There are two women, one from Maine and one from Minneapolis, whom I run into every couple of years through extended family events. In years past, they had both had, at different times, occasion to visit the Ranch and take in an experience of western life. I am sure they saw and experienced many wonderful things. I imagine bear sightings, wild swimming, horseback riding, and hiking in Waterton Park.
But they have never mentioned those things.
Instead, both repeatedly recall a different, far simpler moment—one they still carry, decades later, with reverence and a degree of spirituality: watching a full-bodied and gilded moon gently float above the horizon.
Some of the most meaningful moments can’t be planned.
They arrive sideways. Unannounced. The aurora borealis fading in as the sun fades out, or catching a mama bear and her cubs tumbling through the saskatoon berries, or finding an antler shed. These are thrilling moments—ones where people scramble for their cameras and chatter about them for days. They feel like gifts when they happen. They are the moments that slip into stories that begin with “Remember when…” long after the details blur.
We all know, from living this life, that magic rarely follows a schedule. Wildlife doesn’t consult itineraries. Weather doesn’t care what you hoped for. And most cruel of all—on nights when aurora potential is high, the clouds slide in and pull the curtains on the show.
You can’t plan those moments. And trying can be frustrating and disappointing. These moments can only be hoped for, then relinquished to the whims of fate.
But to some magics…there is predictability.
There is a rhythm—steady, ancient, and wonderfully reliable. The moon rises in the east, a half hour later each day, every time a different shape. The elk return to their bugling grounds every fall. Meteor showers arc across the same slices of sky, year after year, during the same seasons. Wildflowers explode in a festive riot across mountain meadows once the topsoil warms to ten degrees.
You start to feel it if you pay attention long enough.
You notice that certain conversations happen more easily at certain times of year. That stillness arrives faster when the days are short. That creativity rushes forth when spring edges back in. That people linger longer by the fire when the air turns crisp.
These aren’t guarantees, of course. They’re tendencies. Invitations. Opportunities.
And this is where an experience quietly shifts from a nice time to an anchored memory.
We’ve watched gatherings unfold that were lovely—well-fed, well-run, genuinely enjoyed—and we’ve watched others take on a deeper texture. Not because of better planning or fuller schedules, but because the moment itself carried weight. The timing supported what wanted to happen.
A retreat held during elk bugling season doesn’t promise an encounter—but it’s impossible at any other time of year. A gathering timed to a full moon doesn’t force meaning—but it lends a quiet awe and gravitas to the evenings. A winter offsite doesn’t manufacture reflection—but it makes space for it.
At the Bee & Bear, we want to support you in matching intention with rhythm.
Our first annual Moments That Matter calendar grew out of noticing these patterns—not as rules, but as companions. A way of seeing the year not as a stretch of interchangeable weeks, but as a series of distinct moods and energies. Some expansive. Some inward. Some wild. Some hushed.
It was never about trying to choreograph magic.
It is about stacking the deck.
Choosing moments when the land, the sky, and the season are already leaning in your favour. When nature is doing some of the heavy lifting alongside us. When the conditions are right—and the rest can be left open.
Because even then, the moments that matter most will still surprise you.
A pair of calling cranes arcing low overhead while you practice yoga in the meadow.
A cocktail hour on the deck featuring the moonrise to the East paired with a striking sunset to the West.
You can’t perfectly plan those things. But you can choose windows that invite them to arrive. And when they do, these moments tend to stay—tucked safely into the memory vault, taken out now and then, and remembered with deep feeling.
If this nature-led approach resonates, we’d be happy to share our Moments That Matter calendar with you. It offers a thoughtful way to notice the rhythms that shape experience throughout the year. And if you’re curious about exploring a gathering together, we’d be glad to continue the conversation. Both are available at the links below.
