Bena and Bemidji, Minnesota: November 22-25, 2009
November 22, 2009
The Journey through Leech Lake Reservation
The volunteer coordinator for Itasca Hospice was Jerine Berndt. Jeri picked me up from the Sawmill Inn, and dropped me back at the gas station in the little town of Ball Club, by 8 am, on a cold Sunday morning.
Route 2 passed through Leech Lake Reservation. To either side of the road were thick pines. A screeching cry broke the air and I looked to my right. There, high in a tree, and about 100 yards away, a bald eagle sat in a tree. I got out my camera and started to move closer. The eagle spotted me, spread its huge wings and lifted into the air. It was a great sight to see. For the next mile or so, I saw six more bald eagles. Three pairs, they circled up above me and flew over the road, probably in search of dead animals by the roadside, or remains of deer that had been killed by hunters in the woods.
Some Anishinaabe Wisdom
At Bena there was a gas station and campground. Bena’s population, listed on the sign post, was 110. I walked into the gas station and bought some food. There was a table and chair inside the gas station and I sat down to eat. Inside the gas station was an Ojibwe lady called Bea. She was probably in her sixties and had silvery-grey hair, in a long braid that cascaded down her back. When she saw my “Walking for Hospice” sign she came over to talk to me. She told me that she was Anishinaabe, which meant ‘First People’. I told Bea about my walk and she wished me luck. Bea had a cell phone and she used it to take my photo. I told Bea about seeing the bald eagles. She smiled and said “Ah, that’s good luck… they are watching over you.”
Not far from Bena, as I walked on, I saw two darkly dressed figures disappear into the woods up ahead, off to my left. I wondered what they were up to and kept an eye on the trees, wondering what would happen next. As I approached the spot, I saw it was a young man and woman, probably in their early twenties. They were Anishinaabe. As I came nearer, the young man saw me and a wary look came to his face.
“What’s going on?” he asked. Quickly, and with a smile, I told him about having walked from New York. The tension drained from his face, to be replaced by a look of mild wonder. That was good to see. He introduced himself as Dale and his girlfriend was Rose. They were collecting boughs from the trees to make wreaths for Christmas. It was good to meet them. We wished each other well and went our separate ways.Further on, I heard a noise from the woods. At first I thought it was young coyotes yelping, but then I looked up and saw a v formation of geese heading south and honking as they flew. It was good to see them, but I knew what they were telling me. If the geese were flying, real cold was on its way.
Revisiting the Journeys of Cass and Schoolcraft
A sign over a small river told me that I had crossed the Mississippi. The source of the river was Lake Itasca, in swampy woods, not far from where I was now. Henry Schoolcraft had discovered the source of the river in 1832, twelve years after Lewis Cass had journeyed with him to the area now known as Cass Lake. In 1820 they had mistakenly thought Cass Lake was the source of the Mississippi. After seeing the carving of the face of the Ojibwe Indian “Powers of the Air” in the rocks by the shore of Lake Superior, way back in Upper Michigan, it was good to finally be close to the area where Cass and Schoolcraft ended their journey.
On the Leech Lake Reservation I passed a sign for the “Bug-o-nay-ge-shig” school, which was named after a local chief. The sign had wooden, carved, heads of bald eagles at either end of it and there were carvings of bald eagles sitting on tall posts. There was definitely a bald eagle theme about the day.
Reconnecting with Old Friends from 1988
As night came, I’d reached some white cabins by the roadside. A pickup truck pulled up in front of me and out climbed Bill Thiesen. I had met Bill back in 1988, as I walked to Bemidji.
Bill was married to Jesica Conrad, who was involved with fund raising for the North Country Hospice. We drove back to Bill and Jesica’s house in woods close to Bemidji. They had built their own house there and grew vegetables and ate mostly venison that Bill hunted during the year. Bill gave me a bag full of venison jerky, which came in handy over the next few days of walking.
It was good to see Jesica again after 21 years. Over dinner Bill told me a story about an old cowboy they had met, when they worked as volunteers for the National Parks out in Idaho. An old cowboy called Lester had ridden into a canyon where Jesica and Bill were working. Lester was acting as a guide for another couple of guys. As Lester rode in he had a broken arm, however. Jesica was a nurse, but Lester, full of piss and vinegar, didn’t want any medical help. Lester and the men he was with stayed in the cabins in the canyon, along with Jesica and Bill. Lester regaled them with stories about how he had been on a narrow trail on his horse, when a rival of his came riding up ahead. Lester had leveled his rifle at the man and told him to get off the trail, or he’d kill him right there. The man had smartly backed up down the trail. As they talked, Lester asked Jesica what sort of nurse she was. She replied “a hospice nurse.” Nothing more was said that night. In the morning, still with his broken arm, Lester and the other men began to ride off. Bill and Jesica waved them off, and as Lester was about to leave his made his horse rear up on its hind legs, he waved his Stetson in the air and in his cowboy drawl called out:
“I love you hospice nurses!” And with that he rode into the sunset.
