Pilgrimage Through the Americas: ‘Chokes, Killer Hawks, and Talking with the Dead . . . The Journey Begins

‘Chokes

After a petty squabble with my wife, I drive alone down the coastal route to Mission San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo, or more commonly called Carmel Mission. The day is overcast, with high white clouds quickly moving across a pale blue sky. A scent of salt and stale fish rides the breeze. I taste dry pungent chloroform as I ride through artichoke fields.

I see five farm hands in the ‘choke fields dressed in full hazmat (hazardous material) outfits -- white plastic suits, blue gloves, dark protective boots, and facial masks. What are they doing to the food supply. I make a U-turn, and head back to see if there’s a spill or some contamination. Three workers have left on their tractors, spraying a fine white mist over the ‘chokes, and fill the air with the smell of raid. Two workers eye me suspiciously as I take a photo of them. This can’t be good for anyone consuming these vegetables. I love artichokes.

Working with food?

What did they spray, to get so big?

California artichokes ready for harvest

Killer Hawks
While driving and searching for the sign to the mission, I see a flash of brown and red feathers swoop from the sky into purple blue sage plants by the side of the road. A red tale hawk is jerking and squeezing the life out of its prey. The brown wing feathers spread and contract, as its talons deeply pierce skin, muscle, and vital organs. A high pitch squeal alarms my ears. An omen and sign to start my quest, but what does it mean?
A warning, blessing, or something else? A symbol of power, prowl and strength. Or, a precursor of weakness, vulnerability and fear. Prey or predator? Conquistador, or Native American, or something else? I’ve learned to see the signs. Now, I must learn to read them.

A feather remains from a life & death struggle
Carmel Mission

Talking with the Dead
I buy a ticket to the Mission and tour the colorful gardens -- full of blooming red, pink, and orange bougainvillea vines, nine-foot towering blue and purple Pride of Madera stocks, assorted yellows, oranges, reds, and white gladiolas. The mission architecture, with terra cotta colored walls, oversized, bubbling water fountains, and hidden prayer gardens, sends me back to the 18th century. I find myself in the Basilica, kneeing at the altar in front of the final resting place of Fray Junipero Serra, the acknowledged founder of California.

Fray Junipero Serra's grave

I close my eyes and focus my attention to my other senses. I can smell burnt candles and lingering incense settles in my nostrils. I hear whispered, ghostly echos of footsteps on the adobe tiles. I sense a presence. It smells like old cigarette smoke? Did Fray Serra smoke? I open my eyes and a hugh fellow is hovering over me and asks in German accented English: Do you mind if I take a photo of Serra’s grave? Of course not, please take your photo. One, two, three . . . click, click, click, click . . . thirty shots later, he leaves with a smile.

I kneel again, and stare at the image of Serra gracing the grave. He silently speaks directly to me “Always go forward, never turn back”. I’m speaking with the dead Fray Serra. I ask: will I reach the goal of my journey, Tierra del Fuego? Will I be successful on my quest? His answer is both confusing and insightful. He commits to me that I will achieve what I seek on my journey. I will find my passion. I will find the answers I need. He goes on to say that one should treat all people with dignity and charity. He insists that Native people throughout the Americas be allowed to live their cultures, be respected, and offered assistance when requested. Ama Dios, hijos y hijas (Love God, brothers and sisters), and love one another . . . . A hiss of wind, a flicker of the light from the chandeliers, a hint of redwood scent, and the moment passes.

Manny de after speaking with the dead (notice Fr. Serra on left shoulder)

(Disclaimer: You can skip this section & move on to The Journey Begins. This is an abridged, unscholarly history. Be warned, if you read it, you may want to know more.)

Fray Junipero Serra: The last conquistador or savior of souls? A little of both. He was born on November 24, 1713, in the Isla del Mallorca, Spain; and died, August 28, 1784, in his monk cell, at the Carmel Mission. He was almost 71 years old. He pioneered and settled California, while displacing ownership of the land by the indigenous California tribes. On balanced, he promoted good deeds, sound ecological practices, and established a vision of productive fields of agriculture, harmonious relationships between cultures, and promoted following theological ideals in one’s life. He was demanding in remaking Natives into loyal, obedient “Spanish” subjects. He changed their religion and language, way of life (from hunters & gathers to farmers & ranchers), and allowed loss of their history and (unforgivable) their stories.

Today, as I drive down the California coast I see unbroken acres and acres of green, lush fields of artichokes, strawberries, raspberries, lettuce, zucchini, and squash. The Native Americans survive. I know numerous Ohlone “Indians” (hi Paula, Ed, Patrick, and many others), and see a revival of their cultural practices. I’ve attended dancing, chanting, and story telling by Ohlone elders. Yes, they’re “Christian”, but also practice ancient, still remembered rituals. One elder told me that his understanding of some rituals and beliefs came from studying the writings of Spanish chroniclers, since no written record from indigenous sources survives. His stories were told to him by his grandmother, who learned them from her grandmother.

The California of today would both please and disturb Fray Serra. He would applaud our material success, but remind us that we must help each other to survive.

Mission courtyard

Fr. Serra walked through here

And, through here

Fr. Serra's room & where he died

The Journey Begins

I walked in his footsteps. As I toured the open courtyard, I heard the sounds of hammering as carpenters refurbished fences, shouts of children from the school wavered overhead, and murmurs of the devotees escaped the chapel. This is what Fray Serra experienced -- sounds of building the mission, teaching children, and prayers of thanks and beseeching. His presence is still here. The shadows of the pass can be detected.

Before I leave, I stop at the museum gift store. I’m looking for an inexpensive, small object I can take with me on the start of my trip. I plan to trade it for another item as I travel from country to country, and continue to trade items until I reach Tierra del Fuego. What will I end up with at the finish?

I find a short history book on Junipero Serra (I’m interested in California history), a book marker with Serra’s picture and words “Always go forward”, and a relic from the Fray for my mother. As I’m paying for my finds, I ask the cashier Angela -- green eyes, long blond hair, and smiles -- if Father Serra has been made a saint. I joke that he would be the first California saint, or would that be the second, “after Ronald Reagan”. She laughs, and says that Serra is not yet a saint: “We’re awaiting confirmation of another miracle. But if you had time, I could tell you stories about miracles that have happened to me because of Father Serra.” I request, please tell me a short story

“Well, I can see that you also have a devotion to him.” As she notes that all my purchased items are about Serra. To myself I think, I’m not sure I have a devotion, but certainly an interest. She tells me of being lost (physically, mentally, spiritually, lacking direction in life) in Big Sur five years ago, and came across on the roadway a prayer card with Serra’s image. She looked into his eyes, felt calm, and had an epiphany that Serra would guide and help her. Five years later, she has a job she enjoys and finds fulfilling, her personal relations are on track, and she feels “blessed”.

I thanked her for sharing her story, and tell her about my 12,000 mile, five-month journey to the Americas land’s end. She apologizes to the waiting customers, and asks me to wait while she gets something for me. She brings back a key chain, with a medal on it depicting Fray Serra on one side, and Saint Christopher on the other. She instructs that to be protected, I need to look deep into and concentrate on Saint Christopher’s eyes, “You will be protected and have a safe journey.” This is a gift from the mission to you . . . and “blessed to you.” I perform the ritual.

I’ve found my object to trade as I continue on my quest. The journey begins . . . only 11,960 more miles.