On May 17 th of this year, I walked the short walk from a parking lot to the memorial atop a small ridge, overlooking a small town in France. There were sheep everywhere. I did not see a shepherd. One little lamb had escaped a fence and become separated from the flock; she desperately ran back and forth along the ridge looking, searching, hoping for someway to break through the fence before it is too late; hoping to join her flock, looking for someway to be reunited; looking for safety she bleated, she cried as she looked out terrified over the ridge. This ridge on which she was lost and bleating has a name. It is Vimmy Ridge. As I stood atop Vimmy Ridge by the memorial to our Canadian soldiers, the symbolism of this bleating lamb running back and forth, looking for someway through the fence was not lost on me. April 9 th to April 12 th , 1917, a brutal battle was fought as our Canadian soldiers desperately looked for a way to break through the fences and trenches on this very sa