Somewhere east of Burgos and west of the Pyerenes I was walking with Gracie and we found two potatoes in the road.  They had fallen off a wagon recently.  They weren’t beautiful really, just two potatoes.  I put them in my pants pocket and I carried them there for four or five days.   I would bring them out when we would dilly dally and we would all laugh about it.

Everyone at that point in the journey was intent on shedding weight to make things easier or maybe we should say possible.   I remember seeing a beautiful feather drift down in front of me and refused to pick it up.  I don’t need to carry another thing but yet I still had the spuds.  There always was this thought that we were going to sleep out some night when the albergues were full.  And the potatoes would come in handy, maybe.

Then finally somewhere near Burgos we decided that we could plant them next to the trail and that would be the fitting conclusion for my little pom de terres.  So that is what we did.

A nice little story, don’t you think?  It’s all in how you look at it, love, Felipe.