The Mission Walker by Edie Littlefield Sundby

Author:Edie Littlefield Sundby
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2017-06-14T04:00:00+00:00

20

José and I set out late in the day. We were both anxious to get to Mission La Purísima. José replied, “Uno o dos días más o menos,” when I asked how far. One or two days, plus or minus. I was able to walk the first hour, until my swollen ankle made it impossible.

José saddled Dulce for me and put the packs on Ratón. “Muy mal mula,” he declared. Ratón was now the pack mule and rid of me. He stopped groaning. I think he was happy.

Storm clouds were gathering, and a strong, cold north wind appeared out of nowhere. Two hours north of Comondú we made camp in a sandy mesa with nothing but sagebrush and cactus to protect against the fierce wind. The sky filled with thunderclouds and bolts of lightning.

All night the wind howled and whipped the light tent around me, making sleep difficult. I didn’t care. I loved being in the middle of nowhere listening to mules chomping away at cactus, and crickets chirping above the roaring wind.

I awoke at 2:00 a.m., startled, thinking a truck outside was shining its lights into my tent. The inside of my tent was as bright as day. I cautiously opened the flap to look out. It was not a truck. It was the bright moon, and stars, thousands of them, so close I felt I could reach up and touch them. I felt as if I was in God’s church.

It took eight hours to get to La Purísima. I alternated riding Dulce and walking when there was hard-packed sand without rocks or shards of knife-edged lava. The more I walked, the better my ankle felt.

We arrived in La Purísima in the late afternoon. Trudi had arranged for us to stay with Altagracia, the widow of a vaquero, where there was grass and water for the mules. Altagracia greeted us like a warm and loving grandmother, and made us a delicious meal of lentils, corn tortillas, and fresh goat cheese; she hovered over us, refilling our plates and coffee mugs.

It was Saturday night. I had been on El Camino Real mission trail a week, but it felt a lifetime ago that I had left Loreto.

I did not know who my next vaquero would be, or where we would meet up.

I did not know where my next mule would come from.

Living with late-stage cancer is living a life of unknowns, and I had become quite comfortable with not knowing. It kept me aware and paying attention. I didn’t take anything for granted. Out here, I lived the same way.

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