Lausebuche

Lennestadt-Oberelspe (51.158370 | 8.075260)

Listening inwards

A wayside cross at an old lime tree with a view as far as the horizon and into two neighboring valleys.

In this case, the path is just as exciting as the destination. It starts at the bottom of the valley, between the shady bushes along the Oene stream. Between trees covered in green moss, it first climbs more steeply, then more gently, as if to moderate the effort for the walker. Two stone-grey stripes run as exact parallels: Horse-drawn carts used to travel here in earlier times, always on the same tracks. The carters appreciated the stable surface of graywacke as they battled their way up and down the mountains. My guide Michael Ross, who marks trails for the Sauerland Mountain Association, enlightens me: This track width, the "Roman measure", lives on as a track width on the German railroads.

One path? No, many. We are walking on the Heidenstraße (missionaries probably came to the Sauerland on this route to convert the "unbelievers"); on the Way of St. James (on the trees there are plaques with a yellow shell on a blue background; you can walk as far as Cologne and on to Santiago de Compostela); on a trade route (usually preferred over the mountain ridges, but in Oberelspe the carts had to go down into the valley, and the residents once earned some extra money with hitching services). And then there is the Way of the Cross. It leads along the well-known twelve stations and, as is usual in the mountains, it goes upwards. Did they want to give the faithful at least an idea of the Savior's suffering by making the effort of the ascent? Going up the mountain as a symbol of inner growth? An ascent to heaven?

There is a tangible reason why my companion particularly likes this route. He explains it to me as we emerge from the dusky forest and walk abruptly in bright sunlight under a clear blue sky. "This path is simply cleverly laid out, I love it. It leads along the south side of the mountain. In spring, the snow thawed the quickest here and the carts were soon able to use it again after the winter." On the steep slope to our left, sheep graze, which now, in this particularly hot July, can hardly find a green plant. As we walk on, I read the sayings on the stone wayside shrines of the Way of the Cross: "Break the habit!" - "Take up your cross and follow me." - "Your soul is the image of God." Spiritual nourishment along the way.

Once we reach the saddle, we arrive at the natural highlight of the hike. Our destination is the Lausebuche. To my surprise, the beech is a lime tree and it doesn't have any lice. Ross explains to me: "It's just a place name. It has 'luisen' in it, Low German for listen. There was probably a lookout post here in the days of war. You could spot approaching enemies from afar from this point." There is said to have been a Königshof down in Elspe, and the aristocratic lords probably had special security needs.

But we sit down peacefully on a large stone at the foot of the brown wooden cross, in the shade of the tree. The silence of this place invites us to listen. Listening to the two wide valleys on either side of the saddle. Listen inwards too, where everything relaxes. The peace up here radiates into our conversation, which becomes slower, deeper. My companion talks about the "Franciscan hike" that he undertakes once a year with other men. Setting off without a fixed plan. Eating what people are willing to donate. Spending the night where someone offers shelter. "It's about simply letting go," he says. Simply? I realize how difficult it is for me sometimes to be "planless". To wait and listen to my inner self to find out what the next step is that I should take. That would be the inner Lausebuche, a listening post for the soul. Up here, this listening is easy for me. Sounds from the valleys are muffled as I sit on the stone. Sheep move slowly. A faint wind ruffles the lime leaves. Life in slow motion.

"He is risen." This is written on the last wayside shrine. Through suffering to hope. Sounds familiar to me: When I allow pain, go through it instead of trying to distract myself from it, it becomes bright and light. Someone has gone ahead and shown me the way. So the cross under which we rest becomes a signpost.

Author: Michael Gleich