From the road, page 2 of 2

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 would not proceed as scheduled, and no replacement public event had been confirmed that day.

She is changing course toward Tsawwassen. Exact stops, dates and public meeting details were still being confirmed that day; the new route followed on September 27.

This photo shows Jeana at the Peace Arch on September 23. Until the new route was ready, the website showed the walk only as far as Elgin, in Surrey.

She thought she might take the day off to rest after being in the rain the day before. But it was a good walking day, and rain was coming in the next couple of days, so she thought she had better take advantage of the sun while it lasted.

The McDonald’s down the street from the Motel 6, on her way to the route, generously provided her breakfast. She had time that morning to take care of quite a bit of Jada Bascom Foundation business, and it was good to catch up.

On the walk she ran into a lot of people who honked, waved from their cars, or stopped to talk to her after recognising her from the TV news. That made her happy, knowing that many people saw the news clip about the importance of joining the Canadian Blood Services registry. One woman, Pram, ran across the street to greet her and offered her a protein bar, which was really good, because she had no food in her pack. People kept honking as they went by on British Columbia Highway 10.

She found a place on an empty lot where she thought she could tuck her tent in for the night. At a Tim Hortons they fed her a delicious cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee for her dinner, and she sat catching up on her new route again and looking at how things might unfold. Carrying the pack was much better that day. That night she slept in her tent.

It was quite a day. She got up early to be ready for Eric to pick her up at 8:45 and go to the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, to help with a bone marrow drive. Her cold was improving every day, and she felt safe keeping a social distance from people, especially since the drive would be outside.

Eric came prepared with all the equipment and supplies the drive needed. They joined a team from UBC’s Centre for Blood Research for a combined blood donor sign-up and stem cell swabbing day.

The rain was really coming down in Vancouver, but no one complained. They just got to work setting up the tent and all the supplies. She put on her rain gear and joined everyone else.

She was happy to learn that two news organisations from the Vancouver area were there to cover the story: CTV Vancouver and CityNews Vancouver. The reporters, Jim and Joe respectively, were both thorough, professional and kind, and made the interviews comfortable and easy. Eric told her he had been trying for a long time to get the news media to come out and cover Canadian Blood Services’ stem cell enrolment, and he was very happy that the fifth Steps to Marrow walk drew the attention that brought the information to people in Vancouver and the surrounding areas.

Eric took her to a pharmacy and bought cold medicine, Band-Aids and the other supplies she needed to carry on with her walk. Then he bought her a marvellous masala paneer bowl for lunch. Now, he said, he was part of the vast web of supporters helping her along her way and saving lives.

Finally came the work of swabbing people to join the Canadian Blood Services Stem Cell Registry. Eric was a pro at inviting people to join and taking them through the process; the swabbing was Canadian Blood Services’ work, and Jeana was there to help and to talk with people. She would check the final enrolment count with Eric the next day. People she talked to who were not ready to join but wanted to learn more took pictures of the QR code around her neck, which takes them to jadabascomfoundation.org. There they can read about stem cell donation and be directed to their national registry, which in Canada is Canadian Blood Services.

It was a long day, made more challenging by the rain, with many heavy downpours. Because she was still not well, she talked to Eric about not going to Vancouver General Hospital. It is really important not to go when you are sick, even a little bit sick, because the patients are immune-suppressed, and you don’t want to make anyone very sick because you weren’t paying attention. So she decided to change her route.

Eric felt that they had done the work they needed to do together in Vancouver, particularly in getting the media to spread the word to so many people all over the area. She mentioned trying to reach the Tsawwassen First Nation community, near the ferry she would take, and he felt that because First Nations people have such low representation on the national registry in Canada, it would be a really wonderful opportunity to increase the diversity of the Canadian Blood Services registry.

She did not know what the outcome would be (there is always the opportunity of not knowing), but that was her direction. She would walk toward Tsawwassen the next day. It would take her two days, maybe two and a half, and then she wanted to spend an extra day there, so she was busy adjusting her schedule and her route. The Foundation covered her room that night, at the Motel 6 in Surrey.

After breakfast at the Best Western, her task was to find a ride out along the six miles she had walked the day before. It was actually a little more than six miles, because it was 9.8 kilometres.

It didn’t take her long to notice a car wash just two doors down. She spoke to people vacuuming out their cars after the wash to see whether she could get a ride, and a lovely gentleman who is an Uber driver offered her a lift. She offered to pay him, because it was his job. He declined, and on top of that gave her a $5 donation for the Jada Bascom Foundation. He dropped her a little over a mile short of her destination, but that was okay: she would use that mileage the day after next.

Walking her seven miles through Surrey, she realised she was in a large Sikh community. Her contact at Canadian Blood Services, Eric, told her that Sikhs are actually the largest donor group nationally for Canadian Blood Services, and that they make over 4,000 blood donations a year.

