The Lovers

Really? I was missing something.

Thursday, a sad prelude to Friday.

Listening - The Way I Am- Ingrid Michealson

Wearing - Brown sweater, blue jeans, green and silver ring, no shoes

Watching - The crane outside my office window, building the million dollar condos across from my slums.

Eating - Gluten free ginger snaps and water

Thinking - Whatever happened to mixtapes?

You know, I don't think my glass is half empty. I think my glass just got too big and now I might as well do a burlesque routine in it rather than make a to do list. WHich is what my mother always suggests at this point, when I have so much to do that I just lay in bed and do nothing at all. Make a list, not a burlesque routine. Which generally makes it worse (not making a list). Go figure. So I'm hanging out in my office going from Facebook to Facehunter to Coolhunter to blogger.. *laughing* Which makes me feel efficient. In a paralelle universe, I'm probably doing a whole lot actually.

The upside? I've now got 2 A+ from my hottie McHotProff. I'm dyin' here. He's also teaching my philosophy of Love and Sex class next semester, where he is seriously considering entering the Marquis de Sade into the curicculem. I will have to withdraw. If I have to listen to him reading that I might actually just explode into a supernova of embarrassment and giggles. I could barely contain myself when he repeated the phrase "erection of the state" in my poli phil class. I wasn't the only one. But de Sade? I'm toast. Buttered toast.

I've got an art class tonight, going out with Halls and the ladies tomorrow night for V's birthday, Saturday Jared's gone by 9, I have a mental health inservice to attend on Sunday, and Monday is a midterm. *laugh*

Fuck cups. I need a beer stein.

Lady Machiavelli Isn't Very Nice Either

It seems like I have a million and one things to say until I sit down at this god-forsaken piece of crap. Or that I have been things to do. Which I don't. I usually just fall asleep and am mean to Jared when he gets home. I'm a wench this past week. I'm pretty sure I called my mom so I had somebody to make me feel better and then realised it was probably just so I had somebody to be mean to and complain at. Not even to. I'm a wretch. And I need to fall down the stairs or something. *sigh*

Sunday.

ha.

Facebook for the Elite

A small world? Yeah. And a freakin' expensive small world at that.

What I Saw Falling Asleep Last Night

What Jared Sees When He Opens His Eyes

Drain(ing) Days

Listening: Jared practicing the drums

Wearing: Jeans, my communist party t-shirt, grey cardigan

Eating: Jared took me on a date to Brits for a deep fried Mars bar

Drinking: Strongbow

Watching: Meercat Manor

Oh tragedy. Jared and I bought a goldfish the other day, named him Herbert, and had to flush the poor dead thing 4 hours later. That's pretty much been a theme the past few days now that my mom went home! It was so nice having her here.. To have tea, to sit, to chat, to just not have to worry. I miss her, and forgot how wonderful she really was. Not truly forgot, but forgot in the way that only proximity can remind you.

Went to yoga last night swearing that I was going to keep up my excersising momentum and start on the "Quest to have Andrea fit in last semester's jeans"... and failed miserably today. Jared got up at 7, I got up at 7:15, went back to bed at 7:17 and didn't go to the gym. Instead I worked on menial tasks until my class at 2, which I enjoyed thouroughly then went to the Massage Students program and talked my way into 3 massages. Made Jared dinner, went on a date.. and still haven't gone to the gym. AND ate a deep fried mars bar. And have a meeting at 10. Shit.

Oh, and I got my period. Fuck it. Bring on the Mars bars.

Avarice-alicious

So we've had this enormous "royalty review" process happening here in Alberta. Apparently, somebody thinks that we're not making quite as much money as we should be in the oil field, and we're not charging enough, (36% too little apparently!) for Exxon and friends to be extracting our oil.

Now, I'm sorry, but who exactly is not making enough money here? Fort Mac has the richest homeless people in the world (they can't expand half as fast as they need to, so guys are making $300,000 a year and living in tents) a girl like me can go up there and make good money for god's sake. And yet, apparently our poor, poor province (who sent out a 400$ check to each of it's tax paying citizens a couple years back because we just had TOO much money in the provincial coffers) has realised that it could be making billions more.

The problem? The oil companies have said, sure, you're midline. We don't pay too much, we don't pay too little, to get your oil. But if you put those royalties up, you can sure as hell believe that we'll find somewhere else to get our tea. So shocked were they, that they called us.. *gasp* socialists! (Um.. haven't we been calling ourselves that for years?) I just think it's unbelievable.

Actually, scratch that. It's just SO believable. That's whats shocking. I hope they leave in a rush and our economy plummets. Maybe I'll get that one bedroom loft that I want for less than $455, 000 - and it'll be cheap to heat too.

You Should Go.

The Truth

"...only the one who draws the knife gets Isaac." - Kierkegaard

There Were Hillbillies Behind Us.

