People at the hotel were all decked out for a Reds game. I recalled that the first MLB game I ever attended was a Reds game. I remember the rain delay and not too much else.

All the traffic seemed headed for the airport. Why does the sun rise so late out here? Bright orange construction signs telling of the closure of 71 South. Waze took me around it, heading to the monastery. The radio went strong and weak as I rolled among the Kentucky hills, now and then bringing in the sound of a screaming Protestant minister.

Jeff texted about losing my signal around Bardstown.

I arrived at the same time, that is, an hour early, as another visitor who said his daughter lives in New Jersey. It was his first time also to the Abbey, though it wasn't exactly the blind leading the blind because, even with some areas like the gift shop still closed from Covid, the church entrance was straight off the parking lot.

He opened the door to the main church for me and then he slipped into a side chapel. There was holy water in the font, and I was alone in the church except for the occasional monk passing through. I took my pictures -- my camera lens had fogged something fierce outdoors in that thick, late July, Kentucky air -- from the ground floor and from the balcony upstairs.

The material making up the floor, pebbles set in cement, seemed so practical, though I had no intention of kneeling on it as some did. There were cushions available for kneeling.

I used the booklets to participate in the third hour of prayer, "terce", as it's called. The monks sat on the near end of the long, narrow choir but not so close that they could hear us. I mostly listened or whispered. There was one strong voice among us. Then we were allowed to pass through the choir area to a sanctuary at the far end for Sunday liturgy.

Most of the monks disappeared to vest because they are also priests. A second pipe organ graces the sanctuary but the organist sat just out of view. There was a sprinkling rite with the penitential rite. There was incense before the reading of the Gospel. The homily was about welcoming others and offering hospitality. The communion bread, I didn't have the luxury of examining it, of course, but it was very thin, very white, larger than usual with some imprint. Maybe it's made in nearby Erlanger.

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Trappist Monasteries in the United States