This is what happens when David Attenborough does my inner monologue.

Happy Canada Day!

                Life blossoms in the most unexpected of places, and the desert hills of the Madaba region of Jordan are no exception. Oleander decorates the wadi bed with a river of vivid pink blossoms. Tiny slate-grey desert larks gather tufts of dry goatgrass roots for their nests, while scarabs, matching the larks in colour, tumble their way over rocks in search of fresh dung to roll. Snakes, looking for a safe, cool nursery for their young, lay their eggs in the ruins of ancient buildings, scaring the pants off unsuspecting archaeology students. Very occasionally, a brave scorpion will venture into a guffa, only to be dispatched be a Bedouin with calm antipathy and a huge rock. It is by great good fortune that I have experienced the first three up close, and the last two only via the co-excavators to whom they occurred.

                Bedouin goats are another common sight at the tell. On most days, they can be seen milling about down below, grazing on juicy goatgrass and doing their part to help restore soil lost to wind erosion. Today, they came up to the site to visit us. They kept to a respectable distance, eyeing us with half-hearted curiosity as they ate. One of the Bedouin wandered over, made some gestures and odd noises at them, and they moved further away. We watched him do this the other day, when the goats were at the bottom of the hill. He gestured, called wordlessly, and the river of goats flowed back to the camp and into their pen. 

                He is the Goat Whisperer. We are in awe of him.