They say the first day on the trail is the hardest because the path across the Pyrenees is so steep and cold, but the rest should be better.  I hope that's true, because I'll have to average 15 miles a day to reach Santiago de Campostela by Thursday of Easter Week, and I'm no longer a spring chick. 


The Crying Virgin


If I finish by Thursday, I'll have time to go to Seville for the end of Holy Week.  On Good Friday, the Basilica de la Virgen de la Esperanza Macarena brings out its unique Crying Virgin and parades her through the streets in the Semana Santa procession of penitent brotherhoods.  The Virgin of the Good Winds is in Seville, too, and the Archive of the Indies -- thousands of documents and artifacts that date back to the conquest.  One long unfettered weekend, that's all I ask.

Yes, of course, that's plenty for one trip, but there is one thing more.  As a bonus day, I am flying home through London on April 29, the prince's wedding day.  If the plane lands on time, I'll be in the city by 9 that morning, with time to hustle over to Westminster for a glimpse of the royal carriage as it leaves the church and a quick tour of the British Museum before I have to scuttle off to Heathrow for my 7:00 p.m. flight home.  Just one portion of fish and chips would make it a perfect day.

And that's it.  This will be my third long-distance trek, but my first in another country, my first in another language, my first by foot, and my first as a senior citizen.  So there may be surprises.  All I know right now is I need to walk, walk, walk and I need to study my Spanish.  Fifty days, that's all I have.

I'll keep you posted.

A Theory About Molting Hens

So, now I have a new idea about why hens don’t lay eggs over the winter.  I had been thinking it was because they're molting; you know, a molting hen lays no eggs.  But, of course that can't be right.  This year, although only one of our hens molted, eight took the winter off.  Clearly, it's not the molting that matters.

My new theory is that it's not the molting, it's the daylight, and I have tested it, at least rudimentarily. This year, our girls stopped laying about 10 days before Thanksgiving.  That would be around November 15th, and they started laying again a couple of days ago, about January 24th. That would mean they stopped about 34 days before the shortest day of the year and started again about 34 days after. And there you have it.  It could be coincidence, of course, but more likely, it's the daylight that matters. I’ll be willing to bet my best layer cake on it next year.

As to the other odd thing about the winter lay-off, I don't have a clue. Why is it that it's mostly the older hens, the two-year-olds and up, who stop laying when the first-year girls continue right along through the cold months?  Can the younger girls get along with less light, or what?