Mackenzie Life

It was the kind of morning that’s perfect for a drive on Zama Road. The light was low and golden, and a faint haze lifted off the asphalt as the sun came up. I saw movement ahead before I knew what I was looking at. Then they came into view—a herd of bison, slow and steady, completely owning the road. I eased to a stop. My first thought was, great, what do I do? The city version of me would’ve been tempted to tap the horn, but out here that’s a risky move. There’s no rushing animals like that, and around here, you learn quickly that you’re the visitor. They took their time. About eight and a half minutes in total, moving as a group and figuring out where to leave the road. At one point they formed a single file line right down the center. There were a couple of small tussles along the way, and one of them left what I can only describe as a full “road apple” right in the middle—more pumpkin than anything else. Two large cows hung back at the rear, making sure I kept my distance. And I did. Eventually, the herd found their way off the road and disappeared into the trees as calmly as they arrived. Moments like that make you think about the difference between life here and life in the city. In the city, we work hard to keep wildlife out. The interactions are rarely good—skunks, raccoons, rats, possums—always a bit of a battle. (And yes, raccoons scream. It’s unsettling if you’ve never heard it.) Out here, it feels different. You wait, you watch, and you give space. Less like a conflict, more like an understanding. Ah well. I was a little late. Big deal. Bison always have the right of way!

It was the kind of morning that’s perfect for a drive on Zama Road. The light was low and golden, and a faint haze lifted off the asphalt as the sun came up. I saw movement ahead before I knew what I was looking at. Then they came into view—a herd of bison, slow and steady, completely owning the road. I eased to a stop. My first thought was, great, what do I do? The city version of me would’ve been tempted to tap the horn, but out here that’s a risky move. There’s no rushing animals like that, and around here, you learn quickly that you’re the visitor. They took their time. About eight and a half minutes in total, moving as a group and figuring out where to leave the road. At one point they formed a single file line right down the center. There were a couple of small tussles along the way, and one of them left what I can only describe as a full “road apple” right in the middle—more pumpkin than anything else. Two large cows hung back at the rear, making sure I kept my distance. And I did. Eventually, the herd found their way off the road and disappeared into the trees as calmly as they arrived. Moments like that make you think about the difference between life here and life in the city. In the city, we work hard to keep wildlife out. The interactions are rarely good—skunks, raccoons, rats, possums—always a bit of a battle. (And yes, raccoons scream. It’s unsettling if you’ve never heard it.) Out here, it feels different. You wait, you watch, and you give space. Less like a conflict, more like an understanding. Ah well. I was a little late. Big deal. Bison always have the right of way!

It was the kind of morning that’s perfect for a drive on Zama Road. The light was low and golden, and a faint haze lifted off the asphalt as the sun came up. I saw movement ahead before I knew what I was looking at. Then they came into view—a herd of bison, slow and steady, completely owning the road. I eased to a stop. My first thought was, great, what do I do? The city version of me would’ve been tempted to tap the horn, but out here that’s a risky move. There’s no rushing animals like that, and around here, you learn quickly that you’re the visitor. They took their time. About eight and a half minutes in total, moving as a group and figuring out where to leave the road. At one point they formed a single file line right down the center. There were a couple of small tussles along the way, and one of them left what I can only describe as a full “road apple” right in the middle—more pumpkin than anything else. Two large cows hung back at the rear, making sure I kept my distance. And I did. Eventually, the herd found their way off the road and disappeared into the trees as calmly as they arrived. Moments like that make you think about the difference between life here and life in the city. In the city, we work hard to keep wildlife out. The interactions are rarely good—skunks, raccoons, rats, possums—always a bit of a battle. (And yes, raccoons scream. It’s unsettling if you’ve never heard it.) Out here, it feels different. You wait, you watch, and you give space. Less like a conflict, more like an understanding. Ah well. I was a little late. Big deal. Bison always have the right of way!