Over Labor Day weekend, while Jan stayed in Texas, Bill journeyed to Oregon for the Howden family reunion. This issue is devoted to his reflections.

Earlier this month, I went on a pilgrimage. At first, I thought it was only a trip.

John O’Donohue writes, “At its heart, the journey of each life is a pilgrimage through unforeseen sacred places that enlarge and enrich the soul” (Beauty, p. 28). My brief trip to Oregon took me to sacred places, some of them expected, others totally unforeseen.

Let me begin with the totally unforeseen. The day I fly into Portland, I find myself with time to spare. I pull up the Trip Advisor app on my phone and search for things to do near my location. The first suggestion that pops up is The Grotto, somewhere I’d never heard of, somewhere I now will never forget.

The Grotto is a place of prayer amidst 62 acres of botanical gardens. For me, it is an amazing blessing: After a dry South Texas summer, I find myself among ferns and towering evergreens; after a morning rushing through crowded airports, I am called to calm by splashing water and shrines for prayer. Totally unplanned, my pilgrimage has begun.

The family gathers. I see cousins I have not seen in years. I see cousins I have never met. The shy little girl I remember from years past is now a self-confident college student – and taller than I am!

My cousin Gene wears striped bib overalls, in honor of our grandfather, S. H. Howden, whose everyday wardrobe always, always, included striped bib overalls. This year we do not talk much about the past, the generations who have gone before, but we honor their memory by still gathering in the town where my grandparents lived in retirement, and where they lie buried in soil not too distant from the soil they farmed for decades.

My family thinks I travel to Oregon every year to see them. That is only partly true. I also travel for mountains. On different days of my trip, Mt. Hood, Mt. Saint Helens and Mt. Adams (shown here) each rose in majestic grandeur above whatever petty concerns I might have had at the time. “I will lift up my eyes unto the hills,” says the psalmist. Yes, indeed. The beauty of mountains always enlarges and enriches my soul.

And for any lover of books, like me, a visit to Powell’s City of Books is truly a pilgrimage. This bookstore covers an entire city block, three stories high. Actually, it is not three stories; it is untold thousands of stories, filling towering shelves, a rich bounty of wisdom and beauty, knowledge and human folly, the stuff of our wondrous human lives, printed and bound and offered for all to enjoy.

Powell's is where I bought O’Donohue’s book on beauty, the book that reminded me: “The journey of each life is a pilgrimage through unforeseen sacred places that enlarge and enrich the soul.”

Earlier this month, I went on such a pilgrimage. At first, I thought it was only a trip.

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