The Cariboo Jade Shop’s Heidi Roy with the jade boulder stolen from outside the Cache Creek shop on Dec. 19, 2020. (Photo credit: Submitted)

The Cariboo Jade Shop’s Heidi Roy with the jade boulder stolen from outside the Cache Creek shop on Dec. 19, 2020. (Photo credit: Submitted)

The Editor’s Desk: There’s no place like home

A special guest editorial from the Cache Creek Jade Shop’s Jade Boulder

Hi there! I’m Jade, Jade Boulder; yes, the Jade Boulder from Cache Creek.

I know, “Jade Boulder” isn’t quite as catchy a moniker as “Bond, James Bond”, but we can’t all be suave superspies. I’m a good deal more down to earth than that — pun intended — which is why the events of last December left me not only stirred but downright shaken.

I mean there I was, minding my own business, listening to the occasional rig rumble through the junction when — wham! It was like something out of a heist film, and I can now say they’re a lot more enjoyable to watch than they are to be a part of.

At first I didn’t know what was happening. I’ve met a lot of people in my time, being something of a celebrity in Cache Creek, and you get the occasional person joking around with me while they get their picture taken, but this was no joke, that was soon pretty clear. When you get someone chipping away at your base, you know they mean business.

Next thing I knew I was on the back of a trailer, heading down the highway at a speed I suspect was above the posted limit. After that things are kind of a blur — when you’re lying there helpless, staring up at the night sky, it all tends to look a bit samey — until I was unceremoniously dumped in some bushes and my abductors took off.

That’s when I really started to worry. I had no idea where I was, no way of calling for help, and I couldn’t exactly walk to the nearest road and flag down a car. So I just sat there waiting, hoping for the best, and wishing I was back outside the Jade Shop, where I’ve had a pretty good life.

Some people might laugh at that, but I’m serious. I come from near Dease Lake, which is a great place if you love the outdoors, but doesn’t have a lot of opportunity for an ambitious boulder. Cache Creek is a lot more my speed: not too big, full of friendly people, always lots to see. And it’s warm there! Believe me, when you’ve spent eons underground near Dease Lake, you appreciate a nice southern exposure. I don’t tan very well, but I always got lots of Vitamin D, and I’m sure it’s added centuries to my life.

At least, I hoped it had, because things were looking pretty grim. When you’re in a situation like that your mind can go to some dark places, so I thought instead about all the people I’d met since Ben Roy brought me to what I think of as home in 1985. I wonder how many pictures of me there are around the world, posing beside happy people.

But those thoughts could only keep me going for so long, and you can’t imagine how happy I was when I heard voices and recognized Heidi Roy’s among them. As soon as she saw me she gave me a big hug and I could see she was crying a bit. I was too, if truth be told, but on the inside. I don’t want people thinking I’ve gone soft.

I saw a couple of pictures someone took of me just after I was found. The one with Heidi hugging me is nice; she looks great, although it’s not exactly my best side. The other one, though, with snow and bushes all around and me covered in mud — I wish I’d had a chance to get a bit of a buff and polish, or at least have someone rub a damp cloth over me. Oh well.

When I got back, and had a chance to catch up on things, I was really touched to find out how many people loved me, really loved me. It was quite the Sally Field moment, let me tell you, because I’d had no idea folks felt that way about me. Kind of humbling for a boulder from Dease Lake.

A lot of people have been asking me “So, what’s next?” and I have to say that I don’t know. I’m back where I belong, that’s the main thing. Something I do know: I have no plans of going anywhere anytime soon. This boulder’s travelling days are over. As Dorothy says, there’s no place like home.



editorial@accjournal.ca

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