through the wasteland

Tuesday; Day 6

          Rounded folks up early in the van. Forgot my helmet and Travis leant me his. Planted with Chapin for the first day; cut in totally wrong and have been made a comedic example of all day. Travis even drew a map on the whiteboard labelled ‘how not to cut in’. How embarrassing. 3250 today.

          Saw a wolf and a moose yesterday driving to T-Bay. The moose aren’t looking very healthy right now… each one I’ve seen look a bit patchy and dull-coloured. We’ve been finding a ton of sheddings as well – antlers are decorating outhouses, tents and trailers around camp recently. The wolf was huge – crossing the road I almost took it for a deer at first glance; it stood tall, its tail long and tipped with silver.

         

Wednesday, Day 7

          Two people asked me how my day was today. The first time I answered, “good, except I had to plant trees all day”. To the second I replied, “good! I got to plant trees all day!” I can recognize when I need a big attitude adjustment ;).

          I missed the pelicans landing tonight, but there were two eagles fighting over some sucker fish in the culvert. This morning we had an SSU favourite for breakfast and it felt a little like home. I was teasing Travis today as our piece held us for exactly two days, ‘It’s a good thing Chapin and I cut our own piece yesterday!’ 3325 today.

         

Thursday, Day 8

          Hump day! I began my morning with a little Thomas Merton, from his autobiography, The Seven-Story Mountain. This excerpt had me thinking on the topic for most of the day, and elicited interesting conversation between my Chapin and I:

For that was to be 1939, the year when the war that everyone was fearing finally began to teach us with its inexorable logic that the dread of war is not enough. If you don’t want to effect, do something to remove the causes. There is no use loving the cause and fearing the effect and being surprised when the effect inexorably follows the cause.

          The planting day: I drove the van out to a new block today, with Chapin as my wing man in the passenger side. Next week I drive the bus, and I’ll miss this little green van. I feel a bit like a soccer Mom as I drop all my ‘kids’ off at their pieces at the beginning of the day. Chapin and I are the highballer pair of the crew, taking second and third place for most trees planted yet on the contract. This really just means we seem to get thrown into all trickiest and deepest pieces. Last week, I could just reach the middle of my piece with a full bag up of 650 trees, and this week Chapin and I were bagging up 590 trees (bigger pods) and were just reaching the back of our piece as we planted our last tree, meaning we had a lovely long walk to our internal cache after we bagged out each time. Long day. Good day. Sunny day. 2710 day.

          After planting we had to wait for the bus to pick up the rest of the planters, so we waited by the one-lane bridge on the Cedar Narrows. My crewboss, Travis, decided we should jump off the bridge into the freezing May waters of a Northern Ontario lake. His faithful supporter to the end, I jumped first and he did a graceful backflip seconds after. Saved myself the bother of waiting in line for a shower! Score. Somethings – you just need to do before you think about them too much. We played pooh-sticks, me with my makeshift sweater-made-skirt, and he with borrowed clothes and boxers. We threw rocks at signs, danced, and the bus finally came to pick the planters up an hour or so later. Following a delicious rib diner, we had a safety meeting, I practiced my circle test for my bus licensing on Monday, washed all the dinner dishes in the cook shack, and was still able to have some downtime by the lake with cigars and friends before bed. The trees were so heavy today – we have new stock, and my bags weigh far more though I can fit less in them. My back and hips hurt, and my feet are painful if they touch anything at all.

          Loons call each other across the lake as I write this; it was a perfect evening tonight: pristine blue until the very end, deepening as the moon rose. The water so still that the undulating treeline and its matching reflection appeared like waves moving across a sound board. The stars were overhead and sprinkled across the lake, the crickets were orchestrating their evening excitement, and I might have imagined it, but I think I even saw the season’s first of the fireflies. The pelicans flew tonight - it’s always chancy whether or not you see them, often it’s simply a lucky upward glance. Look up more.

Day 9, Friday

          The first few days of this week were a complete anomaly: clear blue skies, cool throughout the day with a constant breeze, boasting warm nights. Most often, the north only knows extremes. I’ve now taken my sleeping bag out again for extra warmth. The last few nights have been bitter cold – the pipes froze last night and there was frost covering the sinks. The days are so hot… it’s almost impossible to be hydrated enough. I drank almost 2 gallons of water today, and was still hallucinating from the heat and partial dehydration. My partner was pretty disoriented with a bad headache, and I had to continually remind him which way our cache was at the end of our bag ups. He went to bed early tonight, feeling ill. We jumped off the bridge again today, but the water was far colder from the below-freezing nights. All day Chapin and I were discussing what we would do with our weekend. We have a barter on for tomorrow: if I can plant the entire day without complaining about scarification (when the land is prepared for planting by having the soil flipped over in lines) or anything else about how terrible the land is, he will buy all the cheese for our wine and cheese tomorrow night. Honestly, I think I’m going to lose… positivity in scarification is not my strong point. Beat Eric at 1 of 3 games of connect four, and snuggled with Sarah before heading to my tent. Exhausted – hardest 2405 I’ve ever planted.

Day 10, Saturday

          A beautiful overcast day – sweet respite from the glaring sun of the past two days – and though we planted the same number as yesterday (and stopped planting for two hours while we switched blocks), it felt like half as many trees. We got to town late after attempting to close a block and one of our buses breaking down… but the shower and the big double bed at the Super 8 in Fort Frances have never felt so good! I also one the bet – I went the entire day without cursing the slashed and scarified land… It put me in a much better mood for the whole day actually.

