Hospitality Stinks

Hospitality stinks…quite literally when you’re offering it to a group of hikers. I mean they REALLY stink! Indeed for an entire week, I not only hauled my smelly husband and his smelly gear from trailhead to trailhead, but also 3 other smelly hikers and their smelly gear. The stench was unimaginable. Who would want to offer them rides?

It brought me back to the days when I would walk past the high school football locker room. The only way to survive was to plug your nose and run as quickly as possible past the doors. I was also reminded of the men’s laundry room in the residence hall where I work when hockey team members decided to store their sweaty gear there for the winter. I was able to solve that problem as quickly as possible by having the “higher ups” find an alternative storage room. But what do you do when you’re stuck in a tiny Honda civic with four other hikers after they’ve been hiking and sweating all day?! I didn’t think you had any ideas.

Hospitality isn’t always easy which is perhaps why in 1 Peter 4:9, we are called to offer hospitality without grumbling. There were times when I would have to grin, plug my nose, and bear it even though deep down I was grumbling. But it wasn’t all foul. As the week went on, the hikers shared stories and opened up their lives. Getting to know Shenanigans, Goldilocks, and Havoc was a delight. We laughed, we cried, we cheered one another on. We shared meals, campsites, and even a tiny hotel room for a couple of nights. With their generosity, I was able to hike a few days with Jon. We’ve become friends. So while Jon and I were able to offer hospitality on wheels, they offered so much more in return. I hope our time together was just as much a blessing to them as it was to us.

Take the reverse. Jon and I have been offered hospitality on the trail. Last week, a family friend of Jon’s parents from Massachusetts hauled his camper to a nearby campground and we stayed with him for two nights. He offered us generous hospitality out of the kindness of his own heart. This past weekend, some friends of ours from Albany, NY joined us for a day hike and afterwards allowed us to stay at their home for a couple of nights. Let me tell you, when spending your days on the trail, it is such a treat to sleep on a real bed in an air conditioned house! We have been blessed by others’ hospitality.

Even when it stinks, hospitality is always worth it in the end!

Miles in Mass, Mosquitoes en Masse

The miles in Massachusetts have come packed with a presence. From Bear Mountain, the highest point in Connecticut, you can see Mt. Race rising from the lakes below, and in the distance stands Mt. Everett. Seeing them is one thing, hiking them is quite another. They took some work, especially Everett. The climb quickly brought me back to Jacob’s Ladder, only longer and more rocky. It required scrambling up slab and boulders that blanketed the forty-five degree slope. But once at the top, the resulting views were impressive, especially when considering the relative flatness of the post-Virginia states.

That introduction, unfortunately, was short lived. The mountaintop experience was soon met by a mountain of mosquitoes, and they were fierce. Descending from Everett meant entering the swamps tucked in the hollows of Massachusetts, and these breeding grounds were fertile. As the trail winds through the mud and muck, the mosquitoes swarm. You know it's bad when they bite as you walk; you know it's really bad when you send more than one at a time falling lifeless to the ground with one swat. At times the only way to keep your sanity is to count the squashed. Thwack! Smack! Two skeeters down. Wham! Whack! Whomp! Add three more to the list. Whap! Whop! Whump! Make the tally eight.

The good news in all of this is that the mosquitoes and wet ground also meant bogs, and bogs have characteristic flora that a hiker like me gets excited about. In fact, thriving in these bogs is a plant that I’ve been waiting to see since my days in North Carolina: the pitcher plant. I almost missed it, but in an effort to photograph a yellow water lily, I stumbled across one nestled among some Sphagnum moss on the edge of the open water. I inched out on a rotting log to start the photo shoot. The log soon collapsed under my weight, submerging my shoe in the putrefaction below, but I didn’t care. I got the pitcher picture that had eluded me until now.


Then, just as the state began, Massachusetts ended with another summit, this time the tallest in the state. Mt. Greylock provided a perfect transition into the last quarter of my journey with views of the Green and White Mountains, the next two challenges along the way. From inside Greylock's stone monument, after climbing up a winding stairwell, you could see for miles, even to Boston on a clear day.

 

And just like that tomorrow I tackle the last three states of my Katahdin-bound journey. The end is drawing near.

ECHO ... EcHo ... eChO ... echo

When you yell into the right kind of canyon, your message repeats itself over and over again until it becomes so faint that you can no longer distinguish it from the background noise. A blog is not a canyon, but it can repeat a message; I only hope that what I have to say doesn't become so repetitive that it fades into oblivion, becoming tuned out among the barrage of other messages constantly cast about.

What is that message, exactly? It is that I am doing this hike in honor of my grandparents, who through a financial gift made this trip possible. I have wanted to do this hike for a long time, but there is a big difference between a dreamed idea and an opportunity that catapults that dream into reality. While there were a number of things that had to come together in order for this trip to happen, funding was a significant component.

My gratitude for funding did not stand in isolation. It was closely accompanied by a strong desire to want to give back. I didn't just want to just "take the money and walk," as almost sung by the Steve Miller Band. I wanted to take what I had received and use it as an opportunity to give in return. It didn't take long to think of how: by using this trip as a means to raise money for ECHO, an organization that my grandfather was deeply committed to.

The Educational Concerns for Hunger Organization (ECHO) itself is "dedicated to fighting world hunger through innovative options, agricultural training and networking with community leaders and missionaries in developing countries." In so doing, ECHO "seeks to find sustainable options for families growing food under difficult conditions."

As you participate on this journey with me, please consider supporting ECHO as a way to help support me and my vision for what this hike can accomplish. I'm happy to say that over $200 has already been raised, but I'm hoping that number grows substantially. My goal before I left was $5,000, and so there is still work to be done.

In thinking about what you might want to contribute, there are a few ways that might be helpful. The simplest would be a one-time donation, instructions for which can be found here. Another option would be to give according to my progress. Perhaps you are drawn to the mileage, and want to give ten cents for every mile I hike by journey's end. Or, if you've been a follower of this blog, you would know that I have a commitment to seek and identify as many wildflowers as I can while I walk; maybe your interest is caught by this effort and you would like to give according to my growing list (now over one hundred flowers), say one dollar per flower.

Three of the flowers I have encountered on my walk:

Spotted Jewelweed

Butter and Eggs

Field Speedwell

Regardless of how you might think about giving, I at the very least ask that you would consider it, not just for my sake but for the lives that will be improved by ECHO's dedication to fighting hunger.