I woke up today, like most every other day. From my clifftop perch, the landscape quickly came into focus. I soaked in every ounce of my breathtaking vista. The mature trees in the distance are framed by fluffy cotton ball-like clouds. I can’t help but be captivated by the alluring turquoise hue of the quarry water below. I often wonder about the depth of that calcite laden lagoon. If I could swim, I would definitely enjoy a dip on this August day. I am relatively new when compared to the deposit I was now overlooking. It is hard to imagine that the shear walls that surround me are nearly a half of a billion years old. They have also, literally, moved halfway around the world in their lifetime — beginning as the bed of a tropical sea, within some 17 degrees of the equator. Who knew they would now be closer to the Arctic Circle than their Caribbean crib.
One by one the crew arrives to begin their day. The sawyer is always here first. He has the appearance of a curmudgeon. His eyes are narrowed by years of looking into the sun. He has a mustache that could be used to make a bristle broom 3 feet wide. Despite his facade, he has a heart of gold. For 38 years, he has been reporting to the quarry for duty. Always first, always ready for the day. He welcomes the crew, and today, like every other workday, he spends at least 15 minutes going over the safety practices that will govern the shift and their plan for the day. He wraps the meeting with a stretching session before assigning start up tasks and pre-shift inspections to his loyal followers. Everyone thinks that quarrying is a nasty business. In reality, the industry claims less lives than most other mainstream professions. You are in greater peril as an electrician, landscaper, taxi driver or professional fisher.