It had been a while since I’d gone hiking with the Catholic group. Or, admittedly, hiking in general. I’d been anticipating autumn to take to the trails, and I was (perhaps) a little annoying as I pointed out every evidence of the season.

I got into hiking during my searching period, when anything and everything was a message from God. Especially being out in nature—it’s a chance to turn off your phone and explore His creation. It feels natural to take a break for prayer when being immersed in nature, or to talk God with companions as you trudge uphill (even if you’re short of breath).

One of the first times I hiked with this group was during the months of study and curiosity, before I’d committed to conversion. We sat atop a mountain, beneath what little shade we could find, and they prayed the rosary. I sat in the back and listened—I barely even knew the Hail Mary—and it was hypnotic. Afterward, a new friend asked me what I thought, and I admitted that it was beautiful. I didn’t have to participate. I didn’t have to understand. But I knew something was happening as they prayed together.

It was a smaller group this past weekend. We weren’t at the mountain top, and there wasn’t even any shade, but we walked the trail with rosary in hand. The leader would pause after a section of prayers, waiting for someone else to begin the next. I’d help lead the rosary only once before, but during one of those pauses… I jumped in.

There’s something to be said for walking and praying, harmonizing the words to the monotonous clomp of hiking boots. Looking up while saying the Hail Mary, gazing upon the slight evidences of autumn and the sunshine that had just started to emerge. It wasn’t lost on me that the ones who lead the prayers were me, my priest, and my sponsor.

My sponsor gifted me my first rosary, which I keep in my hiking bag. It’s also my only rosary that’s been blessed (and on the trails!), so it’s doubly special. I like knowing it’s there, whether or not it gets used on a hike. But those little wooden beads have come a long way—into the hands of this skeptical future Catholic, to the wilds where she guided others in prayer. It felt like coming home. Not exactly like it was in those first few Catholic hikes, when I wasn’t yet a part of it. Something better.

Me and my little rosary have a lot more adventures to go on.