In 2010, I was at a music festival near Nelson, British Columbia. I had wandered off to a nearby riverbed and was collecting rocks—just doing my thing. As the clouds started rolling in, I began heading back to my campsite in the Kootenay Mountains. On the way, I ran into this guy named Tyson. We started chatting and taking in the view together, and I handed him one of the rocks I had picked up.

We kept walking, and he ended up dropping the rock—not once, but three times. After the third time, he laughed and said, “Maybe this one wants to stay with you.” Right where the rock had landed, we noticed a watermelon that had been split open on the ground. We crouched down and saw it was covered in these little black ants, just chilling—totally still, sucking up the sweet juice like they were in some kind of trance.

In that moment, with the valley stretching out in front of us and the bass from the festival pulsing in the distance, we both just kind of looked at each other and smiled. And it hit me: all of us dancing and vibing at that festival… we were just like those ants, completely in tune with something sweet, something bigger than us.

We're all just "Ants on a Melon"!