THE EXPEDITION Chapter 13: Kindness of Strangers and Kinds of Strangeness
- Ann Cognito
- Apr 22, 2022
- 10 min read
In which kindness is sprinkled Date: June 3 pm Balgonie Truck Stop
The guys at the truck stop weren’t quite sure what to make of a wandering old lady with a dog and a miniature caravan, and I’m sure they couldn’t fathom why I wasn’t looking for a hotel (or driving, for that matter) instead of a free campsite, but they were nice. They looked up the page and the petition, and seemed interested, and said we’d be safe in the little grassy back corner of the property. I pitched the tent before taking Mr Myrtle for a bit of a wander
Not that he didn’t get enough walking! He walked somewhere between about a third and half the distance, though that’s a complete guess. He walked in the mornings till about 10:00, and then I’d tuck him into his trailer out of the sun. He wore a ‘seatbelt’ and a hat, and when it got much summerier I draped my jacket over the top for more shade. It’s well ventilated all over, so that wasn’t an issue. We stopped for drinks and snacks and pees and whatnot, and just to stretch his legs and rest mine.
After about two in the afternoon, when the sun was lower and the trailer heavier, he’d get out and walk the rest of the way to wherever we were going. He often got back in while we found our spot for the night, in case of other dogs, but then we’d wander around having a change of scenery with no caravan attached, or he’d play on the long tie-out cable I was still carrying. I did have one of those retractable leashes, and had gotten the most heavy duty one I could find, but I always worry that something inside will come undone so we don’t use it, and now I don’t even have it any more.
Mr Myrtle and I shared the other half of our White City Nachos for dinner as we looked out over the field beside the tent. The guys at the counter inside gave me some lovely tea. A few of the drivers checked to make sure we were alright, and some talked a while. Sometimes people ask if I was worried about camping at places like that, but honestly, I was just deeply thankful to be out of the city. I can’t do cities any more. Calgary wrecked me. My Ottawa was the size of the park we occupied but still undeniably and overwhelmingly a city. In a perfect world, Mr Myrtle and I would live on a tiny island with a spring and some woods, a bit of space to garden, a cove to keep our little sailboat safe, and a ring reef to keep us safe. For now, the world is our island, the city floated away, the tent was our cove, and the trucks were our reef. Besides, most truck drivers are good people.
When I was sixteen, I hitchhiked from Alberta most of the way out to Prince Edward Island. After the very first ride went sideways and I got away safely, a trucker with a daughter my age picked me up. As we got close to the end of where he could take me, he got on the CB radio and found me another ride. He arranged to meet the guy, and had coffee with him and checked him out before he let me go on with him. The next drivers continued doing that, piecing together rides and checking the guys out, all the way to somewhere near Montreal (my grandmother found out what I was doing and bought me a bus ticket the rest of the way). Once, as the new ride drained his mug and stood to leave, and told me to hurry up and come with him, the driver I was with grabbed my arm and kept me seated.
“She’s not going anywhere with you, bud, and I’ll watch you leave.” He did, too. He stayed quite a while, trying to find me a good ride. When he did have to go on his way, he handed me a list of do’s and dont’s and what to look for and avoid when sussing out a potential ride. He also had the staff keeping an eye on me.
Date: June 4 2019
Balgonie to MacLean 17.5 km
In the morning, someone paid for our breakfast after I got cleaned up a little in the washroom (and then cleaned up the washroom, because it’s only fair). We got going quite early – I miss early mornings in Jamaica and Peru… having them on the road now was like a wake-up hug from the world, wrapped in air and light, with all sorts of time and space and possibilities.
The phone rang – an oddity, as it usually either thinks it’s a fancy paperweight, or thinks it’s too fancy to inform a lowly human about calls and whatnot. But the news interview I’d missed leaving Regina was back on schedule! A reporter and camera person were in a van coming to find me and interview me on the road. They turned out to be two young women, both of whom cared very much about the state of the planet and the climate. Much to Mr Myrtle’s delight, they also cared very much about puppies. Much to mine, they did a great interview.
Mornings were still crispy but afternoons were getting toasty. It was a short, sunny day to MacLean, which is one of the prettiest little villages ever, and we got there early enough to give ourselves a tour. They even have flower boxes and lovely little wrought iron lanterns lining the main street.
A happily decorated and well maintained miniature free library has a matching bench for sitting comfortably while you read under the lilacs.
Nearby, a grassy pocket playground with swings and slide and a fort on stilts is surrounded by leafy trees and more flocks of lilacs. Next door to the church, a demure statue stands half-hidden in another riotous flowered hedge. I dubbed her Our Lady of the Lilacs and took a few pictures of her before remembering she was in someone’s yard – I probably looked like some kind of secret agent for the tourism board, under cover as a hobo.
It was such a pretty little postcard village that I worried they might not want a climate gypsy making herself at home for the night. It was still early, though, so I decided to find a meal and take a break and see who was around.
We found nachos again, but they were mostly a breakfast and lunch place except for weekends evenings, and they were closing soon, so we had a picnic in the grassy strip near the railway tracks.
Yes, we had a lot of nachos. For some reason, most places have them. If they’re not vegetarian on the menu, they easily can be, and most places will add beans instead. There’s lots of fresh veggies, and often a bit of guacamole. Most places get their tortilla chips from Costco, and those happen to be organic and gluten free. There’s always some plain chips around the edges for Mr Myrtle (or a couple with a bit of cheese). They’re usually the best deal financially as well as nutritionally. Leftovers are easy to keep and carry, and are fine right out of the box again later. So yes, we had a lot of nachos!
