A Confession: I've Been Traveling with a Secret

The letter it took three months to write

I offer you a confession on this breezy Monterey Peninsula afternoon, dear reader. I've been traveling with a secret since Provincetown when I met a woman near Blackwater Pond. That is the same Beech Forest the late poet Mary Oliver haunted for decades.

That's what drew Samwise, Emily, and me to those paths. For this is the trip where we're traveling with the ghosts of authors, walking where they strolled, absorbing towns and cities they lived in. We were on Cape Cod for the same reason we are here in John Steinbeck Country. We were in Provincetown because it was Mary Oliver Country.

We met ‘Bea’ on a brisk January morning. I enjoy interacting with fellow pilgrims and seeing where it leads. Sometimes—most times—it is the briefest hello, and that's it. But as you've read many times, I can easily fall into conversation with a stranger.

But this stranger was more than she let on, and she’d reveal it during our talk.

Bea sat on the ground next to Samwise, and I knew I'd like her immediately.…