Her greetings to passers-by were returned with a small, subtle wave, prayer hands, a nod of the head or a gentle smile. Several older gentlemen who spoke just a little English took a picture of the QR code hanging around her neck, to learn more about why she is walking.

She was in touch with Eric on and off all day as they made arrangements for her to attend a stem cell donor drive in Vancouver the next day. It began to rain in the afternoon, as the weatherman had predicted. She stopped in at an A&W, where the supervisor on shift kindly brought her a cheeseburger without the meat and a small root beer.

As she ate and charged her phone, she began looking for somewhere to rest for the night. She relies on the generosity of others for her food and her housing, but for the last five nights she had relied on the Jada Bascom Foundation to provide a motel while she was healing from a cold or flu. She needs to keep her body healthy if she wants to walk every mile.

She began looking for a reasonably priced motel, and that’s when she realised she would have to walk over two miles back to King George Boulevard to find one. Eric was very helpful in locating the Bonanza Motel, in Surrey, and the Foundation covered her room there. She walked back over miles she had already walked to have a safe place to rest and carry on healing. In all she walked 3.6 extra miles that day, on top of the 6.8.

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. He told her that he had lost his wife to cancer, and that he was grieving and going through her things. 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, in the town of Quilcene, 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.

Larrabee State Park was just under three miles on, and as she entered the 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 invited her to share the information with their manager, who was out, so she took his details to follow up, and they 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.

And everyone she met along the way that day, she adds, copied the QR code.

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.

Fifteen miles out of Arlington, and the longest day of the walk so far. She managed it on a day pack again — the family who had taken her in the night before ran the heavy one up to meet her at the finish. Somewhere in the last stretch the road crossed out of Snohomish County and into Skagit.

The winery at the end of it, Bertelsen Winery, could not put her up, for insurance reasons, but it made a donation to the Foundation. So Becky came and collected her instead, and she and her daughter Jenny made up a bed indoors rather than start pitching a tent at that hour. Fifteen miles is a long way to walk before you are allowed to stop.

Jeana wanted something said about that family. She has spent this week asking strangers for food and for somewhere to sleep, and she thinks the asking is only half of it.

She started the morning at Marysville Fire Station 62, and told them about Roy Chelsen. He was the man at Engine 28, on East Second Street, who twenty-five years ago to the day found a way out along a brick wall and under a pedestrian bridge and got his company clear of the North Tower. In December 2005 he was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, and the search for his marrow donor became a public appeal on behalf of everyone else waiting. His story is on the Foundation’s Heroes page. The crew were moved by it, photographed her sign, and said they would pass on how to join.

On her way into Marysville the day before, and on her way out of it, she found a lot of wild blackberry bushes. The berries were ripe and delicious, so she picked them as she walked by.

Then 67th Avenue Northeast, which has next to no shoulder and a great deal of traffic. It made for slow going — a few steps, then off the road onto the lip above the gully, every time a car came. She walks facing the traffic and catches the drivers’ eyes, so she knows she has been seen.

Just after noon a white van slowed and stopped beside her. The woman driving wanted to tell her the Centennial Trail was close by, and led her round to a side street where they could talk away from the highway. Jeana explained the walk, and that she relies on the generosity of other people for her food and her bed. The woman apologised: there was no room in the house. Jeana asked whether there might be room in the garden for a tent. She smiled and said they live on a farm — so there was plenty. Her name is Becky.

So the last miles into Arlington were walked on the Centennial Trail with nothing but a day pack, because Becky had taken the heavy one home ahead of her. There was a shower at the end of it, and a hot dinner, and a tent pitched inside an outbuilding in case it rained in the night.

It is a house with three generations in it, and Becky’s daughter Jenny took to the thing Jeana has been carrying all week along with everything else — that a pack teaches you very quickly the difference between what you want and what you need, because you will carry what you need and the rest is only weight. Jenny passed it on to her own children the same evening. Jeana calls it a lovely family and says so twice.

The schedule had a bone marrow awareness day in Everett on it, but the work was already done — the city council, the police department, the fire department — and she did not want to outstay her welcome. On the way out of town she called at Everett Community College and at Providence Regional Medical Center and came away with contacts at both. Then she walked on towards Kruse Junction, in Marysville.

Just under eight miles, and a beautiful one. The road out of Everett crosses water again and again — Union Slough, Steamboat Slough, Ebey Slough — and every bridge had a walkway on it. She notes that she was on the right-hand side of the road for once. She usually walks facing the traffic.

Partway along she realised she was walking on Tulalip tribal land, and rang the Tribes. They gave her contact details so the Foundation can write to them about joining the registry, and about whether they would like to host a stem cell donor event.

