THE EXPEDITION Chapter 2: Prologue (section 2)
- Ann Cognito
- Jan 27, 2022
- 6 min read
Date: April 2019 Place: Calgary – Patterson Springs Farm, Chestermere, Alberta
In which the expedition comes together with the help of friends old and new I borrowed a tent from a friend… said friend was in Iowa, and had it shipped in plenty of time. After much concern and tracking, it was finally delivered – back to him, in Iowa, for reasons nobody could explain, two weeks before the departure date. He couriered it ASAP with bells on, and thankfully, it arrived in time to camp in my neighbours yard one night, and in my packed-up apartment for a week.
That tent was the cat’s pajamas… it was a RhinoWolf, and if you haven’t heard of those, look them up – it’s one of the funniest ads ever but also an awesome tent. It’s a simple, pack-friendly, lightweight bivy-and-a-bit, with sitting room in the middle (for a non-tall person) and a built-in pad-and-sleeping-bag, and it can connect with others modularly. I was going to get another so we could camp together, but that’s another story down the road a bit and right now I still owe Daniel a nice dark green RhinoWolf (and I still want one, too!).
The folks who make the Voltaic Arc 20 portable solar panel kit gave me a seriously kind discount to support the mission. I promised to post about it lots, to support them. That thing was beautiful; I loved it so much, and them for caring about my purpose and helping. It was so well-made, and worked great, and I hope I can get another, but I was warned almost immediately to keep quiet about it or it’d be stolen. I shall have to send them a copy of this story even if it never gets published beyond my own laptop.
I scored a little-worn pair of hiking boots for fourteen dollars at a thrift shop. I’d actually been looking at the tall backs of them for a few years, every time I went through that shop. They were on the bottom rack of the men’s shoes, and they looked like supremely ugly basketball shoes. Turns out they were Scarpa hikers, apparently purchased by someone with weird feet just like mine, who then decided never to go anywhere in them. Sad them for them, very good for me – thank you, unknown boot person, and universe.
I made sure to get myself a good back brace. It’s one of those stretch-around ones with lots of velcro, almost infinitely adjustable, which is fortunate because I’m still using it and have gotten bigger since walking less! Between those and the boots, and pacing myself and being mindful, I figured I’d manage as well as possible. I also carried some herbs, some for tea and some for smoking, to help manage pain and anxiety.
A nice and well-made turquoise-y blue and coppery brown gortex jacket found me at the same shop. It had big, deep, safe, dry, cargo pockets, and all the bells and whistles a good jacket can have. I found some small duffel-type bags second hand and at garage sales, to pack everything and keep it organized (important for my sanity, and just sensible when living out of bags).
One of the booths at the big local outdoor show gave me a great lightweight bicycle tool kit. Another gave me plenty of electrolyte packets and tablets. Others gave me water tablets, snacks, a compass, and a other useful bits and pieces. Some were freebies intended for giving, but a lot were kindly donated when I explained what I was doing.
Friends helped, too, the few who believed in my idea and (or?) me. I’ve lost some friends who’ve decided that I’m annoyingly off my rocker, but I quit compromising myself to make other people happy a few years ago and this certainly wasn’t the time to go back to old bad habits.. Others, new and old, believed in me, and the idea, enough that it more than made up for that.
It’d be hard to walk away from brand new friends I’d probably have forever if I didn’t leave. Eva and Heather understood how I felt and believed in this idea, and we talked so much. Samin and Rhea never even considered this walk as optional and still believe in the purpose. Joleen didn’t actually say goodbye, because she’d be moving back to Peterborough soon and was quite sure we’d meet there.
Emily, who is a story herself, included me in her documentary thesis on climate crisis response. Emily was the little girl who, several years ago in Montreal, raised a ruckus and more than a few eyebrows internationally when she insisted on joining her local boy scouts, because she could learn more of what she wanted to there. I heard her story back then and thought “holy canoli, this little girl knows herself better already than I ever have” and I decided it was time to change my life. Now I was meeting her as a young woman, an activist studying journalism and environmental law, in Calgary, and she was supporting me in something I was doing partly because her story was the catalyst that started me on my me road to learning to believe in myself – there’s really no such thing as coincidence.
Some, I’d never even met in person yet. My electronic penpal friends, some of whom are very close indeed, were and still are completely part of this, and of me. My friends in TreeSisters, and TreeSisters as a whole, meant the world to me then and now and always will. The friends I’ve met through this story are written on my soul.
Susan, who channels Gaia and shares hope, sent a water purifier, without which Mr Myrtle and I would have been up a creek more than once, and which we’ll use to make tea with Susan someday while we sit together at a pine table. Others sent invaluable help in the form of ideas, encouragement, practical help, money to help with gear and for the trip. Some worked on the petition and Facebook page and things like that. Eleanor basically was the Facebook page for months, and kind of a working mission manager in a lot of ways for a long time. Several people became an en route text-message support group who kept in touch with me throughout the walk, without whom I’d’ve lost my way and my resolve, and most likely my marbles, many times over. There were already people to see along the way and when we reached Ottawa. The Camp became a whole community itself, full of more people I’m so incredibly blessed to know.
A very sweet lady I only knew on Facebook found a place where Mr Myrtle and I could stay for a few nights before leaving. I was so frazzled by all the getting-ready, and even just by three years in a big northern city, that I really wanted to have a piece of peace to start with. I’d stay with Louise’s family a little way out of the city on the beautiful farm where their family had been quietly taking care of the earth for over a century. I’d sleep in the same room Silver Ravenwolf had slept in, as had many whose names I recognized and respect, and more I don’t know but probably would love to.
When I got there, I could feel the leftovers of their dreams and conversations. It felt like they were all giving this journey their blessing. Louise herself certainly did, and she is so connected with all the natural real things that I almost wished I could stay to learn instead of flapping off on this pie-in-the-sky mission. They’re such dear good people, and it was such a perfect place to calm down… unfrazzle… meditate… finish packing properly, weed out the last few things I didn’t really need to carry. Or maybe more than a few things.
Mr Myrtle and I were to meet Louise and her husband at the last stop on the south-most end of the Calgary LRT line. We said goodbye to our little apartment and spent a ridiculous amount of time inching our loaded caravan a few blocks through the clumpy April snow towards the nearest station, where I promptly realized I hadn’t thought about stairs. A small group of transit employees just finishing their shifts helped us get down to the train and on it, and got the driver to agree to wait a few extra minutes at the other end of the trip so we could get everything off alright. It took four grown men to get that trailer up into the back of Eldon’s farm truck.
I don’t want to know what it weighed, but I spent the next two days dumping everything out and putting more than half into a pile which I hope they’ve been able to use or give to people who can. It was still much too heavy, but shortly after 10:00 on the morning of April 20, 2019, we met a few of the local rebels and a CBC reporter in Chestermere, just at the edge of Calgary.
Image from CBC article linked above (Lucie Edwardson, CBC)
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