Farmers Market in the Retarded Convertible

This Is What Happens

When you take my brother and I to Costco.

Philosophy is hard and painful.

"Not only in the commercial world but in the realm of ideas, our age is holding a veritable clearance sale." - Kierkegaard

"Thow in morals, and I'd say we're having a fire sale." - Lorkovic, my phil proff.

My room in the evening light.

It makes me happy to have two windows.

This is so ghetto.

Nice tape job. It's the only way to label these god-forsaken cd's. Sheesh.

Ewwww.

For somebody who wants to be skinny, I just downed a Pilsner and ate a Pizza pop really fast. I should never be left alone in a boys room for long. And I want to start a band called Les Sads.

Sunday Eve

Wearing - brown sweater, jeans.. another pair of Jared's socks.

Reading - The new Nylon mag

Listening "MoneyMaker" - Rilo Kiley

Eating - blonde oreos and water

I really really should be reading, getting ahead for my phil classes. Instead I'm stuck in la la land reading fashion mags that make me feel fat and eating shitty food that makes me ACTUALLY fat. Jared's out with Kye doing God knows what at either a bar or a shisha place. My computer is in the shop, I have no tv, and I can't swallow anymore public radio, so I'm in Jared's room using his computer and eating food that only boys would eat - ie. blonde oreos. And trying to figure out how I'm simultaneously going to a) afford and b) squeeze my fat ass into Diesel's new fall stuff. Ah Monday. Back to the gym day. Damn.

Rilo Kiley, I heart you.

This makes me shake my MoneyMaker.

Jared's Photo of Me

Lazy Days

Listening - Mel Torme - Don't Get Around Much Anymore

Wearing - Jeans, Jared's socks, navy wool sweater, silver loop necklace my sister got me for my last birthday

Eating - Drinking raspberry zinger tea.. not going to lie, also just ate a fudgesicle.

Watching - "The Layer Cake"

We woke up at noon, got out of bed at 1:30, went back to bed at 2, made a portabello mushroom and goatcheese omelet at 3, walked down to the art gallery at 4:30, wandered around, Jared bought me an amazing orange Gerbera, we walked to the grocery store for ravioli and had a big candlelit dinner of pasta.. It was such a great day. It's been a while since we didn't have to rush anywhere, do anything major, be anywhere at a certain time.. I just made raspberry zinger tea, and we're going to cuddle up and watch a movie. I'm.. blissfully happy.

Views.

Starbucks when I left today, Jared and I relaxing and laughing, and my new bookcase and wall art.

Efficient.

I really love how efficient I get when I'm on an emotional high-ish. Mostly on the downslope, I get these really super productive days where I get SO very much done - today was a lucky one of those days. I've done all the primary and secondary readings for my classes tomorrow and the next day (which I'm sure will give me nightmares.. Being and Nothingness scares the CRAP out of me..), I've mailed, e-mailed, painted posters, done office work in advance, and still found time to run to Future Shop to get a recorder for my Lorkovic lectures, AND make dinner for Jared and Holly. And go to school. It's momentarily frightening, because I know what it is prelude to (a day of exhaustion, tears and abject inefficiency) but I'm trying to hold myself on the cusp and heave myself upwards a little to keep up the momentum.

I feel a lot better now that my room is clean too. I've actually cleaned up, not just rearranged in piles, so I actually have a bedside lamp, a clock within reach (I get these weird anxiety attacks if I can't find out what time it is.. and when Jared stays he sleeps closest to the clock and has to contend with me reaching over a million times a night to see what time it is.) .. so I feel better. I forget what a sanctuary my room is for me, until I don't have it and it's this raging disaster.. I even managed to fit in time today to make magnets for my fridge that has none, and looked up what art courses are being offered at the gallery this fall. Jared keeps telling me I need to start painting/drawing again, I think he's right.

Had a really nice Cointreau and chedder chicken, with wild rice and my goat cheese and strawberry salad with balsalmic vinegar/garlic and olive oil dressing. I love feeding people. Holly knows that when I'm ultimately stressed and falling apart I tend to start cooking for people and taking care of others.. and I think she loves it. *laugh*

Mother Theresa musta been a freakin' nut job, taking care of all those people. *laugh*

Art O' the Day

Resurrexit - Anselm Kiefer.

This is one of the only exhibits that I've seen more than twice, and bought the book as well.

But Then I Laughed REALLY hard..

..when I realised I was standing in line at the check-out of Safeway with soy milk, bananas and condoms. *snort*

oh dear.

I think I've pretty much just lived on coffee, my fake fingernails that I've gnawed off, and the occasional cigarette for the past 5 days. I forgot to have a cup of coffee this morning and now I have a roaring headache, bad enough that it feels like my head is going to implode or explode, I haven't decided which. I am so exhausted and anxious, and actually think my heart keeps speeding up and making me nervous. I don't know whats wrong with me. I'm getting the psycho feeling again.