          Discovery of the week: a neat little spore/cone-like thing growing from low-lying bushes in the clear-cuts. When the wind catches its scent, it sends the loveliest perfume through the wasteland. 

In the May and June of Life.

Tuesday; Day 1. 

In the belly of spring. There is nowhere else where I am so intimate with the emergence of creation's new growth as I am planting trees in the May and June of life. I look forward to the evolutionary tadpole puddles, and the deep green spotted frog with the killer breaststroke - shooting down the furrows deeps with rain water; the blue speckled eggs and the pelicans soaring across the dusk-lit sky. 

When I was in the bike shop last, Grant said that seeing him angry would be like getting punched by a teddy bear. I saw a bear today, and I thought of Grant, who compared himself to such an affable creature of passivity. Big, lumbering, fluffy black bear, jumping and rolling down the hill to the woods. 

One lone pelican tonight. Perhaps he'll bring his friends back with him tomorrow.

Wednesday; Day 2.

How is the heart able to physically ache in pain, when nothing physical has touched it? The sickening, soul-gripping ache of a nauseous heart. Knowing that I’ll be planting trees again tomorrow makes me want to throw up in my mouth. My body aches, my piece is a mess, and my partner is far away in Southern Ontario: leaving me solo, lonely, and ever-so-miserable. 3025 trees in the ground.

I went swimming when we got back today: the dirt, dust, and pesticides had seeped through all my clothes and I stripped them off before jumping into our northern lake that was covered in ice only a week ago. I shivered through supper, played speed scrabble, and smoked a pipe around the camp fire. The pelicans came tonight – just as the sky was a perfect blue and the watery reflection vivid – a flock of graceful pelicans flew in to circle round to land in our lake. My favourite time of the day.

Thursday; Day 3.

My hands are cracked, scratched and sting; I cover them with vaseline for overnight restoration. I almost pity them, knowing full well that this is only the beginning.

Today was surprisingly amazing. It was slow going this morning, and then I invited a rookie in who had finished her piece. I would stop and explain my land management, and preferred the company over hitting higher numbers. One of the crew bosses then came into my piece (the section of ‘the block’ that they had sectioned off for me to plant) with trees and started partner-planting with me and… I remember why I liked planting trees. It was thrilling! To give chase and to be chased - to bounce off each other, communicate and manage land like we had been partners for ages. I miss that so much. The planting partner relationship is an interesting thing. He had taken pity on me and the loss of my partner, and I appreciated it with all of my heart. We finished off my piece in twenty minutes, leaving my poor rookie spinning in circles. 

The companionship was a barter – he would plant trees for me if I filled rookie holes with him. Done. I’m pretty sure I got the better end of the deal on that one… especially as the rookies seemed to like leaving big ‘ol creamy holes at the backs of their pieces.

The poplar buds are ready to burst, and green sprouts are appearing on the ground. We saw a black bear again today, as well as a deer, a (rather unhealthy looking) moose, and lots of dust-bathing rabbits on our way to and from the block this morning. 3025 again (with my sweet crew-boss’ help).

Friday; Day 4.

There comes a time in every spring contract, where the sheet comes out, the sleeping bag goes under for padding, and I’m warm enough with only my (rather luxurious) duvet at night. Usually it’s later on, but the mosquitos were out on Monday, the ticks yesterday, and I saw a few deer flies today. Summer comes sometimes too close on the heels of spring.

Today in my piece (which is almost half the size of the entire block we’re on right now… yay being a vet), I was composing planting-inspired haikus:

Up the nose and in the eyes

Salty sweat-stinging scratches on fire

My personal war against a field of brambles

I had so many  raspberry bushes in my piece today; my back hurts from bending down so low to creep through the overgrown poplars, but then the brambles scrape along your all exposed skin, and I still feel thorns in my hands as a I write this. It feels like poisonous prickles when sweat runs into the cuts and my skin is on fire.

A mere breeze

On a hot day

The ecstasy of relief.

Today I saw rabbits, a garter snake, the hugest bald eagle I’ve ever seen (large nest atop a towering white pine in the middle of my piece), and a black bear. 2400 trees today (not bad for starting at 10:30 and climbing through brambles all day).

Saturday; Day 5.

For all my misery, it went fast. One week into my fourth year at Haveman Brothers. I'm too exhausted to say much else. I felt like I was inside a cellphone commercial today; all the radios on the block had died and we were all yelling at each other over a few kilometers of hilly forest and clear cut. The problem with yelling conversations, are that they're usually only one way with the wind factor... it's interesting to attempt communication in the wild north with 40 or so people spread over a few kilometers and no radios - what would Hamilton be like if we were all yelling at each other at the top of our lungs over the concrete jungle of downtown? or the quaint streets of St. Stephen? 

I let my shovel hang in my grasp and my jaw drop a few times this morning as the mama eagle in my piece soared back and forth over her land. If she had ever decided that I wasn't worth keeping alive, I would have been flattened in seconds. Awesome and humbling. I've never been so envious before, far below yet hearing her wings beating clear and powerful in my ears. My evening was spent sipping red wine and tea in front of a hot campfire, listening to folk guitar and surrounded by friends.