Saturday morning finds you riding in a support van, through the Appalachian Mountains of Pennsylvania, on your way to meet up with the Cumberland March. A group of people from Jubilee Station are taking three days to march from the town of Chambersburg back home, visiting sites from the Underground Railroad along the way. The tree canopy is so dense around you that you can barely see the hillsides above you, much less the strong June sun. A cool northwest breeze from the open windows musses your hair, and you feel the nubby fabric of the front passenger seat on the backs of your legs. You catch the sweet scent of linden trees along the side of the road, and you relax your eyes as you take a centering breath.
The van driver pulls onto the shoulder when you reach the group, and brings the van to a gentle stop. You hop out and head for the back cargo doors, where you have a wagon and supplies waiting for you. This morning, you will be hiking with the group for three hours, until another volunteer takes your place at lunchtime.
Joshua waves from the edge of the group of roughly 100 people. As he walks over to the van, he says, “Hello, You! I am so glad to see you.”
You say, “Good morning, Joshua. How’s your knee holding up?”
Joshua waves dismissively in your direction. He says, “Ah, it’s okay. It’ll grow back. I’m part starfish.”
You say, “Of course. In the meantime, can I interest you in a banana?”
Joshua says, “Yes, please. I slept through breakfast at the camp.”
The marchers cross over to your side of the road, and gather at a respectful distance as you pull everything out of the back of the van. You have a big water dispenser, a box of bananas, and a first aid kit. You step back once everything is set, and the crowd surges forward, mumbling thank yous and taking bananas for themselves.
The van driver asks you, “You are all set, ja?”
You say, “Yes, Fritz! Thank you for the ride.”
Fritz says, “See you at lunchtime. Tchuss!” He climbs in the van and drives away.
Grace fills up her water bottle, swallows a couple pills that she has pulled from her day pack, and comes over to pat your arm. She says, “Thank you for being here. It means a lot to me. To all of us.”
You say, “I wouldn’t miss it.”
The march continues, along a two lane highway that is still dark enough under the trees that passing cars have their headlights on. As the heat of the day rises, you are grateful for the shade, but also happy for the occasional clearing where you can look out across the ancient and rounded hills that shelter you.
Grace walks alongside you for a while. The two of you spend most of this time in a comfortable silence. At one point, she says, “It’s easy to think we are out here all alone, but the whole forest is keeping track of us.” You listen through the ragged footsteps of your neighbors for the sounds of squirrels, foxes, and deer. You take a long drink of the cool and crisp water you and Fritz brought here from home, and you draw in a deep breath.
As you near the lunch stop for the second day of the march, Joshua hobbles up to you, now wearing an elaborate brace on his left knee. You ask him, “Are you feeling alright?”
He says, “Yes. It hurts a little, but fortunately Grace is keeping me in ibuprofen.” The two of them smile wearily at each other.
You say, “I’m a little worried that you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Joshua says, “I think it’s meant to hurt a little bit, and that’s okay.”
The three of you continue marching, each consumed with your own thoughts.
Fritz returns at lunchtime, bringing one of the Jessicas as your replacement on the support wagon for the afternoon. You greet each other warmly, and work together to restock the wagon and to lay out the box lunches for the group. Everyone waves as you and Fritz pull away, heading back to town.
On Sunday afternoon, the marchers make their way into Jubilee Station, coming down the Cumberland Valley Road along the river, and turning up College Avenue for the last mile of the march onto the college campus. A large group of neighbors from the north side of town joins the march at the College Avenue Bridge. More people come out on each block, kids and parents and older people using walkers. By the time the group reaches the Juneteenth celebration concert on campus, there are over a thousand people marching together.
You find Joshua and Grace sitting together at the edge of the quad, with bags of ice on their knees and plates of watermelon on the table next to them.
You say, “I’m really proud of both of you for doing the whole march.”
Joshua says, “Thank you for stepping up with the Festival Committee so I could do this. Everybody did a great job. It’s good to be reminded that it’s not all on me.”
Grace beams at you, saying, “Look at you. Look at how you’ve joined us.”
You say, “You made it easy for me to join.”
Joshua says, “We still have so much work to do.”
Grace says, “Yes, we do. Isn’t that a good thing, though? To have meaningful work available to us in our time. What a gift.” The three of you fall silent, the sounds of the celebration washing over you. You feel the late afternoon sun on your back, and you take a contemplative breath.
Joshua reaches over to his plate, picks up a piece of watermelon, and hands it to you. He says, “I propose a toast. To the joiners. May we find each other, and always remember that we are not alone.”
Grace says, “Hear, hear.”
You say, “Thank you both for finding me.”
The three of you hold your slices of watermelon in the air for a moment, touching them to each other, and then you savor a bite that is bursting with the sweetness and warmth of other suns.