Day XXII: Molinaseca -> Villafranca del Bierzo; 19.4mi.

“.. wildflowers grow in the oddest of places, between the cracks of memories, they gather strength within scar tissue, stretching toward the light, saying ‘We deserve to be here, no matter where we have come from.’ Now it is your turn.” – B. Sparacino

🛏:Albergue LEO, 10€.

🍴:

Today was the first day of our entire trip that I would classify as “hot.” I spent a good chunk of time this morning grumbling about not being able to get my bag closed until I realized the reason: I was beginning the day in shorts and a single upper layer for the very first time. All of my warm clothes were sharing a home in my backpack for the first time in twenty-two days. I continued grumbling about not being able to get my bag closed, but I grumbled with a slightly better attitude after that.

I’m too tired for a witty or smooth transition (19.4mi in the heat), but I did a lot of country music listening today and got to thinking about how it snuck into my life.

I’ve claimed country music as my favorite genre for as long as I’ve called orange my favorite color and dandelions my favorite flower (little Kate felt sorry for orange because she didn’t think it was enough people’s favorite color and she spent her time heavily protesting people referring to dandelions as ‘weeds.’ 🤷🏼‍♀️ Both stuck). But for an admittedly long time “country music is my favorite” really meant “I like ‘Ring of Fire,’ the Patsy Cline cassette my dad keeps in his old truck, singing Dixie Chicks songs on the swings at recess and I think ‘Hey Good Lookin’ is really catchy if I’m in the right mood.”

When I was in eighth grade, my youngest uncle died unexpectedly, less than a month after getting married. So much tragedy was laced into that event, far beyond the horrific timeline. He was the epitome of a perfect uncle and I miss him everyday.

When life stopped standing still and began fumbling forward, as it tends to do, my aunt let me rummage through the CDs they had duplicate copies of. Amongst them were Tim McGraw: Live Like You Were Dying and George Straight: Honkeytonkville. Both of them had men wearing cowboy hats on the cover, I felt that meant it was safe to assume they were both country (oh, and I suppose “Honkeytonkville” was a tiny giveaway) and I decided I should take them to maintain my “I like country music” act.

I hated them both until I loved them. I haven’t stopped. The songs I’ve collected and the lyrics I’ve tucked away since then are one of the few things that feel like home these days.

🎧 .. sometimes little things are really big things; these are two of the best gifts I’ve ever been given: