Written by Bria and Sheldon

Bilbo Bloggins here. Not quite back at the Shire, but down from the High Atlas in Morocco and found a ring with some writing on it, looks like Arabic. One Couscous to Rule Them All, or something like that. Anybody missing it, you know where our Hobbit Hole is.

We started as eight individuals and somehow ended as three groups of three. (I’m counting Nate’s onesie as a ninth member.)

Kidding. You all were great, or at least good (haha. Stop taking this blog so seriously, Ady, there’s no hidden message here). Better than average (both median and mean, Emily). From the Visigoth ruins of La Semilla to the hoof-strewn souks (don’t think about it, Leighton) of Ait Ourir, from the majestic hill towns of Andalusia to the beachside cities of Morocco, you brought such love for adventure and for laughter.

You rolled with the hardships whether it was delivered by human hands (in aluminum catering trays) or acts of Allah, in the form of a Saharan sandstorm that seemed to come from nowhere, but was suddenly everywhere and in everything.

You made us proud with your hard work on your service “proyects” from pond building (Owen that was dam fine work) and wind chime designing at El Molino to “Heads, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes (Knees and Toes)” with schoolchildren in Taghzirt, to carving out a permaculture field into the dusty hills above Sidi Ifni.

You embraced gratitude and gave some of the most thoughtful, artful thank yous to our hosts.

And you always brought the music. Oh, we saw fire and rain, alright. And heard it a few times, too.

We’re going to miss it and everything else. Especially the teaching (special shout out to guitar master Cole), and the learning that you did, that we did, together.

Remember what they say, a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single ride in a red Ford econoline van with prayer beads and fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view and an extra passenger riding on the luggage rack.

A thousand paper cranes to you, Rayah!
Marhaba!
Breldon(!)