Marysville had no rooms in it — a concert at one of the casinos had taken them all — and three hotels turned her down before she passed St. Mary’s Catholic Church. The woman at the desk sent her to Father Peter, who thought about it carefully and offered her the crying room at the back of the sanctuary. Then he did better than that, and arranged a room at the Quality Inn instead; a woman named Deb drove her over, and arranged to bring her back to the route in the morning.

She packed up the tent that morning and went looking for a lift back to the four miles she had already covered the day before. She found one at a car wash: a man named Tony, who drove her up the highway, had a good visit with her on the way, and photographed the QR code that hangs round her neck so that he could follow the walk and encourage others to join the registry.

It was sunny and hot, but her body was getting stronger, and the pack no longer felt as heavy as it had on the first couple of days. She was in Everett by two in the afternoon, early enough to feel good about it, and spent the rest of the day doing the thing the walk is for. At Everett Fire Station #1 a very kind firefighter took the information to share with the crew who were in for training; they might have found her a bed, but the training had filled the station.

On her way to City Hall she asked at a couple of hotels about a room; the Marriott Courtyard was willing to put her up, but it was full. At the courthouse a man who works with people without homes gave her something to eat, suggested places to try and did everything he could, then showed her where that evening’s city council meeting would be — and, of course, photographed the QR code so that he could follow the walk. In between she called at the police station and businesses downtown to talk about the registry, and kept looking for a bed, at a Presbyterian church and elsewhere downtown.

Then the city council. The board and Jay had helped her bring an old sample proclamation up to date, so she had something to hand across. When her turn came she said that her granddaughter was diagnosed with leukemia at a month old, that a stranger’s marrow saved her life, and that the council could make a difference by proclaiming a bone marrow awareness day. They were nodding before she finished.

Afterwards the woman who handles the proclamations said she had not understood quite how long a walk this was, and set about finding her a bed for the night. A police lieutenant and one of his officers sorted it out, with a voucher for a room at the Travelodge. She had a shower, washed her clothes by hand, slept well in a real bed, and in the morning someone put the clothes through a dryer for her.

She had slept very little the night before, so she let her body set the pace and rested as much as it needed. Along Highway 99 she found a beautiful patch of grass under a great big tree, leaned the pack against the trunk, and within minutes was asleep — for an hour, between two and three — and afterwards she felt able to walk again.

She had been looking all day for somewhere to sleep, and then she just happened on it: La Terraza, a taco truck in Lynnwood with a pavilion around it, let her put the tent up inside — tucked away, and safe enough that she could leave the big pack behind and walk two miles up the route and two miles back again without carrying it. That took four miles off the next day, which is the kind of arithmetic that matters six weeks out.

She has asked a great many strangers for a great many things this week, and she has settled into a way of doing it.

She left Fred Hutch on a bright Monday morning and the questions started almost straight away. People stopped her on the road to photograph the sign on the back of her pack, or the tag she wears round her neck with its QR codes — one for the Foundation, and one that leads to NMDP. A Russian woman on the road; folks from India and Asia and the Middle East; people from all over the world, wanting to know how to join the registry. To her that was the best of it, because the Foundation wants a more diverse registry.

The walking was harder than the map made it look. Out of Fred Hutch the hills were steep, and 20th Avenue took her down a footpath, down a long flight of wooden steps and along a trail through the trees before turning up a climb so steep she was afraid the pack would pull her over backwards. For the last ten yards she took it off, swung it ahead of her a few feet at a time, and followed it up.

Finding somewhere to sleep took the rest of the evening; it was Labor Day, which may not have helped. A pastor at a Baptist church would have helped and was not allowed to. She doubled back to a theatre that was still open, where they let her take the pack off and sit down, and rang the police, who were not able to help. Across the street a man named Minaj, working the counter at a 7-Eleven, bought her a coffee and a power bar — he could not simply give them to her, he had to ring them through — and then paid for a car to take her to a fire station. The man driving it was called Mohamed. The firefighters could not put her up, or let her pitch the tent in their locked yard, but they were all very kind, said they would share how to join the registry, and gave her a ride back to her route.

It was dark by then, and she does not like walking in the dark, but there were sidewalks and there were streetlights. She stopped at a place called Sunnie’s Express, where they let her charge her phone and rest her feet until closing, and then she carried on until she found somewhere safe to put the tent, at Bethesda Lutheran Church in Ridgecrest.

Jeana Moore’s granddaughter Jada was one month old when she was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia. The man who matched her, Torsten Huber, had joined a donor register at a drive in southern Germany about a year before Jada was born. The drive was for a local woman with leukemia; he was not her match, and he stayed on the list for whoever might need him next.

That is the whole argument of this walk. A registry cannot conjure up a donor on the day a child is diagnosed. The names have to already be on the list.