The convoy to end mandates for truckers has become something so much larger. I don’t think I fully understood how just how much until I went out to see for myself. I greatly admired that they were willing to stand up for their beliefs, and I wanted to support their right to free speech, so I drove to Bowden.
On my way up the highway, I saw many vehicles gathering at the overpass. The more touching moments for me though, were the single trucks parked alone in approaches. In the dark, I wondered what drew them out so late.
The trucks were supposed to be arriving between 8:30 p.m. and 9. It wound up being 11:50 p.m.
For hours upon hours, a determined group stood along the highway stubbornly waiting. Flashing lights and large homemade banners were ever present. The widest possible assortment of people were there.
Throughout the evening, as truckers and even regular cars passed by us, they would honk. Supporting us, supporting the truckers. Only about one of every 10 cars passed by in silence.
As big trucks rolled in to get food or take a break, the drivers were met by cheers and honking horns.
One of them hastily swiped at a tear that seemed to sneak up on him and choked out a thank you. For over three hours these folks stood in the cold, dark night to show their solidarity. Even when it began to snow.
With midnight fast approaching, the trucks finally arrived. There weren’t as many big rigs as I thought there might be, but many had received drive-by love from the cheering crowd before their arrival.
The convoy pulled onto the side road that leads away from the truck stop. I circled around getting ready to head home. As they began to pull out, I waited until the end of the line, then merged out onto the highway.
What I didn’t realize is that there was a secondary line of vehicles in the passing lane, and a rig suddenly behind me. I had a choice to make. Pull over and wait, or hit my flashers and become an infinitesimal part of history. Of course, I joined in. The joy of it all was that I got to see it from their perspective.
Along the way, I could feel the emotions that I had been experiencing all night, deepening and growing. On the far side of the highway stood a family with a homemade billboard. A spotlight at the bottom illuminated the words “Thank you truckers!”
The rest of the farmland was dotted with trucks and cars all flashing their lights and honking their horns as we passed. A family stood at their gate, lit from behind by the lights of their pickup.
They held giant Canada and Alberta flags and were valiantly waving them from side to side in slow motion. By then, it was after midnight and I was astounded by what I saw ahead.
As we approached the Olds overpass, it was filled with people. Most of them had lit up the lights on their cellphones and they were emanating a soft firefly-like glow. There were cars all around on both sides, and throngs of people crowding the highway.
Flags were waving here, too. Then, as we got closer, there was a sudden burst of colour above the overpass as fireworks filled the sky. Bursts of glittering tears, rained down on us as we passed beneath.
I was so awestruck by the entire spectacle, that I completely missed my turnoff and was forced to continue on to Didsbury.
Along the quiet ride to the next exit I had a chance to reflect on the flood of emotions that were overwhelming me. This night, this convoy was indeed about so much more than whether or not to mandate vaccines for truckers.
It was the same thing that lured out those single vehicles sitting in their lonely laneways. That invited all of us to participate long past a sensible hour with a work day ahead. It was something that couldn’t be erased by legislation.
It couldn’t be stomped out by the boots of a military. It was an ember alive and on fire in the hearts of every one of those people standing along the highway on a cold dark Sunday night, and the truckers had fanned it. Their payload had become the hopes and dreams of a nation that was almost afraid to have any at all.
In the end, despite every effort made by the governments, the media, even our own families, it turns out that the one thing that we all long for is the same. Unity. Simple connection. The ability to empathize.
All we really want are those human moments denied us for the past two and a half years. We need to witness goodness again. To remember what it feels like to see and have compassion.
We are staving. Emotionally emaciated. We need to feed on the warmth of our fellow man.
How lucky for us that when you are lost in total darkness, it makes it so much easier to see even the smallest of lights.
Sherry Jones,
Olds
