THE EXPEDITION Chapter 9: Wow (Section 2)
- Ann Cognito
- Mar 29, 2022
- 9 min read
In which thoughts can ramble but the knee must rest Dates: May 7-11, 2019 Tompkins, Saskatchewan
The cafe next door is called Two Village Idiots Caphe. It was called that when Kathleen and her husband took it over from her sister not long ago; they kept the name because that’s its name. I wish I could remember why it had been called that in the first place, though! I think it was something to do with two people starting a cafe that nobody thought could work out, but it did, so now the name is like a reminder of possibilities.
The walls of the entry from waiting area to restaurant are covered with the signatures and sayings of hundreds and hundreds of people who’ve visited here… I signed for myself, for Mr Myrtle, and on behalf of the walk. I found so many interesting names and notes there, and found Julie and Margo among them.
A friend on the west coast had told me about Julie and Margo not long before I started my walk. They were friends of a friend of hers. These ladies had started walking from the west coast much sooner than I’d begun, while it was still winter . They were walking to raise awareness about homelessness, and doing their walk by relying on the same resources – and lack thereof – available to homeless people. They crossed the Rocky mountains on foot in the winter, pulling wagons with their gear, camping and living on a shoestring. These ladies are seriously incredible and I doff my hat to them so much.
We’d gotten in touch through text messages and had been checking in with each other and chatting for a little while. It was starting to look like I might even catch up with them, and I hoped so. It was unexpectedly nice to have a connection with others doing the same thing I was, feeling the same kinds of challenges, and they had so much good advice to pass on.
The Caphe has lovely good breakfasts, yummy soups and sandwiches, beautiful pies and treats (I couldn’t have them but they looked beautiful and everyone else loves them), and other healthy and delicious home made food. People gather here and do a lot of visiting, but a lot of serious talk happens around these tables too.
One morning, the breakfast ladies brought me a copy of the new issue of the Maple Creek Times, with the amazing full page article, and then there were even more conversations with locals. Contrary to popular belief and politicians, people out west DO understand the climate crisis, and do care, very much. The crisis and its multifaceted related issues have been deeply affecting these people for quite a while already. The commercial operations are still choosing to ignore it and apply more and more devastating chemical ‘solutions’, but too many smaller farms and ranches are hurting, and badly.
Other than breakfasts at the Caphe, and one trip to a tiny shop nearby which turned out to be more touristy than grocery-y (very nice though), all I did was babysit my knee. It had gotten much worse, of course, having done a much longer day than intended. I couldn’t afford to completely wreck it; I’m getting a bit short on properly functional parts, and was asking a bit much of my body already. It was time to be extremely kind to my knee. Angelika and Tanya were still working their healing, and I was wrapping and icing and rubbing in arnica and herbal ointments of her own making which Louise had sent with me from Patterson Springs Farm.
Tompkins is quite a historic village, and has a museum, a sod house, and plenty of stories, all of which I regret to say I missed. First I couldn’t do enough walking to go sightseeing, and then I felt like I’d better make up for lost time.
Time. Since I started becoming aware of the real extent of the global environmental damage, and the imminent consequences, I’ve been pulled and pulled by an increasing urgency. When the October 2018 IPCC report came out, it was like the lights came on. Everything I’d been feeling was irrevocably confirmed by science. It frustrated me that I was so slow. The impending fall election also felt like a deadline. It was so hard to wait.
Our room was comfy and quiet, though, and I did need rest and healing. I’d thought of moving to the campground, but decided I’d better stay where food and help and ice and internet and power were close. There was a little fridge with a tiny freezer in the room so I could keep refreezing ice packs from the bar, and keep some things to eat from the little shop. That fridge was a treasure, because all the rooms were up a long narrow flight of stairs. I went up and down on my backside most of the time.
I arranged to stay on a day to day basis, with a few people evaluating my knee multiple times a day to help decide, in the town and online. I plotted the next stops, with the shortest distances possible, though there were some daunting bits. It looked like the soonest place to find a knee brace (or two so I didn’t hurt the other by compensating for the first) would be Swift Current, unless one popped up by surprise sooner in a truck stop or something.
I talked with Carmen, who was wondering when I’d reach Regina, because she wasn’t sure if she’d be in town and we had things to do and things to talk about, and Elders to meet. Carmen wanted to connect this walk with her people, and that meant a great deal to me. Besides just plain liking Carmen and being glad for her wanting to walk, it was also hugely important to me to build support with First Nations peoples. This is their ancestral home; those of us who came more recently have wreaked havoc on it.. I know it’s a sweeping generalization, but that doesn’t make it less true. Indigenous peoples all over the world have historically treated the Earth better than those who’ve taken their territories and ways of life from them, and still do. If anyone survives the climate crisis, it will be indigenous peoples, and those who can live by similar principles of respect and sustainability, who survive. It will be their ways that save the planet.
I wrote, too, about trains of thought like that, and some of the others that had been percolating while I walked… so far (and still, as I write), I hadn’t made time stretchy enough to include journalling. I missed the process, and I knew I’d miss the notes. I kept track of where we stayed in my little paperback calendar, and on the pages of the mapbook, and I figured I could always use the facebook page as a reference when I wrote this (little did I know how much technical trouble I’d have accessing it all, though!). Taking advantage of this piece of time to pin some of the vaguer ramblings and notes onto paper (at least virtually) seemed like a good idea, and it was, but I’ve lost them.
