“My wife died five years ago from cancer. We were married for 46 years. I know it sounds stupid, but I haven’t seen any beauty in the world since then.” ~Knut, Danish pilgrim, 73

I met him in the sunlit atrium of the parochial pilgrim hostel in Hospital de Orbigo along the Camino de Santiago. Everywhere else was closed since I was walking in November and the next town was a few hours away.  A kind grandmother in the street had seen me looking up and down the street, trying to decide which way to go, and she convinced me to stop early for today and rest in that town.  So I did.

He was the only other pilgrim around at that early hour, and was sitting in a patch of sunshine at a visibly sticky table, writing in a small, spiral bound journal with a meticulous hand. I couldn’t take my eyes off his enormous and wing-like eyebrows as we had our first conversation. He needed nail clippers and was completely certain that an American would have a pair to lend.  And indeed, I did. As I walked out the door to find lunch, I made him promise he’d return them.  He pretended he wasn’t going to.

After lunch, I stopped by a small store and bought several mealy Golden Delicious apples, a handful of raisins and several walnuts. I walked into the courtyard and found Knut, informing him that I needed help with a project.  he cracked walnuts  while I peeled apples and cooked them down into applesauce. When he was done with his. job, he went out and got a bottle of wine, which we shared. And then another bottle an hour later, which we shared with other pilgrims who found their way into the kitchen, the only warm place in the albergue. A second batch of applesauce was made, from apples acquired by Andrea, a Spanish pilgrim, with a few pieces of plum from Ralph, a German pilgrim, a splash of wine from a third bottle of wine that has miraculously appeared,  a clementine rind contributed by Vegan Tom from Poland who lives in Chicago, special fresh raisins from Malaga with the seeds still inside, but succulent and flavorful. We topped it with yogurt provided by Knut and the nuts he had shelled. Stone soup.  But applesauce.  It was exquisite.

When Vegan Tom asked why I was doing the Camino, Knut replied for me “It’s so you could be here in the kitchen with us!” Maybe so.

I believe beauty may have cracked the door of Knut’s heart that day. At the very least, I trust he heard it knocking.

I can’t do anything today about Ukraine. Or Haiti. Or Gaza. Or any of the terrible and hard things facing people I know here, in my own time zone. But I CAN be present to those in front of me. To a lonely and grief stricken old man who is tickled to have a young(er) woman pay attention to and include him in a cooking project. I can praise the trout with peppers and garlic that I was served at a restaurant, effusively thank the server who recommended it and see him visibly puff up with pride at having provided great service. (The same server who I saw later in the street who told me I was delicious enough to put in a bocadillo and eat. ) I can encourage a fellow pilgrim to not feel compelled to do 30 km days, but to stop and drink that third cafe con leche of the morning and chat with a farmer instead of being in such a hurry.

There are so many small ways we can each heal and love our own small corner of the world. This is what I return to every time I feel like the world is spinning out of control and I can do nothing. Small acts of kindness, moments of communion, and focus on where things can come together instead of where they’re flying apart