One decision can travel farther than any one walk.

Jeana is unwell, so the planned stop outside Vancouver General Hospital is canceled. With her sick, going ahead with a visit tied to an oncology ward would be a terrible choice—unsafe and inappropriate around medically vulnerable patients. Vancouver Coastal Health asks people who feel unwell not to visit a hospital or care site, and BC Cancer Vancouver asks visitors with cold or flu symptoms to stay home.

The earlier Vancouver Awareness Day will not proceed as scheduled, and no replacement public event has been confirmed.

She is changing course toward Tsawwassen. Exact stops, dates and public meeting details are still being confirmed; none should be assumed from the earlier itinerary.

This photo shows Jeana at the Peace Arch on September 23. The public route now holds at the last confirmed named stop, Elgin in Surrey, while the revised path is prepared.

This was the day she walked over the border into Canada. Two days of rest behind her, and the cold not quite gone, she decided she could manage a short walk up to Elgin, in South Surrey, British Columbia.

At the crossing they asked a great many questions, making sure she was really doing what she said she was doing: walking to encourage people to join a stem cell and bone marrow donor registry — in Canada, the Canadian Blood Services Stem Cell Registry. They looked at the Foundation’s website, and then they understood her intention and her purpose.

It was a short day, just under five miles with the pack, and she found a Best Western to rest in. Her muscles were still achy and she was not back to full strength, so she wanted to be gentle with her body.

After checking in she rested, and then took some of the next day off the front of it. Eleven miles were planned, so she walked three up the route and three back without the backpack, which would help her immensely in the morning.

She talked to several people along the way and explained that her purpose is to encourage people to become potential donors, and how they can join through Canadian Blood Services. The tag round her neck does the work: people photograph the QR code, and it takes them to a link on the Jada Bascom Foundation website to join the Canadian Blood Services Stem Cell Registry.

People have been generous. She walked into a pizza shop and asked whether she could sit at a table for a moment after using the restroom. The proprietor nodded, and then asked whether she would like a piece of pizza. She happily accepted. It was delicious.

A second day off her feet in Blaine, still shaking off the cold.

It was World Marrow Donor Day, the date listed for it this year: the day the world thanks the strangers who have joined a registry and the ones who have already donated. She spent it resting.

She had felt a cold coming on the night she walked into Blaine, so she stayed at the motel and rested, three tenths of a mile short of the Peace Arch.

No miles today. She has walked every one of the last fourteen days, most of them with the whole pack on her back, and she is 73.

A slow, peaceful morning of coffee, conversation and getting her laundry done. Then her host dropped her back on the route, and the short walk that was left into Blaine.

Right there were several folks who had come together to hold a yard sale, and she thought, well, she would walk over and introduce them to how to join the national registry. They were all very interested and welcoming. One family had two little daughters, and the older girl, after listening, brought her a pair of socks for the walk, a special kind of friendship bracelet that she had made, and a little gecko. Jeana felt very warmed by that sincere, heartfelt gift-giving.

The walk along the bay was beautiful, and pretty short. She added a little to it, wanting to stop by a Washington Federal bank, and then she realised it was Sunday.

Blaine is a beautiful little town. L & L Bakery gave her a slice of quiche for lunch and a cold brew coffee, which was lovely. Then she walked on to find somewhere for the night, and found a room at the Northwoods Motel, three tenths of a mile from the Peace Arch. She could feel a cold or flu coming on, so she went to bed to get the rest she needed.

The voucher from the Ferndale Police Department meant a proper rest at the Super 8, and she is very grateful for it. She had a bath to soak her muscles, unfurled the tent so every piece could dry, and packed the backpack carefully, in no hurry. She was ready to go at about ten.

She went to the gas station next to the motel to look for a ride back to where she had stopped on the route. As she crossed the store to use the restroom, one of the clerks, Nicholas, took a picture of the QR code on the back of her pack without her knowing. So when she asked whether she could have a bottle of water for the day, he already knew what she was doing and said yes straight away, and he wanted to give her a Subway sandwich as well. She loved knowing that people were photographing the QR code on her backpack to find out what she was doing.

