Silverton

Again the sisters process into the chapel for Mass. It tugs at my heart to see them in their solemnity, repeating a ritual that for many of them has been a constant in their lives for decades. The many white-haired heads are punctuated with an occasional dark, underscoring the aging of the community.

There are more visitors present today. They are greeted warmly by the sisters. I wonder how many are graduates of the high school or college. After reading the most recent Reflections newsletters, I realize how deep-rooted the monastery is in the life of the surrounding community. From reading or hearing the biographies of the nuns, I know that the local towns are where many grew up or went to school.

Following Mass, we drive to Silverton, stopping at the Gallon House Covered Bridge on the way. It’s set among fields of hops and strawberries. There is a multi-generational family stooping to pick the ripe red fruit. In the distance, the Abbey is visible through the trees on its mount.

Silverton is a quaint town of under 10,000 people. Many of the shops are closed on Sunday, a reminder of my childhood when most merchants kept the Sabbath. We stroll through a shop of collectables and antiques, and I find a vintage bracelet in the style of modern Italian charm bracelets. Tom encourages me to buy it, and I wear it out of the shop.