The longer that I live in an urban environment, the more disconnected from nature I feel. I’m grateful that New Westminster has so many green spaces and old trees. As I slowly continue my process of writing and editing the story of my quest, I see where my determination to find the missing gold bars was also about staying connected to the parts of nature mostly unadulterated by man’s hand and without prying neighbours. While the cottage at Silvercreek came close to perfection, neighbours could ruin the atmosphere in an instant, like the time I caught one moron tossing his downed branches on our side of the fence.
One thousand perfect pictures online or in a book can never compare with the spirituality found in untouched areas of the planet. I felt that perfection on the short-grass prairie of Alberta and in the remote forest of the southern Okanagan. I wonder if there is still a beach somewhere that doesn’t have plastic garbage or debris tangled along the shore. As long as we view our planet as a dumping ground, our time here is limited.
Of course I’m far more tolerant of Mathew Roderick who buried his hardware and gold bullion safe from prying eyes for well over a century. I guess it’s true that one man’s garbage is another man’s treasure.