Hello, for those of you who don’t know me, my name is
Deborah. While I’ve been living in
Vegas for over nineteen years, I grew up in Palo Alto, but was born and went to college in San Francisco, California. That famous fog that
rolls in at day’s end, accompanied by those chilly breezes, still rustles
through my veins even here in the desert.
Growing up in what is now known as the bustling Silicone Valley, but back in the '60's and 70's was far less so, is where I developed
my innate tendency to wear patchouli oil and hemp-based backpacks accented with
designer eyewear and outfits with an avant garde flair. This
dichotomous approach to fashion permeates my character and makes for a mix of expensive taste, tempered with organic reasoning and logic. At least that’s how I see myself.
I’m between 58 and 62 years of age, been married a few times
and have four wonderful, full-grown children.
I spend my time (oh dear, this is
beginning to sound like a dating site bio) working as a personal chef, teaching
cooking classes, writing, and doing volunteer work. There’s also some exercising and gardening
thrown in for good measure.
I was drawn to this hike along the Franciscan Trail over a
year ago. I heard about it while
attending a lecture and viewing videos presented by a gentleman who had just returned
from his own venture along Italy’s Green
Heart. A couple of months after
that video, my selection for my book club was Wild, which was followed by the movie version. Now I
am not a wilderness trail kind of girl, but I do enjoy hiking. I’ve
always appreciated nature in its fullest, the majestic trees of Yosemite, the
rocky beaches of Half Moon Bay, the snow-capped mountains of the Sierras and of
course the icy, blue water of Lake Tahoe.
However, snakes, wild boar and spiders (apparently they are part of the St.
Francis Trail) are rather bothersome for me. But there seemed to be so many
“signs” directing me towards the Trail.
My love of travel, art, history, and of course, Italian
cuisine and wine. That, mixed with my
recent yearning to wander through greener pastures, trumped my fear of wild
animals and pesky insects. I made the decision to pursue this adventure.
It doesn’t seem long ago, when I would eagerly wake with the
sun warming my eyelids after a night of sleeping under the stars, only a
plastic tarp beneath my sleeping bag (Michael beside me) and an expansive
morning sky above me. Back then I could
lace up a pair of hiking boots in seconds flat, stuff a sleeping bag into a 4 x
6 nylon drawstring sack, then run my hands through my long, unruly hair and
head out to the nearest road or trail.
These were things I did as I hitchhiked across the country from
California to Annapolis Maryland. Slept
on the floor of a ballroom on board a cruise ship then rode the train west, across
Canada. Then I was still a
teenager.
In my late forties I found myself hiking the Grand Canyon, I
didn’t pay attention and thought I would be doing day hikes for a day or
two. Nope, instead it was 7 hours aaall
the way down to Phantom Ranch and 9 hours back out the next day. Now that was a feat worth Blogging about. So why, all these years later, do I think I
can take on an excursion of this sort?
First of all because I want
to. Secondly, I’ll be hiking this trail
with a legitimate out-doorsy group, The
Sierra Club, and lastly, more importantly, I’ll be flanked by two of my
best friends, Brenda and Nancy.
While the three of us have our own personal reasons for
making this trek through the undulating landscapes of Central Italy, my contribution
is the food perspective. Not only do I
plan on covering the foods we will encounter on the hike and while tootling
around town for 14-16 days, I’m going to contribute to my threesome’s epicurean
preparation for the trip. As the girls
and I move between workouts and walk-a-thons, I’ll be sharing what I know and
research regarding which ingredients, herbs, spices and dishes will best help
to increase our strength and endurance.
Of course, we each individually and collectively have issues
to address and a variety of obstacles to overcome as we ready ourselves for
this trip. So before Nancy, Brenda and I
make even one imprint of a hiking boot onto the dust and dirt of the Franciscan
Trail in Umbria Italy there are a few things we must do. The first of which is . . . . .
