THE EXPEDITION Chapter 6: Tangents

In which the tiny town of Irvine has tasty nachos and thoughtful teens 

Date: April 29, 2019

From Medicine Hat to Irvine ~25 km

Editing layers of clothing on the road is different, though. There were pretty significant temperature differences between the cold early mornings and a few hours later after walking in the sun. Double longjohns turned into single – and later none – behind convenient shrubbery, and this day, behind a pile of roadwork materials while the crew kindly took stuff from the other pile for a few minutes.

We’d walk about 25 kilometres to the very very small town of Irvine that day, where we’d stay with a friend of Peter’s. Tracy worked at a library in ‘The Hat’, and we reached Irvine so early we left our things at the Irvine Hotel bar and had a great walk along the train tracks, taking photos of the detritus of trains under the infinite prairie sky.

Back in the bar, I photographed the dozens and dozens of local ranchers’ brands on the walls, and Mr Myrtle and I shared possibly the yummiest nachos in Alberta.

Nachos were one of the few things I could eat along the way. I have so many intolerances and whatnot that I’ve developed a plain and simple diet which I like very much and which likes me. I’m not entirely sure why I have so many intolerances, but they’ve been getting exponentially more varied and worse over the years. I’ve done more elimination diets and tests and consultations and whatnot than even makes sense, and that’s part of a few ongoing medical processes. The list of things causing reactions now includes foods, additives, fabrics, cleaners, dyes, scented products, pollutants, and even being near or extensively using electronics causes reactions now (for me as well as the electronics, it turns out). Basically, everything. I seem to be reacting to the same things that are killing our planet.

The simple diet pretty much went out the window on the road. I did carry some things, but not much, and it was a constant act of balancing, evaluating, and compromising. It’s just not always possible to be that ongoingly picky while relying on serendipity. Nachos can always and easily be made vegetarian, and in most establishments, are usually made with tortilla chips from Costco, which happen to be gluten free and organic. In small towns, the veggies on the nachos might well be local, and organic. Ditto salad, sandwiches, soup, eggs, and maybe potatoes, though potatoes are usually relatively safe for me anyways. I never asked about bacon, though it was probably local and previously happy bacon in a lot of places; I’m vegetarian, and making exceptions for eggs and cheese was quite enough for me.

I realize I’ll raise some hackles, but diets that revolve largely around industrial meat simply aren’t the healthiest way for people or planet to live. I’ve always felt and functioned better as a vegan, or at least vegetarian. I studied nutrition as part of my Education CTS minor in university because I’ve always found it fascinating, and had begun learning seriously about it when my son was born. Also, though, I wanted more direction for learning about nutrition because of own health reasons and intolerances, which were starting to get a bit odd. I enjoyed the learning so much that I took extra courses and kept learning more on my own, with my professors’ initial direction and advisement. My growing personal need to live this way is compounded by science and research regarding the effects of the meat and dairy industry upon the global ecosystem. It’s basically devastating, but please look up about it – there’s so much really accessible and well-researched information out there now (and a lot of baloney, too, so please insert the usual caveats about being mindful of sources and references).

It’s actually true that insects are an incredibly ecological, nutritionally loaded, and culinarily adaptable source of protein. I hear crickets can be particularly tasty. A lot of people would probably need some pretty dire circumstances to convince them to put even an unrecognizably processed or prepared bug in their mouth, though. Also, I wonder how ecological that alternative is now in light of the massive insect depopulation… certainly a far sight better than current mainstream nutrition, but………

Sometimes I get paralyzed by trains of thought like this. I follow them in circles until no options are viable except to take a vow of poverty, become a breatharian, and live like some sort of human orchid. I’ve even fasted sometimes for a day or three while thinking about far too much, but I can get paralyzed by all sorts of other decisions with the same kind of potential infinite negativity loop. So much of the trappings of our lives just don’t seem necessary enough to justify the damage they create, but culture and lifestyles can be addictive, and it can be hard to change a little, let alone to change everything about how we do everything. After letting the what-ifs chase me in circles in my head for a while, I’ll either abandon the argument (or meal, or potential purchase, or whatever) in a tizzy, or manage to figure out something that balances conscience with the requirements of having a body. I can’t be an orchid, so I’ll eat nachos.

Local eateries proved early on to be the best places to connect with locals. There’s always something I can have, and even talking about that can start further conversations. Mr Myrtle also starts a lot of conversations – honestly, he’s a much more sociably effective activist than me!

In Irvine, I got to talk with a few of the high school girls, one of whom was a daytime waitress and cashier for a few hours a week there, and the others were dropping by to visit while she worked through the slowest part of the day. They weren’t much older than Greta Thuneberg, and though they weren’t sure they could manage a school strike in their town, they absolutely agreed with her and were so excited about what I was doing. A few other locals were in and out of the bar too; they’d seen the Medicine Hat news bit about me and were happy to meet, and interested in what I was doing.

A lot of those small towns are dying, or already dead. The family farms and ranches and businesses have been swallowed, squashed, or subjugated by mindbogglingly vast commercial operations and markets. They’ve also already been experiencing the escalating effects of the climate crisis in a more direct and everyday way than the thousands of us sheltered in cities.

The ones still either trying or trying to find a way out have seen what’s happening for a long time, and even a lot of the ones who might not have wanted to a few years ago are now. They ‘get it’ because it’s already been stalking through their lives wreaking havoc. They’re getting the wrong end of things earlier than those in citified comfort zones, but even as I write, their costs filter through the supply chain. Food prices are rising and things we’re all used to buying have been running short in the shops more than the average North American (whatever that is) is used to. It’s not just because of the pandemic raging as I write. It started sooner and will continue longer.

The young people – their children and grandchildren – ‘get it’ because this is their future we sold to corporations and politicians and millionaires, their world we traded for our comfort. Honestly, they understand better than most older folks, they network better, and they know how to mobilize better. We need to apologize and start paying a lot more attention to them and following their lead. Far from being an exception, small town youth seemed to me to be even more aware of, and illustrative of, that pattern.

Tracy’s teenage daughter was no exception, and she’s such an interesting person. She’s had a very responsible upbringing. Tracy lives kindly and responsibly and quite greenly in a lot of ways, and absolutely understands the threat we face. We shared tea and two meals and one of the most comfortable talks of the whole journey and I wish we hadn’t had to sleep. It still amazes me how many times friendships materialized so quickly while walking and during the camp in Ottawa. Maybe looming existential threats increase our willingness, and ability, to connect with each other.

Sometimes it was also because few people want to talk about what’s happening, and when they do ‘have to’ it’s often a kind of rote conversation without too much depth. That was even truer just two years ago than it is now. It makes connections and real conversations about the climate crisis all the more valuable. Maybe it’s cliché, but it’s true… it helps to share the overwhelmingly scary things, and deep personal hairy things, and the things we can’t even quite identify. When the fears can breathe a little, I can breathe a little better, and it’s good to have at least a figurative hand to hold when looking at the shadows of the future.

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