Happy Thanksgiving. It’s a day for traditions, every family has them – turkey, dressing, pumpkin pie, going to church, watching football, visiting, playing cards in the back room, perhaps. How about a walk? I know any number of people who go out to stretch their legs and get a lungful of bracing air, either to work up an appetite or to walk off the big feed.
In the last week, I’ve been thinking about what it would be like if I took a Thanksgiving Day walk to Canada. The Canadian border is about 40 miles from my house, over mixed terrain. If I’m going to make it in one day, I’ll have to start early and leave before I’ve had my portion of turkey. It might be mild or cold, it might be raining or snowing.
I might take some provisions along, I might dress appropriately, but I’m not going to think all that through in advance. I think I’ll just get dressed and throw a parcel together at the last minute. And cash. I’ll grab as much cash as I can find lying around the house, stuff it in my pockets and take it with me. You see, I’m not sure how long I’m going to stay in Canada and I’m not sure how I’ll get back.
I don’t think I’ll get lonely on my walk, because what if half the people in Burlington also decide to walk Canada on Thanksgiving Day? That would make 20,000 people or so, walking up the road. There would be so many of us, we would probably get right up on the interstate and cars would have a hard time getting by.
It would be quite an event to have 20,000 people walking to Canada. I’d probably wind up carrying a child who became tired, or letting a senior citizen lean on my shoulder. That would slow me down; we might not make it in one day.
I might start to worry that I had not brought enough food or water. Everyone else making the trek threw their things together at the last minute, too. Maybe some didn’t bring enough food. Maybe some are weighed down with scrapbooks and heirlooms.
What would it be like if I woke up on Thanksgiving morning to find bombs falling on Burlington, artillery shells landing in my neighborhood? Houses might be burning, people screaming. In that situation, I might decide in 10 minutes to throw together a parcel, grab some cash and a jacket and start walking to Canada.
In that situation, it might take two or three days to reach the border. By the time I got there, I’d probably be exhausted, dehydrated, dizzy from exertion and lack of food. By now, the children and old people might be getting sick.
Once we reach the border, it might be two or three days before the Canadian army lets us cross. When we finally do cross the border, we might wonder why we came. A few snowbound army tents are filled to overflowing. Food, water and medicine are in short supply. Influenza and perhaps dysentery are raging through the refugee camp.
Well, none of that is happening, or is likely to happen. At least not to me, at least not this weekend. But it is happening in Chechnya. The distance from Burlington to the Canadian border is about the same as the distance from Grozny to Ingushetia. The terrain is similar; the climate, if anything, is milder here than there.
I read about the tragedy of Chechnya in the paper – one tragedy of many – but it can seem so abstract, so I try to actively engage my imagination – what if it were happening to me? I live in a land of prosperity and plenty, of safety and security. I want to be grateful for that, but it’s easy to slip into being smug. I did nothing to earn all this; I’m only an American by an accident of birth. If I can ask for one thing more, after all I have been given, it would have to be humility.
Walking to Canada
Happy Thanksgiving. It’s a day for traditions, every family has them – turkey, dressing, pumpkin pie, going to church, watching football, visiting, playing cards in the back room, perhaps. How about a walk? I know any number of people who go out to stretch their legs and get a lungful of bracing air, either to work up an appetite or to walk off the big feed.
In the last week, I’ve been thinking about what it would be like if I took a Thanksgiving Day walk to Canada. The Canadian border is about 40 miles from my house, over mixed terrain. If I’m going to make it in one day, I’ll have to start early and leave before I’ve had my portion of turkey. It might be mild or cold, it might be raining or snowing.
I might take some provisions along, I might dress appropriately, but I’m not going to think all that through in advance. I think I’ll just get dressed and throw a parcel together at the last minute. And cash. I’ll grab as much cash as I can find lying around the house, stuff it in my pockets and take it with me. You see, I’m not sure how long I’m going to stay in Canada and I’m not sure how I’ll get back.
I don’t think I’ll get lonely on my walk, because what if half the people in Burlington also decide to walk Canada on Thanksgiving Day? That would make 20,000 people or so, walking up the road. There would be so many of us, we would probably get right up on the interstate and cars would have a hard time getting by.
It would be quite an event to have 20,000 people walking to Canada. I’d probably wind up carrying a child who became tired, or letting a senior citizen lean on my shoulder. That would slow me down; we might not make it in one day.
I might start to worry that I had not brought enough food or water. Everyone else making the trek threw their things together at the last minute, too. Maybe some didn’t bring enough food. Maybe some are weighed down with scrapbooks and heirlooms.
What would it be like if I woke up on Thanksgiving morning to find bombs falling on Burlington, artillery shells landing in my neighborhood? Houses might be burning, people screaming. In that situation, I might decide in 10 minutes to throw together a parcel, grab some cash and a jacket and start walking to Canada.
In that situation, it might take two or three days to reach the border. By the time I got there, I’d probably be exhausted, dehydrated, dizzy from exertion and lack of food. By now, the children and old people might be getting sick.
Once we reach the border, it might be two or three days before the Canadian army lets us cross. When we finally do cross the border, we might wonder why we came. A few snowbound army tents are filled to overflowing. Food, water and medicine are in short supply. Influenza and perhaps dysentery are raging through the refugee camp.
Well, none of that is happening, or is likely to happen. At least not to me, at least not this weekend. But it is happening in Chechnya. The distance from Burlington to the Canadian border is about the same as the distance from Grozny to Ingushetia. The terrain is similar; the climate, if anything, is milder here than there.
I read about the tragedy of Chechnya in the paper – one tragedy of many – but it can seem so abstract, so I try to actively engage my imagination – what if it were happening to me? I live in a land of prosperity and plenty, of safety and security. I want to be grateful for that, but it’s easy to slip into being smug. I did nothing to earn all this; I’m only an American by an accident of birth. If I can ask for one thing more, after all I have been given, it would have to be humility.