🦉 OWL EXCLUSIVE Geraldine’s 36-Hour Campout Brings Street Wisdom to City Hall

When the first snowflakes of the season fell over City Hall last night, most people went inside. Geraldine didn’t. She marched downtown, to a familiar metal grill, the warm exhaust vent on the sidewalk in front of the big glass lantern represents the municipality.

Geraldine knows what people are going through.

Wrapped in a blanket, sitting under the glow of a streetlamp, she was back again for her annual 36-hour Homeless Challenge — a tradition she started last year to raise awareness about life on the street. She and her crew, the self-named Nitsitapi Kookums, call it a “party,” not a “protest.” And maybe that’s the first thing people need to understand — these women aren’t angry; they’re awake.

“We’re here to remind everyone that homelessness isn’t just a word, it’s a forecast,” Geraldine says, smiling through her breath in the cold air. “And winter’s always closer than people think.”

The Kookums, an ad hoc network of grandmothers, aunties, and everyday helpers, feed people every single day in Riverside Park. They don’t have a grant. They don’t have a corporate sponsor. What they do have is a sense of duty, spirit, and an unshakeable sense of humour about living in a city where bureaucracy moves slower than frost on a windowpane.

The Kookums Know
They know what it feels like to be invisible until election season.
They know who gets forgotten when City Hall locks its doors at 4:30.
They know that compassion doesn’t need a permit.

When I visited the camp last night, there was a man named Brian with his beautiful dog, Sasha. He was talking about what he’d heard during the election — candidates saying things like “some people are un-housable.” He shook his head.

Brian and Sasha - “UNHOUSABLE” - because Sasha is a dog.

“That’s the kind of thinking that tells on itself,” Brian said. “People don’t want to give up their dogs — that doesn’t make them un-housable. It means they have loyalty. If you’ve ever had a dog sleep beside you in minus ten, you’d understand that’s family, not a luxury.”

The campfire cracked. Sasha — part shepherd, part street philosopher — barked at the drifting snow. The irony wasn’t lost on me, or Brian.

Howl away little doggo; it’s the least we can do!

The Minister, the Mustard Seed, and the Missing Shelter

Word around the camp is that Jason Nixon, Alberta’s Minister of Housing, was in Medicine Hat last night. Geraldine invited him down to visit the Kookums, to talk, to listen, maybe even share a cup of tea from their makeshift kitchen. Whether he showed up or not, the invitation stands.

The irony burns hotter than the barely-warm air from the vent we sit on — The Mustard Seed, a nonprofit run by Nixon’s own family, has tried and failed to open an overnight shelter here three times. Each time, a different neighbourhood said “not in my backyard.”

Now the only place left isn’t a backyard — it’s the front steps of City Hall.

“Every time they move the proposed site further out, it’s like they’re moving the people out too,” one woman told me, cheeseburger in the 4th layer exterior cargo pants, bread bags between socks. “You can’t help people if they have to take a bus to Redcliff — and most of them don’t travel like that.”

Cold Truths and Warm Promises

Last year, the city made a quiet announcement: City Hall and a few public buildings would double as “warm-up stations.” But this year? Silence.

No announcement. No updates. Just the same frost creeping closer each night.

“City Hall can warm people up with more than radiators,” Geraldine says. “It can warm up the conversation. But that means someone’s gotta open the door.”

These two have been shot at for feeding the homeless, a few snowflakes can’t stop them.

As of this morning, the first snow still clung to the grass. The city’s cold weather policy still sat untouched. And the Kookums still laughed, cooked, and handed out donuts. I also brought an Apple pie; thank you Brendan “the socialist baker” at McBride’s Bakery - he’s kind……… kinda weird; like me! Note: his matriarch mum is known as Donut Lady, and also helps our community with her ad-hoc grandma safety checks disguised as donut deliveries.

2028 Forecast: 100 Kookums Strong

This year, it’s a dozen people camping out in solidarity. But word is spreading. The group is growing.

“If things don’t change,” Geraldine says, “there’ll be a hundred of us out here by 2028 — all partying on the steps.”

Maybe that’s what Medicine Hat needs — not a protest, but a party with purpose.

Because the Kookums know that when the music stops and the snow starts to fall, it’s not about politics anymore. It’s about who you share your blanket with.