The leaves are turning here in Idaho outside my window.
A sign of the seasons ending.
It is also ironically a sign of a life passing.
Sometimes we are given the opportunity to be touched by people and to touch them if only for the briefest amount of time in our life.
Don was one of those opportunities.
He was a great family man, a loving husband and I knew this because I could see it in his eyes and those around him during the short time I stayed with he and his family.
Don lost his grandson, Lt. Joseph Fortin, in Iraq.
Joseph lost his grandfather today.
William Wallace once said:
“Men will always die but not all men really live.”
Don Wood lived…..
A great, great life.
He was loved and loved those around him even greater.
There are many things we never learn about those we meet but I do not assume the goodness Don Wood brought to the world, I am quite certain he gave more goodness than I could ever imagine.
Thank You Don…………

I ran long on Saturday into Santiago. The paths were full of people who were walking to the Cathedral Square. Many had done the entire Camino of 480 miles and many were doing small portions of it and many for only a day. The Cathedral is in a huge open square and though I have never been there, I equate it to what is in Rome, the center of catholicism. It had been my purpose to carry the names of those we had lost in Afghanistan to this place and in my pack they were wrapped in a small package. I took a moment at the altar of Saint James, whose remains lie beneath in a silver chest behind glass. There are often no explanations for what we do in this life and I cannot offer my reasons for taking on this journey across Spain to this holiest of places. I only knew it had to be done. As I ran across America last year I awoke each morning and absolutely loved my days. It was the same on this run. When that clarity hits you, when you can reflect and see it so clearly then you must be doing something right in the world and you feel so very blessed.

Spain is a myriad of asphalt roads, gravel pathways and shaded paths through oak and eucalyptis forests…the Camino allows you to see, smell and hear the world for there so many nationalities that you will encounter on the trail. It is said that everyone has their own Camino…their own reasons for their journey. I encountered a man from Rhode Island who at age 65 returns each year to do his Camino. There was a woman from South Africa who had survived breast cancer and Giovanni, a Benedictine monk who carried only a small satchel and wore sandals and a brown flowing robe. A New Zealand couple whose infectious smiles were as bright as the sun. There were feet that I tended to, fixing blisters that were so common. I made it a practice to buy candy and give each person a piece as I went by.

As the sun rises, the body awakens and the mind becomes alive. One moves down the trail, always forward, always progressing. No music is needed for you have it in the wind and in your mind and if you are lucky,  you hear it in the voice of a young opera singer from Budapest as she walks in front of you, unaware of the concert she provides.

It is time now to make one more short walk….out to the ancient lighthouse and the Druid rocks and to the spot where they say Jesus spoke. There is a Peace Pole there, one of only two in the world for the other is in Jordan. May Peace Prevail on Earth it says and perhaps in a lifetime, a generation, the world will see peace…………………………………true faith is faith without authority…

Alone now I come upon the Calzada Roman….or 10 miles of Roman road still largely intact. It is classified as the most perfect stretch of Roman road in Spain today. Used as a transportation route to haul gold from the Galeacian area to Astorga and was used by CeasarAugustus in his campaigns and Charlegmane in his battles for superiority. I slow to a walk and listen to the silence and drift back in thoughts and strain to hear the heartbeats of those souls as they marched into battle. Their eyes saw the wheta fields and grasslands that I see. Their hearts yearned for their loved ones and their homes and days of peaceful tranquility. I think of the names that are in a small plastic bag in my pack. 1573 of our finest warriors who died in Afghanistan. The connection between our descendants and the footsteps they made on these stones and now 1200 years later, a solitary figure cuts a path, alone on his own journey.

I cannot say that I have been given something grand and lifechanging from the Camino but I will say that it is a powerful place, filled with powerful beauty and history and beliefs, that in itself is something I truly appreciate and respect……….

