A Pilgrimage Transformed

Every landscape has a story. Every pilgrimage leaves a footprint. Every lesson begins by listening. Welcome to Lessons from the Land, a continuing series exploring the wisdom discovered through sacred travel, personal transformation, and our relationship with the living world.

In my previous blog posts, I shared that my teacher and dear friend, Andrew Steed, will be traveling to Spokane, Washington, for the first time this coming September. Over the past ten years, I have had the privilege of joining Andrew on sacred pilgrimages throughout the British Isles, the United States, Canada, and Jamaica. As we count down to his visit, I’ve been taking a trip down memory lane through some of these adventures. This week, we travel to September 2022—though not to the destination we expected.

The Plan That Fell Apart

That September, Andrew and a group of fellow pilgrims were headed to Donegal, Ireland. My husband, Brandon, and I were supposed to join them. Our first flight from Spokane to Seattle went smoothly. Then things took a turn.

We made it as far as the tarmac at the Seattle airport, where we sat for six and a half hours before our flight was finally canceled. The plane went down the runway two or three times, but some sort of malfunction kept us from taking off. I would much rather discover a malfunction on the ground than in the air, of course, but after more than six hours on a plane in the middle of the night, the whole experience began to feel like a surreal dream. Spirit certainly has a funny sense of humor. We felt as though we were already on quite a trip, even though we had gone nowhere at all.

By the time the flight was canceled, there was no way for us to reach Ireland in time. As it turned out, we had chosen to travel the same weekend as Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral, and the remaining flights across the Atlantic were sold out. Our pilgrimage to Ireland was not meant to be—not that year, at least.

The Pivot

We regrouped in Seattle for a couple of days. Our options were simple: pivot or go home.

It did not take long to sense that Spirit might have something else in store for us—something we could not have planned for ourselves. The question was whether we could release our attachment to the journey we thought we were supposed to have and trust what was unfolding instead. So, we chose to pivot.

The Honeymoon We Never Had

What followed became the honeymoon Brandon and I had never had. We began at Lotte Hotel Seattle, where we watched our story change almost in real time. At first, we felt sorry for ourselves. We were missing an epic pilgrimage to Ireland, and there was no pretending that disappointment was not there. Yet each time we told someone what had happened, we heard ourselves telling the story a little differently.

The disappointment gradually gave way to elation and wonder. People were genuinely surprised by how well we were taking the change, and we began to surprise ourselves, too. The more positively we spoke about the unexpected adventure, the more fun it became to live it as it unfolded before our eyes. We had a lovely time in Seattle, and I ate the best avocado toast I have ever experienced—which may not qualify as sacred pilgrimage medicine, but I am not prepared to rule it out.

The Best Avocado Toast Ever | Hotel Lotte | Seattle, WA

Sitting together at the hotel, we began planning where the detour might carry us next. Incredibly, Brandon found a honeymoon suite available at the last minute in Sequim, Washington. Even the journey there felt a little like traveling through the British Isles, complete with a ferry ride. Our home for the week was tucked into the forest in a peaceful, serene setting.

Our host was a local elder who knew the land well. He offered thoughtful recommendations, including a couple of places that many visitors never find. Over the course of the week, we explored Ruby Beach, where the ocean meets the rainforest; the Tree of Life; ancient cedars over a thousand years old; the summit of Blue Mountain; waterfalls; and gentle trails through the forest. The landscapes were entirely different from Donegal, but no less alive.

View from Blue Mountain, WA

Mirroring a Pilgrimage We Weren’t On

Andrew sent us the itinerary he had planned for the group in Ireland. Rather than abandon the pilgrimage altogether, Brandon and I decided to shape our own journey around the same themes, day by day. When the group held a Quest Day in Ireland, we held ours at Ruby Beach. The shared framework helped us remain connected to our friends across the ocean while allowing our experience to become something of its own.

Then came the day Andrew was scheduled to tell the story of the Second Battle of Mag Tuired while standing on the land where the tale took place. At first, we wondered how we could mirror an experience so rooted in a particular place. The answer was obvious once we stopped trying to make Washington behave like Ireland: we could not—and should not—recreate that moment.

