Slowly, Slowly, Suddenly

Travelling west along the Trans Canada from Calgary, just past Scott’s Hill Lake, where the highway begins to curve to the left, there is always a moment when my heart skips a beat and my breath catches in my throat at the vista that lay before me. The rolling foothills covered in a bright green carpet of grass highlighting the massive grey mountains which, from that particular vantage point, fill all my peripheral vision.
Sweeping and wondrous, vast and rugged, there is no where to escape the view. Some form a perfect upside down “V” but most are sheer, steep and ragged. Snow caps them even in July and even the clouds move down to greet them. Magnificent. Glorious. Breathtaking.

The highway moves along, descending to the valley floor. As you move closer the mountain ranges become clearer, more defined. The ridges that appeared as dark grey brush strokes now take on depth and contour. The swatches of green begin to take shape as the evergreen trees, ever green and ever growing, become defined and outlined by the sun. Further, further you travel and surprisingly the expansive vista begins to disappear as the mountains close in tight to the road. Now, that the definition of them has revealed itself, in its own beauty to be sure, the skies shrink as the walls of the mountains close you in, beside and before. The vast horizon of possibilities has been removed and, though your eyes seek, the landscape becomes confining.

I love the mountains. I remember my second visit when I was about 18 when I felt like a speck of sand in the ocean of life. I apologize that on my first visit I was only seven and was therefore unable to comprehend the magnificence of just where I was. When I moved out here from the dubiously named “Hamilton Mountain” I remember vowing to never let myself forget that feeling of smallness when faced with the awesome magnitude of these beloved Rocky Mountains. I imagine back to the time when the earths plates collided, giving rise to this majestic legacy. Was it sudden and violent, sending wildlife scampering to find solid ground? Or was it gradual, imperceptible even, taking place slowly over millennia? I’m sure that some scientists have a definitive answer to that question so intentionally don’t seek out the facts. Instead, I like to ponder on the two possibilities, many times using either or both as a metaphor for my life.

Someone told me once that life changes slowly, slowly then suddenly. I think that’s true. When I was preparing to move out West, to the great frontier, life felt like it almost came to a stop. It moved slowly, slowly and then suddenly we were here. Unpacking our things, arranging our Hamilton furniture in our Calgary house and forcing our very round life to fit into this very square hole; slowly, slowly, suddenly, our entire lives were changed.

It seemed then, like anything and everything was possible. It was then, in 2006, that the expansive vista seen from the Trans Canada became a metaphor for my life. Anything and everything WAS possible. My vision caught no boundaries because even the periphery was filled.

Since then, since the BIG MOVE four years ago it feels like my journey has been taking me further in to the mountain range. Slowly, slowly… Beautiful as it may be I long for the never ending, anything can happen vista that I began with. I want to retreat for a while from the walls that bound me in to the view with no borders, no limits, just to see which road I might choose to take me through the next valley.