Recently a girlfriend of one of our veterinarians accompanied him to the ranch. She is a city woman. She was here just a few minutes or so when she remarked, “It’s quiet here.” Her “quiet” is our “normal”. While I always appreciated this, I hadn’t thought of it that way before. I thought about my contrasting experiences visiting the city. My experience there is one of an assault to the senses; one to which it takes considerable time to acclimatize; one I look forward to escaping as soon as possible. Nearly five years ago, we moved from Ontario to BC to manage a large cattle ranch here. The draw, for us, was the challenge of managing a large herd in a starkly new environment, and rebuilding that herd. But I had been drawn to the mountains since childhood, alas. You cannot come here without a reverence for the majesty and the power and the breath-taking beauty of these mountains and how they dominate the landscape, defying human civilization. They have an unforgiving nature. Roads that attempt to defy that unyielding nature remind us every day of our place here, as humans. I like it that way. I like being reminded of who’s in charge, ultimately. It is Mother Nature. And if we choose to remain ignorant to that reality, we ultimately pay the consequences. American medical researcher and virologist Jonas Salk once said: “If all the insects were to disappear from the Earth, within fifty years all life on Earth would end. If all human beings disappeared from the Earth, within fifty years all forms of life would flourish.” This is a reminder, as were the words of our recent visitor. It IS quiet out here. It’s the way we like it. It’s the status quo. It is peaceful, tranquil, and energetically life-supporting. Make no mistake. We are still in touch with the world; just in a different way.
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