We were not standing on Irish soil. We were standing on this land. If we wanted to listen, we needed to learn the stories that belonged here. (Thank you, Brandon, on your fantastic insight in this area!)

Two Cultures, Two Stories

That realization turned our attention toward the stories of the Pacific Northwest’s First Nations peoples and the Celtic stories we had learned from Andrew. Brandon is Chippewa, Cree / Métis. I am, as I like to say, one hundred percent Celtic, with ancestry predominantly from Scotland. We have long been interested in the ways both cultural traditions understand relationship—with the land, with the ancestors, and with the old stories that carry teachings from one generation to the next.

We were not looking to blend two distinct traditions or suggest that they were interchangeable. Each story belongs to the people and place from which it comes. What drew our attention were the points of resonance: the understanding that the natural world is alive with meaning, that relationship brings responsibility, and that stories can teach us how to live in better relationship with the world around us.

That evening, we settled into a sacred bath and took turns reading aloud. I shared the Irish story of Fionn mac Cumhaill—Finn MacCool—and the Salmon of Knowledge. In the story, young Fionn unintentionally receives the salmon’s wisdom while preparing it for his teacher, knowledge that helps prepare him to become a wise leader of the Fianna. Brandon shared the Yakima Legend of the Lost Salmon, in which the salmon disappear after the people become careless, take more than they need, and neglect the Creator’s instructions for caring for this sacred food. When Old Man Rattlesnake restores the salmon to life, the people learn to protect and care for them once again. Two cultures. Two stories. Two very different homelands, each holding salmon as a powerful presence within its traditions.

The stories did not need to be identical to speak to one another. Sitting together in the Olympic Peninsula, listening to both, felt like the moment our unexpected pilgrimage found its center. We had begun the week trying to follow an itinerary created for another land. We ended it by allowing the land we were actually on to guide our attention.

Perhaps this was the pilgrimage we needed after all.

Ruby Beach, WA | Photo credit: Brandon Redhawk 2022

Lessons from the Land

Looking back, I can see that the lesson began before we ever left the tarmac. We had made our plans carefully. We knew where we were going, who we would be with, and what stories awaited us there. Then, in a matter of hours, the entire journey disappeared.

Trust did not mean pretending we were not disappointed. It meant loosening our grip on the experience we had expected long enough to notice the one that was still available to us. Once we stopped asking how to rescue the original plan, another path began to appear: a hotel room in Seattle, a last-minute honeymoon suite in Sequim, a ferry crossing, a generous local guide, and an entire peninsula waiting to be met.

The deeper lesson came when we tried to mirror the pilgrimage in Ireland. Following the same themes gave our journey shape, but trust eventually asked us to stop looking across the ocean and listen to the land beneath our own feet. We could honor the pilgrimage we were missing without overlooking the one we were living.

Iona taught me permission to feel and trust my inner knowing. Arran taught me permission to see clearly and trust my perception. Fife taught me permission to ask, receive, and integrate. The Olympic Peninsula taught me permission to trust—to release the plan, follow the detour, and believe that the place where I actually stood had something to teach me.

The salmon stories became a fitting symbol of that lesson: two traditions meeting in respectful conversation, discovered because we were willing to turn toward the stories of this land. The pilgrimage we had planned would have carried us to Donegal. The pilgrimage we received carried us closer to one another, closer to Brandon’s ancestral ways, and into a deeper relationship with the land much nearer to home.

Sometimes the path falls apart because it is over. Sometimes it falls apart because another path is waiting. We may not know which is which while we are sitting on the tarmac.

What might become possible if you loosened your grip on the plan and trusted the path that is opening in front of you?

See you next week, where we will step into another pilgrimage and listen for what the land has to teach.

With gratitude,

Jenna

PS - One of the events that Andrew will be offering in Spokane, WA on September 11th, is a Bardic Feast evening of Celtic storytelling. Come hear the tale of Finn MacCool in person! :) Please subscribe to the Celestial Pathways newsletter (found on our home page). Information will be sent out shortly on this and other events with Andrew Steed!