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would begin at the tribe’s headquarters that evening. Weall turned our canoes and headed across the bay to a beach where we could disembark.
    Buses took all the pullers to the tribal park where our camps had already been set up by our hard-working ground crews. My first order of business: a nap.
    That evening, the Cowichan volunteers had set up dinner for us in the tribe’s gym. Pullers and ground crews lined up and filed inside to get plates of delicious Native foods. I had never seen such a spread of unusual things to eat, so I had to ask the servers what some of it was.
    One large pot held something called stinging nettle and elk stew. Another held cooked greens made from fern tops. Moving down the line, there were clams, crabs, eels, and wild bird eggs.
    Smacking his lips, Jessy piled his plate high with large helpings of the stuff. So I did the brave thing and filled my plate as well. Over the teeth, past the gums, look out stomach, here it comes.
    The final food station was a sort of cobbler made of wild blackberries, huckleberries, and raspberries. That looked really good!
    Surprisingly, most of food tasted terrific. The dessert was the best I’d ever had. I was so hungry, I cleaned my plate.
    Afterward, Protocols began. A large central canopy had been set up at the edge of a mowed field. Several other canopies formed a large U shape around a central grassy field.
    I heard that it would require four days of Protocols to allow all 109 canoe families to share their stories, songs, and thanks.
    Jessy and I sat with our canoe family under a large canopy. Though I was in my wheelchair, I also had my folding crutch at hand.
    The same M.C. who had done all of the announcing at the landing was on the microphone. “Before we go any further with Protocols tonight, we have to do something else first.”
    A hush fell over the crowd.
    â€œEveryone here has heard about the kid in the wheelchair.”
    Uh-oh, what was this, I wondered.
    â€œWe all want to meet him and hear his story. So without any further delay, we ask Jason from the Raven Canoe Family to come up.”
    The applause was loud. Jessy and the rest of my canoe family urged me forward. Jessy started pushing me toward the announcer’s canopy. People continued to applaud.
    Halfway to the microphone, I put both my feet on the ground.
    â€œWhat’s going on, buddy?” Jessy asked.
    Without saying anything, I pulled out my crutch and unfolded it.
    â€œI want to try walking,” I said. Jessy came around to the front of the chair to help me up. I waved him off.
    Realizing what was going on, the crowd grew quiet.
    I planted the crutch firmly on the ground in front of me. With all my strength, I pulledmyself up to a standing position. The crowd went wild!
    I hobbled the rest of the way to the microphone—on my own. Jessy just watched and smiled.
    When I arrived at the microphone, the M.C. shook my hand and stepped away. I turned to face the audience. Again I was startled to see the size of the gathering.
    Since I wasn’t used to speaking in front a group of people, my first words were weak and shaky. I started again. My thoughts flashed back to spring break. It seemed so long ago.
    I told them about my car wreck and my recovery. And about my introduction to canoe carving, my introduction to canoe culture, and the warm welcome I’d received from the Raven Canoe Family. As I spoke it out loud, I realized how grateful I was to have experienced it all.
    I learned so much about myself during this Tribal Journey. It had really been a personal tribal journey. I had found a meaningful placein the mad, crazy rush of everyday life. And I’d found a new sense of courage.
    When I finished talking, a Salish song began somewhere in the crowd. People stood up from their seats and joined in the song. A couple of people stepped out into the open field with their hands raised. With palms up, elbows bent, they moved their arms to the beat of