
During this year's final 40 miles in Mexico, there was no place to sleep, eat or drink. So we slept in a fisherman’s shed/shack on a

lawn chair with no cushion. For 36 hours, we only had 2 bottles of water, 1 bottle of soda, 2 handfuls of nuts and a fried fish, while hiking in 110 degrees F with an 18 pound backpack. At this fisherman’s home on the coast, he had a family–3 children, ages 3, 7 and 8 who did not speak any English and my father speaks no Spanish. We taught them how to play hopscotch, tic tac toe, hangman, hide the toy and we read

Spanish children’s books together. I gave them all Maine post cards; when we woke up the next morning from their shed, the little girl Leslie, age 7, was waiting for me at their kitchen table in the sand with an empty chair beside her with her post cards in her hands. It was an awesome experience—my National Geographic moment.
