This year I walked. I didn't walk nearly enough nor did I come close to walking the miles endured by the real pilgrims - the ones who actually walk from Southern New Mexico, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, Pojoaque, Nambe, Taos or Alcalde.
It was a beautiful day. Ravens played above head in the arroyo currents while pilgrims walked under them barely noticing the commotion overhead. Cars slowly drove past as parts of the roadway were full of people. As I passed groups of pilgrims, I heard some of their conversations. One group of women chanted rosaries in cadence. A young boy was talking on his cell phone about the week's basketball games and who had beaten who. Others had labored breath and wiped sweat from their brows.
Because I am not a Catholic, and my paternal grandfather was, I channeled him. I wondered what he would be thinking as he walked up and down the steep hills between Pojoaque and Chimayo proper. I guessed he would be so very focused on the reason for walking and what waited for him at the end of the road.
I turned my walk into a time for contemplation. Because I don't recite rosaries or voice prayers (but I respect those that do) I did other things. As I walked I made lists of what I was grateful for. I thought about our state's poverty. I worried about the scarcity of fresh water.
It was also time to take pictures - that is how I often express my world view. Here is a view of the walk through my lens.
For each long walk, it is necessary to have a locally crafted walking stick.
The drive through both Pueblos is lovely. Old growth Cottonwoods and Elms provided early shade for everyone.
The walkers were thin on this stretch. They were framed by our New Mexico skies.
Bearing crosses. Commitments to honor someone departed or for contemplation of our own issues.
The crosses are carried the entire distance and then left at the Santuario.
Looking back.
I have always known this stretch is dotted with crosses of various sizes. What I didn't know was how many of them there are. Walking gives a unique perspective of the landscape.
The competition for walker funds was fierce. I came across five different paletero carts. This one lifted a sugary treat as I took this shot.
Draping in the Pinons.
Once at Chimayo, the landscape changes. Artisans set up booths and merchants displayed their wares. Religious shirts for sale.
The Virgin Mary and Frida. Classic.
Handcrafted artwork. A cultural trifecta.
The line was long for hotdogs, snow cones and frito pies.
This is an intensely religious community of the extremely faithful. Our Lady is prominently displayed on an adobe wall. A table of sugary treats were for sale next to her. I bought a pickle from the kids manning the table.
This young man had a dog he called "Bully." Bully wasn't the dog's name but a new breed he spoke with us about. I am pretty convinced this doggie was half Chihuahua and half Pit Bull. He thanked us for liking his dog.
Travelers from all over. Most tired yet happy to have made it on Good Friday.
Grandpa and grandson. A snow covered peak in the background.
He walked to Chimayo from Alcalde. He found a decomposing cow skull on the way.
The skull was strapped to his back pack.
We each have our own cross to bear.
The informal processions were continuous. Groups of pilgrims walked together. They chanted and sang.
The formal procession began at noon. My talented partner took these beautiful procession shots.
I tried to send a text while we were waiting for the formal procession to begin. There was no service. About the same time I overheard a pilgrim tell someone "there is no service here. It is holy ground."
Maybe it was the canyon, or the high mesas, that made cell phone service scarce. Or, maybe, it really was because of the special spirit this beautiful place has. Watching these beautiful people brought tears to my eyes.
Mi gente.