Out at the pumps, the second person she asked for a ride said yes. Craig drove her back to the fire station, and they had a nice visit on the way.

Not far into the walk she found a bench in a park along Portal Way and ate the sandwich. She doesn’t speak to her family on the phone much; they text so that they know she is safe. But with her phone and her backup battery both charged, she had a good talk with her daughter, and that made the day extra special.

About halfway to Custer she stopped at a petrol station to use the restroom. She was a little dismayed to have lost one of her water bottles along the way, but the man behind the counter was busy and it didn’t feel like the right time to ask. So she went outside to change into her walking sandals. On a warm day it helps to get out of the boots for a mile or two: it cools her feet and helps prevent blisters. While she was sitting there, a young man, a literal angel, came over and handed her a bottle of water, and not just water but water with electrolytes in it. That is what her dear friend Sheikha Amina calls the divine surprise.

As she put her pack on, a woman came up and handed her ten dollars for the Jada Bascom Foundation, to help save lives. Then a man, his son and his sister stopped to see what she was doing and took a copy of the QR code she wears round her neck, which leads to the Foundation’s website and from there to joining NMDP. Simple and direct. That one small stop was full of the unexpected.

In Custer she went to Tony’s Tavern, and they charged her phone. She was sitting at the bar when a woman with blonde hair came in, and they both did a double take: it was the woman who had given her the ten dollars while she sat on the ground seeing to her feet. Her name is Susie, and she very generously offered to buy Jeana lunch.

Everyone at the bar tried to help her find somewhere for the tent. Someone suggested the school, empty for the weekend, and she walked over. There were secluded, comfortable spots, but without permission it felt like trespassing. She asked a man at a garage whether she could put her tent there, but it wasn’t his land, he said; he was only repairing cars there, so he couldn’t give permission. So she walked on. It went on like that, asking and accepting whatever answer came without judgment, and what she felt through all of it was the love and care people were extending to her, even when they couldn’t help. She couldn’t find a place to sleep, and still she felt surrounded. Wrapped in love.

Along the road she met another walker in a bright yellow vest just like hers, who told her there was a shopping centre about two miles on. Her last steps along the shoulder were hard to see, with the forest making it very dark, but the sky above was that beautiful twilight blue just before darkness falls, and she reached the shopping centre before she was walking in the dark.

She talked to a lot of people there, a man named Nicholas at an Arco station and a beautiful young woman at Sahara Pizza among them, but there was no good place to sleep. At about half past ten she laid her sleeping bag out beside a chain restaurant and slept for about an hour. When she woke she was not comfortable enough to sleep again, so she packed up and walked circuits of the outdoor mall, looking for anywhere she could simply close her eyes, back and forth to the gas station for the restroom, until very nearly two in the morning.

By then the gas station had closed its restroom too, and she said goodbye to Nicholas as he left. Just then a man pulled in, thinking the station was open all night, and they got talking. He could see she was stranded. What she needed, she thought, was a ride to Blaine: she had walked many miles of circuits around the mall and worked out what she had left, so that she could get back to the right starting point on the route in the morning. He offered her the ride, and they talked on the way, and he shared some of his own story with her. When he asked where she would stay, she explained that she relies on the generosity of others for food and a bed and had nothing arranged. He had a guest room, he said, and she could do her laundry in the morning. He asked that his name not be used.

She slept in his guest room, happy and warm, and relieved to be somewhere safe where her body could get the rest it needed after that long day.

What she really wants to say is this. While she walked those circuits of the shopping centre, she felt embraced by the love people had shared with her all day. She was not scared, or depressed, or discouraged. She walked with her heart open to whatever the night held. She puts that down to her years of training as a Buddhist and a peacemaker, and to the support and love she had been given that day, which kept her open to what was possible.

