I love the cackle of migrating spring geese, the winnowing of snipe on a late summer evening, the clear honk of swans and calling of cranes in the fall, the twitter of chickadees and the hooting of owls in the winter. But the wilderness impinges indirectly, too. It means isolation, and that means we are rarely bothered by other people. We don't have close neighbors trying to break the sound barrier or fighting or stopping by at odd hours. There's nobody to get irritated when our loose dogs range away or if we have to sight in rifles or use a chain saw.
Some people get bushy when they live with the isolation of the wilderness.
I am content here but get culture shock in town. When signs of crowding arrive here, I find myself feeling a lot of stress. The threat of new roads and herds of snowmachiners and fly-in hunting parties scare me most, but I also get very nervous when I see other people in areas where we harvest our supplies. Being surrounded by state wilderness means we can ramble at will, whether we're taking a pleasure ride with horses or running sled dogs, or heading out in search of berries, game, firewood or other resources to harvest. We set a fish net a mile or two away, and range over an area 40 miles long and 10 to 20 miles wide to harvest the wild furs that help provide a small income.