Back around the 12th century the pilgrims were making their way along the Camino route when one pilgrim in particular, caught the eye of the inn keepers daughter who made advamces on him. He politely turned her down which actually infuriated her to the point that she stashed a silver goblet in his sack and then accused him of stealing….a big no no back then…justice, if you call it that, was swift and he was hung from a tree out back….now his parents unknowingly had already begun walking thinking he would catch up. When he did not, they returned to the village and the horrific sight of their son hanging from a tree but wait……….he was still alive!!!! It was a miracle!. The local official who had imposed this sentence was eating dinner…..chicken dinner in fact when he was notified of the “miracle” of which he said “Impossible, he is as dead as this chicken on my plate!” and at that exact moment the chicken rose up and dashed off his plate…very much alive!!! Hence the place in holy history along this route of the much revered rooster…..Now in the cathedral….high up near a window is a cage adorned with what looks like gold…it sits in the sun with an area to wander about….a rather large cage in fact….and the rooster has a hen for company…his days are spent relaxing, crowing, awakening the villagers to a new day all from the confines of his perch near an open window in this cathedral…….his shift is 15 days long then he is replaced by another rooster and hen and what happens to him one can only imagine………………and so it goes on the Camino…..

Today was a wonderful day of almost 28 miles through the woodlands leading to Pamplona, a city of 200,000 and a hotbed of Spanish Culture. Churches are numerous and the pilgrim hospital I stay in tonight is in an old church dating back to the 12th century….My spanish is that of an infant though I suspect theirs may be somewhat better. Bread and meat and wine and water are my substenance…and the fellow travelers. We greet as we pass…Viva El Camino…all of us following the conch shell markers along the path…..the star that leads to Santiago…..over 400 miles away…..

The time has come to run again……shorter this time….much shorter. On May 25th I begin running the Camino de Santiago, an ancient pilgrimage route of 476 miles across Spain to the tomb of Saint James the Apostle. I will go solo and unsupported some 25-30 miles a day and in my pack carry the names of every fallen warrior from Afghanistan. I am not a holy man and yet it is a holy route. They say it is a route that gives much reflection, a route that provides. I only seek whatever unfolds on the dirt roads and over the next rise and to share it with the fallen that are in my pack. I could have chosen a route in the U.S. however my mission was complete once I crossed the country. For whatever reason I do not understand, I feel a connection to this ancient route…..When I return I will be attending a Meet and Greet of 9 Wounded Veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan in Jackson Hole the home of Honoring Our Veterans (501c) who will be spending a week in Jackson.

I have always run. I love to run. I run for those who can’t, for those who are gone from our world and for those who serve. If it raises funds to help bring more Wounded Vets to Jackson and if it shows appreciation for their service then it is truly a good thing……

Time to pack…..

My son is a great  man. He works hard and raises 2 children on his own at the young age of 26. I admire and respect his devotion and dedication to his son and daughter. His path in this world could have taken him in many different directions and the one he is on today with me, will lead him to the placing of  the 3rd flag.  He reads the name of Marine 2nd Lieutenant Therrell Childers who was 30 years old. I watch my son. His face his hidden under his hat. The rain runs down his nose. Around us, all are quiet as he  places it in the ground next to a small aspen tree. He places his hand over his heart and I salute. That could have been his name there on that flag. I am fortunate that it wasn’t. We are linked in this moment together and I see that it means so much to him to do this for a Marine who is gone, to have a connection.

Now there are only 2 miles left and time seems to be moving even faster. The wind picks up, the rain falls harder as we make our way through the neighborhood to a spot on the corner where the one ways begin in downtown. The wheels on this stroller have seen the entire country. They have rolled from the Pacific to the Atlantic through the Columbia River Gorge, the mountains of Montana, Idaho, Wyoming and Colorado. They have carried these last 2 flags across the stifling heat and never ending expanse of the Midwest. How many revolutions? That is one statistic I have not determined. Through the rolling, colorful hills of New York, Vermont and Maine. Through snow, wind and rain. Through dirt, gravel and pavement and now just a short mile to their final destination, a small boat ramp in a small harbor.