It was a glorious morning. Bill at the Fort Bellingham Market and Deli gave her a burrito and coffee for breakfast, and she never even got to the asking part: he heard her story and asked whether she needed something to eat. A very gentle, kind man, she says. Even small kindnesses from another can lift your spirits.

She had fourteen miles in front of her to Custer, but being a day ahead of schedule meant she could split them over two days, so Ferndale became the destination.

It was a short day, about 6.8 miles, and it still had its challenges. A mile and a half outside Ferndale she stopped to rest under a tree. As she got up and put the pack back on, a young woman pulled into the driveway beside her. “I was on my way to the laundry and I saw you walking, so I got you some water,” she said, and handed over a cold bottle. She had gone out of her way, turning back the way she had come. She wanted to give Jeana a second bottle, but Jeana can only carry two, so she took the empty away instead. A lovely gesture, and just the beginning of the friendliness of Ferndale. Jeana calls it the friendliest town.

In town she spotted the Chamber of Commerce building, which does duty for other things too, and walked over. The president of the Chamber happened to be getting ready for an event, and she stopped to listen: to Jeana’s story, to what the Foundation is doing, and to what she needed. She arranged for some people there to drive Jeana up to the United Church of Ferndale, which has five beds, so perhaps there would be one for her. It sits next to a fire station, the president added.

The church had already closed for the day. It opens from seven until noon so that unhoused people can do their laundry and have a shower, and she had missed it. She left a message, and the firefighters next door agreed to keep her pack. The people who had driven her up took her back to the Chamber of Commerce, and she walked the 0.7 miles back through town to the fire station.

On the way she was really very hungry, so she stopped at a Subway, and they kindly gave her a sandwich. She was so grateful for it.

Back at the fire station the crew let her charge all her electronics, which took a long time; a night in the tent had left her phone very low. While it charged she rang round for somewhere to sleep. She wanted a bed, somewhere she would not have to put up and take down the tent, which was still wet from the morning and needed laying out to dry, and she was overtired. The firefighters were very kind. They went on with their work and gave her several hours to charge up and keep looking.

Finally, at about six, she called the local police to ask whether they had a hotel voucher programme. An officer secured one, went above and beyond to arrange it, and came by the fire station to drive her to the Super 8 in Ferndale, three or three and a half miles from where she had stopped walking. She was so tired she plugged everything in and fell asleep straight away; she really needed the rest. Later she got up and laid the tent out, and it dried perfectly overnight. By morning it was packed and ready to go.

She wants to thank the Ferndale Police Department for the voucher, and to say this about Ferndale: you’ve got to visit. It is the friendliest town, and they helped her a great deal.

She made this her bone marrow awareness day in Bellingham. She had a shower and breakfast at the Lighthouse Mission and walked down into town, leaving her walking poles and her Swiss Army knife behind at the mission.

She called on City Council Member Hannah Stone, who was excited about the walk and about what the City of Bellingham can do to save the lives of patients who need a stem cell or bone marrow transplant. Hannah suggested she take the same request to the county offices, so she did. Riley at the county was interested in working with the city on a Bone Marrow Awareness Day, and in putting the information on the county website, which is his area. A newsletter, a website: wonderful ideas for sharing, she says. Text JADA to 61474 to join NMDP.

Then it was back up the hill to the Lighthouse Mission for the poles and the knife.

Someone had suggested the Bellingham Unitarian Fellowship for a bed. They were not able to help, but a gentleman there suggested the Way Station, which was on her list anyway because it helps people with their laundry. So she walked back down past downtown to the Way Station and did her washing.

She had a Zoom call booked with Cristina from NMDP, to talk about a bone marrow drive in Olympia at the end of the walk in October, so she found somewhere to sit down, take the call and charge her phone.

Then she walked back up the same hill and picked up the route towards Ferndale. At Menace Brewing a patron bought her a carbonated water, because she was so thirsty from the walking, and staying hydrated really matters. She charged the phone some more and rang round for somewhere to sleep, without any luck.

