Footsteps across France

After a few weeks of walking the contents of Mary's backpack started to get restless.

Walking down-wind of a freshly manured field

Ever since we left the Albrac, walking along the Lot river valley, through the grapevines and wheat fields of Gascony, our down jackets hats and gloves have remained buried in the bottom of our packs unused and, except for their considerable weight, forgotten.

Somewhere between Sorhapuru and Uhart-Mixe on the way to Ostabat-Asme

We have walked through over 100 villages, and each one has a church. We almost always go in and pause for a moment of reflection. Many have stained glass windows whose images represent the patron saint (or saints) of the church.

Eight days after we were tantalized with the Pyrenees in Lectoure: there they were, across a newly planted cornfield in the distance.

One of the most enjoyable things I've heard during our long walks is birdsongs of every type. The most memorable song is, "C uckoo!"

Cherry trees are bursting with fruit

They use the metric system in France, so distances are measured in kilometers.  Up until now, there has been a pretty straightforward conversion between their kilometers and our miles.  But I've noticed something odd in the Pyrenees, where we have spent two very long days.