One was a reflection about hearing the stories in the dirt and stones, the ancestors and spirits in the winds, and the warmth of possibility in the sunlight. There was several pages of weird rambling stuff, some poetic like that and some practical. Some were silly – lists of things I think about while walking, songs that get stuck in my head, things I thought I’d miss and don’t, people I’d like to walk with, places I’d walk too if there was more time… I wish I could find them now, and I wish time could be stretchier.
Money isn’t very stretchy either. My pension is small, even though supplemented by provincial disability support. That provincial support would be cut off if it took me longer than six months to do this. For understandable reasons, provincial disability support programs don’t allow longer absences. They also might not understand how I could do this, unless they understood the climate crisis.
Quite a lot of people wondered about that, to me and behind my back. Yes, I have a lot of disabilities. No, I can’t work any more. Yes, I did this anyways, and yes, it hurt way too much and nearly wrecked me multiple ways. There’s a lot of reasons.
My physical problems are messy. What helps half the problems makes the others worse, and vice versa. So, I honestly wouldn’t hurt less if I stayed home, just differently… plus, I’d be angry and frustrated and useless. Besides, my own small personal comfort doesn’t matter much compared to global annihilation. I’ve never had a comfort zone anyways, either physically or metaphorically, because my childhood was so unsafe. That’s probably partly why I’m better off as a gypsy-hermit, too… for most folks, leaving the nest is scary. For me, it was hope, and the safety of freedom, and possibilities.
As for my C-PTSD and the herd of related whatnot, they were better out here doing this. True, all kinds of things could happen. A lot of decidedly unpleasant ones were probably more likely than not. There could be wild dogs, or wolves, or bears. Or people. I might get run off the road, or run over, or run out of every place I stop. I could get hideously sick with food poisoning, but not till we were in the middle of nowhere. It wouldn’t be tremendously surprising if I fell down a cliff or off a bridge or into a river. Even the possibilities are, not infrequently, enough to trigger panic attacks or render me otherwise useless.
But this was the most peace I’d felt in a long time. Granted, there were certainly parts where I got way too frazzled, but nothing like the almost ongoing panic attack I’d been living in since coming back to ‘civilization.’ Even though I was following a highway , I was also following my heart, and following what I believed in, and following the Earth’s calls for help.
I’ve done some odd things in my life, and some were sort of epic. Hitchhiking a similar route at 16, then thumbing and walking back six years later… giving everything away to run off alone and try to live a dream (albeit a very low budget dream) under the palm trees… detouring through Peru… not to mention my family’s crazy, and sometimes criminally irresponsible, idea of how to have a vacation. I have a reverse bucket list in my not-quite-a-journal, where I put all the things I’ve done that feel like bucket lists kinds of things… meaningful, memorable, personally epic things I’ve already done, instead of ones I wish for. The most story-worthy moments of my one small wild and precious life.3
Trusting the universe is everything. I trust the balance of life. I trust in the goodness of human beings. I trust my dreams of change. I trust that when I actually manage to listen right, and hear, and do what I know is right, things will probably not go according to plan (if there is a plan), or be anything remotely resembling easy, and it’s not unlikely I might get hurt one way or another or a few, but it will always be interesting and there will always be stories and things to learn.
This was the biggest instance of that ever for me. This was taking the best of all I could do and doing what I could in my own unique way, for the only reason that matters – everything. Not doing this wasn’t an option. The future matters too much, and doing the right thing matters completely. Doing something is scary.
The consequences of not believing in change are unfathomably scarier.
So I trusted the Earth, and the balance of the universe, and I walked.
People helped as they could, and I will always be so grateful for every penny of kindness. Friends defied the foibles of technology and small-town billing processes to pay for rooms when we needed more than a safe spot on the Earth. People we didn’t know gave us places to stay and care. Strangers paid for meals. Folks who wanted to help gave things we needed, or pushed us up hills, or whatever would help us out. But money still matters, as much as that needs to change, and it was a bit of a problem.
During these days on pause, one of the XR folks on the east coast set up a Patreon fundraiser to help. He was so inspired by this idea of walking to the capital that he wanted to create something to help Mr Myrtle and I in case of emergencies or situations like the one I was in now, in a way that wouldn’t interfere with my pension. I’ve actually never been able to get into the workings of the page myself, so I have no idea who was part of it, but oh my goodness, they made all the difference and I thank Lloyd so much for setting it up. Nowadays, he’s one of the activists inspiring me, as he still fights and I’m on a longer pause, healing again and more deeply.
The Patreon fundraiser is still active and collecting a little bit. So is the Chuffed fundraiser set up later in Ottawa to help the Climate Emergency Camp, and it’s still holding funds for the continuation of the same purpose. There isn’t enough thanks in the world and I wish I could hug everyone who helped by way of both those.
It was close to a week before I felt like I could keep going without risking more damage. The cafe sent us off with some lovely healthy provisions, and there were hugs and well-wishes from people we’d gotten to know a little there. The couple who own the hotel said goodbye the day before, which was good or I’d probably have used up a couple handkerchiefs while goodbying.
Tiny towns are so full of deep worries nowadays, but they’re also full of caring, and of people who understand the things that matter… people who support each other even when they don’t agree… people who know that community is everything, and doing things together is the only way to do them right.
3 Paraphrased from Mary Oliver’s famously quoted line: “Tell me, what is it you intend to do, with your one wild and precious life?” from the poem “The Summer Day”
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