Further on she came to Goods Local Brews. The bartender, Bree, heard what she was doing and asked some of the patrons whether they knew anywhere she could pitch a tent. A woman called Sharon and her friend Blake were a great help, and arranged a spot for the tent on a friend’s property. It was off the route, and she expected to owe the miles back, but it turned out she had already walked a tenth of a mile past it. That made her happy.

As she and Blake talked, it came out that Blake lives on the Olympic Peninsula, right on a later stretch of the route. They swapped details, and Blake is looking forward to putting her up when she gets there.

She ended the day in her tent, ready for a good night’s rest.

She was awake around five, breaking down the camp above Samish Bay, and walking by half past seven. The road went on over Chuckanut Mountain.

Just under three miles short of Larrabee State Park she came on a group training in trail first aid. She explained what she was doing, and a good number of them took the QR code there and then to join the registry. What she noticed was the speed of it — no persuading, just I want to help. All of them young, all of them healthy, which is exactly who the registry needs.

The ranger at Larrabee is called Amber. Jeana describes her as Quan Yin manifested as a park ranger: an inherent quality of awareness and compassion. She read afterwards that the local Buddhist community holds a water ceremony at Larrabee every year.

She walked the whole way down the mountain to where California Street meets Chuckanut Drive, and a woman called Deanna gave her a lift into the middle of Fairhaven to look for food and a bed. A mile and a quarter of that stretch is owed, and she intends to walk it.

The Firehouse Arts and Events Center fed her a quiche and what she calls the best ever brown sugar caramel latte, with kindness and some real enthusiasm about joining NMDP thrown in. Patrons there pointed her towards the nearest fire station.

The firefighters and the captain at Bellingham Fire Station 2 were interested and wanted to know more, but a new policy stops them putting anyone up for the night. She is sorry about that one: a fire station reaches a lot of young, healthy potential donors at once, and crews tend to carry what they learn into future training and out to others in the field.

So the firemen paid for a cab to the Lighthouse Mission, and she spent the night there, in a large room of mattresses on the floor with the unhoused of Bellingham. Men along one side of a barrier made of folded tables, a small section for women, more men beyond. She felt safe. She was careful with the backpack, because she needs that gear to keep going.

What she took away was the quiet in it. Strong currents of silence, she says, unspoken pain in the middle of all the noise, and a great many people with nowhere to call home for a great many different reasons.

She asked for one thing to be passed on from the night, and it is not about her. Do not keep up the myth that people are on the street through their own fault. The gaps are ours: mental health services, work that disappears, foster children who age out with nowhere to go, and a hundred other routes to the same place. What she is really pointing at is perception, and what colours it.

She was up early and ready to walk between half past seven and eight. Next door to the Wingate was a fitness centre; they took her details for their manager, who was out, and then offered to run her up to the point on the route where she had stopped. The fourteen miles to Blanchard she had already split across two days, so there were seven and a tenth of them left.

Things do not always go the way you expect, as she puts it. The place she had hoped for in Blanchard, the Bow Sanctuary and Wellness Center, could not take her — the person who could have said yes was away for the day, and the receptionist was new and did not feel able to make that call about a stranger. She did point out a pullout next door where people park campers.

The receptionist’s name is Ellie, and she turned out to be on the NMDP registry already. Jeana asked whether her contact details were still current. Ellie did not think they were, so Jeana pointed her at nmdp.org to put it right. She was glad the two of them had crossed paths, and she wanted the same thing said to everybody reading this.

She found a spot for the tent, but it was early yet to be putting one up. A local man called John — a very kind person, she says — thought she would do better to press on. Ellie bought her protein snacks in case she could not reach the next town before she had to stop, and hard-boiled eggs, which turned out to be the next morning’s breakfast. She left Blanchard at about four.

