“Take time, pilgrim,” the old Frenchman said. “Take time to stop and smell every flower, not just some of them.”

He was old. If not in body, in soul. What little bit of white hair he once possessed had vanished. So had some of his teeth. 

It was midday. He was drinking beer at a café in Salas, Spain. By the looks of it he was on his second, about to round third, and on his way toward home plate. 

“Stop and see every vista,” he said. “Even if the view looks like one you have seen before. Take it in. Spend a long time with this view. Sit with this view. Don’t be in a hurry to finish the trail. Try to finish last if you can. 

“Stop and greet every horse with a handful of bread. Say hello to every sheep, every cow, every duck. Treat them as your best friends on this Camino.”

So that’s what we did today. 

The first horse we met approached the fence to greet us. He was friendly and animated. My wife named him Roger. Roger tried to eat her shirt. He was grateful for the apple I gave him. 

Roger said hello with a burst of air through his nostrils and a little whinny. Then, Jamie and I petted his head. We took turns rubbing his ears and caressing the broad patch between his eyes. Roger was content to let us give him this little two-man massage. He leaned into us to make our jobs easier. 

Next, we stopped to admire the mountainous views even though there were so many of them. So many arresting views that each vista almost began to lose its impact. So many fragrant wildflowers the air itself stung your nose. 

We stood before the massive mountains and took turns naming things we were grateful for. Then we ate some bread and olives and kept walking, only to be accosted by another vista a few feet later. Whereupon we stopped again. More bread. More olives. More lingering. 

Also, I spoke to all the cows along the way. I grasped handfuls of grass and presented the bouquets to each cow for a midmorning snack. 

One cow sidled up to me, cautious and wary, but took the grass from my hands. And although there were acres of the plentiful grass surrounding her, she ate my paltry offering as if to politely say, “Thank you.”

I then removed my fiddle and played for them. I fiddled a few tunes. A few upbeat ones, which made their tails swish. And a few sad waltzes, which I think made them sniffle. 

They all gathered at the fence to watch me. Their large eyes, wise and expressionless. And I can’t remember being so happy. 

We walked for hours. Until dark. It took us all day to cover only a small section of trail that other pilgrims covered in no time at all. We were the last ones to finish. 

But someone wise once told me that the last will be first.