My daughter is a great woman. She is only 20 and yet, is wise beyond her years with wit and intelligence and beauty to match. Like her brother, her path in life brought her to Maine to run 6 miles with her dad and plant her connection, Marine Captain Ryan Beaupre who was 30 years old. The roads divide here and we stop. Under a large Maple tree she place his flag. She is alone. Her black rain jacket whips in the wind, its hood is pulled tightly around her auburn hair and blue eyes. His name is read and she places her hand over her heart and I salute from a few yards away. She pauses then and I look at her and it is a moment frozen in my mind. Her hands are clenched up under her chin and tears are streaming down her cheeks. Her body is shaking and she sobs. She cries for this Marine, for a soul in heaven,  for eyes that can only watch from above. For the freedoms in life he has afforded her. She stands alone and her connection is buried in her thoughts now. Thoughts and emotion that are only hers but are reflected in those tears.

I move on and in this last mile to the last few yards, to the last few feet, to the moment I touch the water I am still not alone. The presence I have felt from the start of this run is now almost gone however , it lingers over me and I know Major Jay Aubin is watching and smiling.  As eyes watched from above, as names were remembered, they took their spot along the roads of America to watch over and protect their mile until there was only one. I salute the heavens. I am done.

In time, as I reflect on what has transpired,  the value and meaning of these last 6 months will become even more apparent to me. I discovered that impossible is only a word and that the heart can surpass so many boundaries. I discovered that we are a strong country when being strong is the only option we have. That despite what we hear and read and see we are the greatest country in the world with the greatest people. I saw it in the faces of America. From store clerks to Veterans to schoolchildren and farmers and highway workers. The people I came in contact with added so much to my life and to the memory of the flags that were carried. The wall is complete now. It spans our great land and even though the permanence of a small flag may be blown away by winds and weather in time, the permanence of the moment it was placed, the honor bestowed upon that spot will remain forever……….

The cream colored house sits alone. It is bordered by trees whose shade is welcome in the summer.  Second story windows have white blinds pulled closed to keep the afternoon sun out. The tin roof glistens.  It has a steep pitch so that the winter snows will slide off. It is snow that would be shoveled off the porch steps by the little boy even though he would struggle at times with the weight of the wet snow and an over-sized shovel.  He worked hard doing that and in the summer mowing the grass. In time he would grow bigger and stronger and more athletic.

Back to the game……..a pass is thrown, caught and then the ball pops loose and squirts along the ground right to the little boy who scoops it up and runs……he runs as fast as he can…this is his chance, his glory……he darts left then right then back. He stops and starts and fools the older boys with his quickness.  He only needs to get past the maple tree. With a final 8 year old burst of speed and a brilliant move he breaks the imaginary line in an imaginary stadium and scores in front of a hundred thousand imaginary people. Yes, yes, yes.

I open my eyes and look at this yard. The wind blows softly and whispers to me. The home I am looking at and the yard where this game was played is the home of a little boy named Jay Thomas Aubin.

I will be placing the very last flag at the waters edge in Rockland, Maine. It is the flag of Major Jay Thomas Aubin.  He died in the pre-dawn hours of March 21st 2003 on the border of Iraq, piloting a helicopter. He would be one of 6 to die that first day of the war but there is no glory in being number one when it is only for numbers sake. I chose to place him last because finishing in Maine I felt it appropriate.

As I look at his home, his street, his yard, I see him as a young boy. I feel the exuberance of his life, I feel the tremendous potential in his future, I feel his presence. Grandma T., remembers him fondly as she does most boys from the neighborhood. Jay Aubin would become a great man.  A great father with 2 children and the rare breed of Marine who rose up through the enlisted ranks and then became an officer. Grandma T., remembers his smile.  As I stand here alone, the sun pours through these remarkable colored trees and I feel the warmth of that smile from the blue sky above.

Yes Jay Aubin you are not forgotten,  I traveled across this country, running the miles with you and so many others and we will play a football game in the heavens one day……..