This morning, Hugh handed out buttons bearing the Cree word Louise Halfe, one of the 14 people walking to Fort Carlton, suggested as the theme for our walk: asohtêwak, “together the hearts walk.” It’s a lovely statement about the possibility of deep connection that can be created when we walk together, literally or metaphorically. Cree is beautiful like that: words have stories, embedded etymological meanings, beyond the dictionary definitions. Every morning Louise says a prayer in Cree, and I love the sound of the language, so soft and rhythmic. I can pick out the occasional word, which after two years of learning the language is either not bad or terrible.
Harold went to Mass in Bruno this morning. “I’ll catch up,” he said. Everyone thought he meant that he would drive. But when he left, I noticed that he was carrying his pack. Sure enough, when we were finishing lunch, we spotted a lone figure walking quickly down the road towards us. It was Harold. “I know the average person walks at three miles an hour,” he said, “so I was trying for four. I don’t think I quite made it.”
By the way, Harold is 83.
Later we thought we saw a large Gumby in the distance. It was this sculpture. A border collie came out to greet us–that rare creature, a friendly farm dog. I offered him a Milk Bone. He was reluctant to take it; maybe it was stale. To be polite, I think, he finally accepted it. But he refused to be photographed.
We passed memorials for two schools this afternoon. Rural depopulation has been happening here since the 1930s. Farms get bigger as the economy of farming changes, and when people sell up they move away. It’s a global phenomenon. We also passed a large glacial erratic–a buffalo rubbing stone. I left some tobacco with it. The roadsides were filled with wildflowers: roses, blanket flower, asters, goldenrod, sage.
Later in the afternoon, I took a turn driving one of the support vehicles for a couple of miles. Then I kept walking. My feet are blistered and sore, but I sang to myself to keep up my spirits. When I sang “The Old Gray Mare,” Madonna thought I was talking about her. “Well, if the horseshoe fits,” I answered.
Speaking of Madonna: since Matthew, who had the idea for these walks back in 2014, can’t be with us this year, she suggested her stuffed prairie dog might represent him. Here it (he?) is, tied to her walking pole. So, Matthew, you aren’t here physically, but you are here in spirit–and in effigy.