Nearby, a stray flower had planted itself right in the middle of one of the two fire station garage doors. It was half the height of the door and blooming happily, clearly undisturbed by any emergencies. That tells you a lot about how safe a place is! That, and the fact that folks were happy to talk.
A few folks stopped, there not usually being total strangers wandering around their town, especially with a caravan like ours. They were all friendly, and nice, and encouraging about what I was doing. I like to think that the folks I talked with along the way who said they’d look it up and sign really did; the numbers on the online petition did keep creeping up. My hard copy was collecting signatures too.
Whether they signed or not, and regardless of whether they even agreed with my purpose or not, I was always struck by how kind and caring people were. They’d make sure we were alright, happy up Mr Myrtle Sir, share snacks and water. They’d give directions and advice about places to stay, give me a bit of money for kibble or for a meal, spontaneously help with maintenance and permanently loan tools…. it’s like kindness just sprinkled all over the place! That made me think of Betty White saying “Kindness – it doesn’t cost a thing – sprinkle that **** everywhere!”
We heard the soccer field was probably alright to camp at as long as we asked at the school first. I was dubious, having not been well received by other schools, but I stopped wondering what the those in charge here might think of me, and whether we’d be able to stay, when I was greeted by a wall full of happy, colourful artwork. Giant bubble letters announced “ SPRINKLE KINDNESS EVERYWHERE!!!”
The principle and secretary and a teacher (I think those were their roles) invited us to spend the evening anywhere comfortable, and they wished we could do a presentation but (as with all schools) it would have had to go through an approval process that would take longer than my walk. I’m probably exaggerating, but probably not by much in some cases. Being told that, though, was a huge boost all on its own – all the other schools hadn’t even considered letting me speak, and most had been rather vehemently not interested.
I tucked our tiny tent in under the trees between the back of the field and the train tracks. There was a bit of a swamp between, as well, so it wasn’t absolutely immediately next to us. I figured the train and the sunrise would get us up nice and early. I wanted to be gone before students started coming in for school, so parents wouldn’t worry.
As I caught up a little on messages and meditation (but never enough, still), the local kids’ soccer teams started turning up and organizing themselves into a couple of games on the side of the field nearest the school and farthest from us. It was so much fun watching them.
My son played soccer when he was little. He had a lot of fun, but the games were all over the city and I couldn’t always get us to them by bus (I’ve never driven). Also, the moms were very clique-y. Between both those things, we missed a lot of games. I always felt so guilty about that, but at least he got to do things like hike and camp and have a tree fort and see mountains and swim in lakes and oceans. I feel asleep in a wash of indescribable feelings about these children I watched, who could be the last generation able to do those things.
Date: June 5 2019
MacLean to Indian Head 29.5 km
I took that into my dreams, and woke up in the morning with mixed feelings. The way I felt kind of reflected the weather, and the road… up and down, constantly shifting between extremes, and then flowing, and then… but I’m a traveller, and that shouldn’t bother me, and that part of the journey really was beautiful. It was the political parts, and the scientific observation parts, that were full of extremes. Those threw me more than someone doing such an thing ought to let happen. I had time to meditate, but I kept sliding into worrying about all the things that weren’t going right (whatever right was), and all the things I didn’t know and should, and on and on. I was kicking myself for having stayed so long in Regina, and for a hundred other things. But I knew I was being a wet blanket to myself. I checked messages as I had my granola bar and breakfast drink before getting on the road, and Mr Myrtle had some kibble, having worked up an appetite running around on his cable while I struck camp and packed.
“Oh girl, look more deeply…” a friend typed, “many spirits walk with you! And there’s a teapot and a puppy rub at hand.” As I turned around to bid goodbye to our spot, the sun broke through a round hole in the clouds, sending a perfect cone of sparkling golden rays down exactly where we’d slept.
It was a beautiful morning for walking and I walked out of my funk. Mr Myrtle and I meandered along the side of the highway, taking photos and breaks, and just appreciating the day. It’d be about thirty kilometers to the next town, Indian Head, but between the early morning, the nice weather, and the relatively cooperative geography, I wasn’t worried. Besides, it would be summer solstice in less than a few weeks – the days were long now, which gave plenty of light and time for walking.
At one point, a truck pulled over on the shoulder ahead of us, and a tall young woman leaned against the back of it, waiting for us.
I don’t remember how she introduced herself, because I was so surprised. She knew who we were and what we were doing, and her boss had called her to tell her to keep an eye out for us. That probably should have worried me, but she was such a happy and interesting looking person, and seemed so genuine, that it never occurred to me to worry, and of course, there was no reason to. Her boss owned the Indian Head Bakery, an establishment respected for miles around, and with an astonishing delivery radius for such a small place. He was inviting us for a tea and a meal when we reached the town.
That cheered me up so much I was able to laugh instead of cuss later when I got an email from the prime minister’s office. It was responding to the second copy of my letter, which I’d sent again while on pause in Tompkins. This one told me (for the second time) that as I know, I should address my concerns about the environment to the environment minister, and that my letter was therefore (again) being forwarded accordingly.
I politely and concisely told whoever sent it that the prime minister is willfully leading the country and the world into certain death, and that proper and immediate response to the climate crisis most certainly is his responsibility. Nobody ever answered.
Other people were hearing, though.
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