Five paces away, a toddler gnaws a snowball, oblivious. A host of languages fills the air, English and Spanish mostly, with a smattering of French from two nuns from across the Atlantic. Ginny Sauer, here from New Jersey to visit her daughter, Lauren, takes in the view as the younger woman's tawny hound sniffs the air and scratches itself. I don't want to sound corny, but when I was walking up I cried. Not all visitors are quite so moved.
Kids are kids, and many youngsters are simply enjoying the snow and sunshine.
At the base of the path to the shrine, a schoolboy yelps to his friends that there are 534 steps to climb. Off to one side, two junior-high girls huddle, whispering about cute guys and who likes whom. Across the way, in the main compound, the chapel bell tolls noon. On a chain link fence, visitors have tied crosses fashioned from twigs and grasses. The wind blows across these offerings, fraying and stripping.