There is a certain intangible in nature, that man cannot legislate, polificate, or define. This ‘something,’ or ‘nothing,’ is that which turns a blasé landscape, if one does indeed exist, into an explosion of life and colour.
And we, as observers, need to do nothing to watch the magical transformation. This undefinable characteristic is nothing we can predict, yet when it happens, it is the only thing we need cling to in our efforts to find meaning or pleasure.
Yes, there was a place like this, in Red Deer County.
People would drive by the heavenly range road, 282, near HolmesHus Antiques, and slow down, in appreciation of the tree lined road straight out of a Robert Frost poem. On either side, the centurion sentinels stood guard over a well kept secret.
This is a special place …
Yet, for all its solemnity and solitude, before there were roads, when remnants of the magnificent bison were still visible, this cathedral of trees was the newborn life in what was a larger forest, a thriving biosphere.
Baltimore Orioles, Robins and Ruffled Grouse called this area home. Moose, Deer, and smaller animals called this biosphere theirs.
The aerial denizens would swoop and fly through the air and give life through their very existence. Their sounds resonated throughout the yards and field. Springtime is when birds claim trees and create nests for their coming young. This year, the robins claimed their territory. The Ruffled grouse, so rarely seen these days, were heard and seen.
This little piece of heaven, this road way, was more than a flat top for transportation of equipment and local inhabitants.
However, despite the best efforts of Manyluck, Range Road 282s peaceful status is no more.
Century old trees are now mulch, and the birds and animals which carried the ‘something’ that transformed this drive into a near mystical experience, are now homeless. The special neighbourhood has been irrevocably destroyed.
Policy has trumped people.
And it is a sad day.