What came after that she describes as walking into a world of mystery and magic. The road runs above three bays with islands out beyond them, and the forest on the inland side is dense and mossy and full of ferns. She stopped at Chuckanut Manor and they gave her a bowl of clam chowder and some bread, which did for her dinner — the best, she says, and worth the trip on its own. Then the road climbs. What struck her was how much her body has changed since that first night in Seattle: the same sort of hill, her knees fine, the whole of it enjoyable. It is busy and winding and the shoulder disappears in places, but she calls it a joy to walk.

At Samish Bay she spent a long time looking for anywhere flat enough for the tent. Resting on a guardrail, she spotted what looked like a level patch up in the forest across the road, and climbed to it — swinging the pack up ahead of her — only to find it was nothing of the kind. Three teenagers were passing as she started back down, and she called to them for help. The young man let her put her hands on his shoulders and they walked out together. Little angels, she calls them.

The place she settled on was a big pullout, an overlook really, with no facilities but a flat piece of grass. The ground was hard, and some Sikh men stopped to help her get the stakes in. She slept well.

It rained in the night while she slept on the lawn at St. Joseph’s, and the tent held. She was up at half past five, laying the whole kit out to dry before she rolled it away — which takes a while when everything you own has to go back into one bag. By the time she was ready, a woman called Leonora, who was staying in the rectory, was awake. She let Jeana use the bathroom and get herself straight for the day, made her coffee, and sat and talked with her.

Jeana has read about the divide between traditional and modern Catholics, and says she was not savvy enough to work out from the marquee at the front of the church which side of it she had landed on. Two Catholic parishes have taken her in on this walk now. Whatever the labels, both of them opened a door to a stranger.

She passed a Washington Federal on the way through the town and paid in money people have handed her for the Foundation along the route. A young man, homeless, was outside as she came out. They talked for a few minutes, and she shared out some of the protein bars other people have been pressing on her. A sweet encounter, she called it.

The rest of the day she spent serpentining across Mount Vernon — her word — talking to anyone who would listen about joining the national registry, and asking after somewhere to sleep. Denny’s fed her in the middle of the day and let her charge her phone. She has left a long list of people behind her to follow up: the health department, the hospital, City Hall. That part falls to the Foundation’s team now, and she is impatient to hear what comes of it.

At about two in the afternoon the Wingate by Wyndham gave her a room for the night, and offered to put a load of her washing through as well.

Her work in the town done, she went back out and took a bite out of the next leg, which is a fourteen-mile one. Two and a half miles up the road, dinner at Mi Mexico — very kind and very generous, she said — and then she turned round and walked the same two and a half miles back. She had a mile and a half of it left when she sent this.

It rained on her for the first time. Not heavily — but it had come down all night, and she walked the whole day in rain gear with a cover over the pack. She was especially glad of the Van Dams that morning: an early start, a breakfast with a great deal of protein in it, and Becky dropping her back on the route at half past nine. It was Becky who suggested the Skagit Valley Food Co-op as a place to find a bed in Mount Vernon.

Seven and seven-tenths of a mile took her to the Skagit Valley Food Co-op in Mount Vernon, with a few more still to go into the middle of town. Somewhere along the way she worked out that she is now closer to the Canadian border than she is to Seattle.

A couple at the co-op saw the pack and asked what she was doing. She told them about joining the donor registry, and about Jada, and that she relies on other people’s generosity for her food and her bed. They told her to go and get something to eat and they would pay for it. She had a hot meal out of it, which after a wet morning is not nothing.

The thing she wanted written down happened about halfway through the day. She was crossing an overpass, heading for the old Highway 99, when an old Chevy truck pulled up on the far side of the road. She walked over to it. The man behind the wheel wanted to know whether she was all right — that was the whole of it. There was a young black labrador on the seat beside him. She told him what she was doing and that she was fine, and he smiled and told her she would be going to heaven, and drove on.

Nobody at the co-op was able to put her up, and the places she rang had nothing either. She was walking towards a Methodist church she had found on a map when she passed St. Joseph Catholic Church in the middle of its evening mass. She waited for the end of it, and asked Father Carlos whether there was room for a tent. He said there was.