The night with Bill and Jesica was good. Their place was small and it was arranged that I would stay at Jesica’s brother’s house on the shore of Lake Bemidji, while he was out of town. So, for three nights, I had a luxury house on the shores of Lake Bemidji to stay in.
November 23, 2009
The Myths of Cass Lake
At 6 am, Bill turned up in his pickup truck at the house by Lake Bemidji. We slung my pack in the back of the truck, as rain began to fall. As we drove back to the spot by the white cabins, in the dark, the rain became heavy and the wind whipped around the truck. Bill wished me luck, as I put on waterproof trousers and slung my wet pack onto my back.
As I walked on, the heavy rain and wind dropped, and I was glad it had. My feet were damp in my running shoes, but it could have been worse. It was only a few miles before I saw Cass Lake. Bill had told me that the lake was sacred to the Anishinaabe, as it had an island in the center that had a second lake in the middle. This arrangement of concentric land and water was rare. The lake within a lake had been named Lake Windigo. The Anishinaabe held ceremonies there to remind people not to turn cannibalism during times of famine. In Ojibwe myths, Windigos or Wendigos, were people, or spirits, who craved eating human flesh. The last known Wendigo ceremony in America had taken place on Star Island in the middle of Cass Lake. The fact that ceremonies were held to avoid cannibalism was a testament to how hard life must have been for the Native Americans in the cold winters of the northern parts of the U.S.
As I was leaving Cass Lake, a young woman called Valerie came up to me to offer me a coffee. I thanked her, but said I’d just eaten and had drinks. It turned out that Valerie had spent a lot of time hitching and walking around the U.S. I gave her a card for the National Hospice Foundation website and she wished me luck.
As Bemidji came closer the rain became heavy again for a while. Route 2 became a flyover that avoided entering Bemidji. I crossed over to the right hand side of the road and had to walk on wet grass, to avoid trucks and cars. My feet, which had been damp, were now soaked. An Anishinaabe woman in a car stopped to offer me a ride, but I explained I had to walk. I gave her a card with the National Hospice Foundation website on, too, and talked about the walk, as drizzly rain fell. She smiled, wished me luck and drove off into Bemidji.
Reaching a Warm Refuge
A turnoff from Route 2 took me into Bemidji. Industrial buildings, then Burger King and McDonalds appeared to let me know I’d reached town. Off to my right was the silvery grey expanse of Lake Bemidji. In the Ojibwe language the lake was called Bemijigamaag-zaaga-iga, which meant Traversing Lake, as the lake “crosses” the course of the Mississippi. The Mississippi flows into the west side of Lake Bemidji and out the east side. On the road, I crossed over the Mississippi for the second time and entered the center of Bemidji.
By 4 pm I reached a giant statue of Paul Bunyan and his blue ox, Babe. They stood overlooking a small park on the shore of Lake Bemidji. From there I phoned a hospice nurse called Delores Larson. Jesica had an event to attend, thanking the United Way for donating $13,000 to the North Country Hospice, and had arranged for Dee Larson to give me dinner. Dee’s husband picked me up from the statue of Paul and Babe and drove me back towards Cass Lake and into the woods to their house. Over dinner we talked about hospice and the walk. Dee’s biggest concern was that hospice patients did not turn to hospice care soon enough, so that in many cases there were only days or even hours when hospice could provide care for them. This was a recurrent theme in most of all the hospices that I visited.
At around 9 pm Jesica arrived at the Larsons and took me back to the house by Lake Bemidji. The plan was that on tomorrow I would give a radio interview and TV interview in Bemidji, give a talk at the library and sign books at the hospital. Things were looking good.
November 24, 2009
Sleeping In and a Day of Interviews
After all the early mornings I had been having, it was good to sleep in. At around 6 or 7 am I got up to check if there was a glorious sunrise over Lake Bemidji, but it was only cloudy and grey, with no sign of sun. That was a good excuse to go back to bed and doze until 9 am.
I got up, took a shower and then made phone calls to the hospices in Bagley, Fosston, Grand Forks, Devil’s Lake, Rugby and Minot. Things were looking good and I breathed a sigh of relief… I might actually make it to North Dakota.
At 11.30 Jesica came to pick me up. The radio interview was with a man called Todd. It went well, with Jesica putting her side, and talking about hospice locally, and me telling stories about the hospice patients and families that I had met who had been helped by hospice.
At the library there were a handful of people: a hospice nurse, a hospice volunteer, Jesica, two newspaper reporters, a photographer and a young television reporter called Ashley. I gave my presentation, telling stories from 21 years ago and from the journey in 2009. The newspaper reporters interviewed me and Ashley filmed the whole thing.
Once the newspaper reporters and photographer were done with me, Ashley had me walk up and down outside the library building. As I walked towards her she made a short piece, where she talked about me walking 6,000 miles for hospice. Every time she did it, she messed up her lines and I had to walk again towards her. Several people outside the library stopped to watch the filming. I joked with Ashley saying “I will have walked 6000 miles in downtown Bemidji soon.” Eventually Ashley got the words right and the film was in the can.
Jesica took me back to the hospice office. There I signed a batch of books. At about 4 pm I went over to the hospital gift shop to sign more books, but the place was virtually empty. I sold one book to the shop manager, a woman called Cyndi. The cashier at the shop worked part time as a jailer at the local jail. We talked about some of the experiences she had at the jail. Cyndi dropped me back at the hospice office at around 5pm and the hospice director, Susan Dobbelstein, took me for a drive through Burger King and then back to Jesica’s brother’s house by the lake. Neither of us knew the actual address for the house, which meant, in the dark, we had to drive up and down the road trying to remember which house it was. After about 30 minutes we found the place and all was well.
Inside I sat down to my cold burger and fries. Oh, the joys of stardom!
November 25, 2009
On the (Cold) Road Again
After my ‘lazy day’ of interviews and talking it was time to get back to the road. Jesica picked me up at about
By the roadside, as I left
Not far outside
“If you’re walking to North Dakota you’d better get a move on. Snow’s comin’.”
Heading Towards Solway in the Cold
In the cold, as I walked on, that was a cheery thought. Just before the small town of
As I headed off, with my gloves back on, it was several minutes before the blood flowed back into my hands. Outside Solway was a sign saying “population 89.” There were fewer people in Solway than back in Bena! I now had to try to find a place with less than 89 people. As I smiled at the prospect of that my phone vibrated and gave off music to let me know someone was calling. Quickly, I took off my gloves, unzipped my coat pocket and managed to answer the phone before it missed the call. On the other end of the line was a lady called
By 4 pm I was almost at Bagley. A telephone engineer van pulled up in front of me and a man called Butch Boe came out to meet me. Butch’s wife Kathy was a volunteer with Clearwater Hospice in Bagley and that night I would have a place to stay. Butch said he would call up the staff at Bagley Hospice to let them know I was on the way into town. I thanked Butch and said I’d seen him later.
Just after Butch drove off, I crossed a bridge over the Clearwater River. I heard a sound and saw movement in the still water beside the road. I looked over and saw a beaver pop its head out of the water. It saw me and ducked back under, in the blink of an eye. I smiled.
The ladies from the Clearwater Hospice were parked in two cars in a crossing point in the middle of the road, as I approached the sign for Bagley. In winter coats and gloves, they piled out, as I walked up to them. Amongst them were Bonnie Engen, the hospice director, Kathy Boe, the hospice volunteer, Marilyn Shamp, the hospice social worker and Darline, a local reporter. They decided it was too cold to walk with me into town, but that they would drop me back there by the Bagley sign the following day. Darline wanted to take a photo of the ladies with me by the Bagley sign. The sign itself was raised on a small concrete platform. Darline wanted me to climb up on the platform. Foolishly I stepped right up onto it, with my pack still on. As I climbed up there was twinge in my knee. It went away as I stood there for the photo and I didn’t think anything more about it.
Once the photo was taken the ladies drove me to the Clearwater Hospice office. We ate pumpkin cake with frosting and drank hot coffee. As I held the warm coffee cup I looked down at my hands and saw that they were swollen. The change from cold to hot and the returning blood had made them swell up. Over the next few days I would have to take more care with the cold. The swollen hands were a warning.
Darline took more photos and interviewed me. After an hour or so of questions the hospice people began to disappear. Butch and Kathy drove me to their house on a small farm south of Bagley. The first thing Butch did when we got in was to get me a brandy. After the cold day it was good to drink the brandy.
Listening to music and talking to the Boes, it was a wonderful evening after the cold, bare road from