More Planting Pics

Planting in a burn pile - you get a serious case of BPL, Burn Pile Lung, but you also plant a lot of trees in really nice soft land.

My friend Leanne's last day on a really horrible buggy block on our last day of spring plant.

Topless planting - Megan, out checker, snuck up on me. No bugs, some duck tape, and it's.. nice.

This dress makes my boobs look small. Psych.

Jared, myself and my brother.. or.. Two Giants and a Midget.. Or, my boyfriend dumped me for my brother and this is the last picture. Haha. No really, they see each other more.
AND.. Myself, Jared and Holly. Or.. no, I won't go there... ha ha.. er... ha.

Cabin One

The Girls of Cabin One.

*hahaha.. just to clarify, these are the girls when I was camping this weekend, NOT treeplanting. (there definately WEREN'T any cabins out there.)

Lost. Haha.

I was just wondering around campus for the past 20 minutes trying to find my way back home. And this is my third year here. Our Residence is at the west end of the college on 110th St. The whole school runs East to West with major thouroughfares through the middle. But the library, the central point, is under some construction, and I get so lost and turned around.. So this morning, I noted the smell of popcorn, and decided that that's the way I would know if I was going in the right direction... Oh god. There were two popcorn stands, at different points in the school. I seriously walked through the library 5 times before I finally flipped out and pretended I was a new student and needed help. And a big bag of popcorn.

Conversation #2

Andrea- You really don't have to be here while I clean up my messy room. Even if I am lonely.
Jared - Keeping you from being lonely is half of why I'm here.
Andrea- Whats the other half?
Jared - So I'm not lonely.
Andrea - (silence)
Andrea - Can you take out the trash?
Jared - Yeah. I'll be right back.

Mission Hill Vineyard

On an afternoon off, we visited the Mission Hill Winery in Westbank...

1. Me, looking dreamily off into the distance, thinking about all the wine I want to buy..

2. My perfect partner.

3. Hollie and I in the vines.. it kinda looks like a wedding photo..

4. "What are the boys doing.."..... "Oh no, one is taking a picture!"

5. They're looking at the piano that's signed by Bono, Elton John and other.. ahem "greats".. I'm posing under the 1.25 million dollarish Marc Chagall painting that hangs unframed in their tasting gallery..

The Conversation that Just Happened

Andrea- Shit, don't step on all my stuff.
Jared - Then where else am I going to step?
Andrea - (silence, looks at her room that still isn't unpacked, and you can't see the floor for all the clothes.)
Andrea - (silence)
Andrea - Well, at least take your shoes off.
Jared - Eew.

Back to camping

Going out of the city for a little while, camping for the next 2 days. Could be worse.

Better-ish

Ok, better. I went and painted mugs with Jared for our social event tonight, then did a little retail therapy with Ian. Which may have also involved a little chocolate covered banana therapy.. Came home and joined half our crew at the bar for drinks and a laugh. Yeah.. Better.

(Jared would like to point out that he is NOT three.. he just doesn't have very strong mug painting skills. I'll post pictures after they're glazed and fired.)

Beer. It Helps. Even when it's in cheese.

Sometimes I don't know what I'd do without J. He basically kept me from crying all day yesterday with these stupid facebook messages and funny faces from across the room. Then he held me down and tickled my feet, dressed me up like a hood rat and marched me to the liquor store, bought me beer, made me nachos with Amber Ale Cheddar, let me win at Mario Cart and let me cry like a baby at 300. And then let me wake him up at 4 in the morning when my nightmares were so bad that I had to turn on all the lights in the house and hide in his armpit. And then told me he was awake anyways.

Painfully Addicted

I don't want to say how long I watched this for..
Just a few more seconds..
One more set..
Well.. Maybe another..

Black Out

Well the power is out, Jared is out with Efa, my battery on my computer is almost out.. and I'm so exhausted that I think it would suffice to say that I'm almost out.

For some reason, that sadness is creeping again. Perhaps explaining my pathetic lack of a)blogging b)personal hygiene and c) caring about a and b. *chuckle* I always feel like.. you know when a pie starts to get dry and the filling starts to shrink and peel away from the crust? *laugh* That's kinda what I feel like. Poor Jared is left trying to prop me up and cheer me up as much as he can while I flop around pretending to be a parapalegic and refusing to get into the shower. *sigh* Poor guy.

First day of training for the new RA's today. I really need to work on not being so damn judgemental right off the bat. I always leave room for my impressions to change, I give people many many (tooooo many) chances.. But I swear. These kids.. they are just kids.. Well, lets just say I had to go "Putt and Glo" neon golf tonight.

Which is pretty much where I found out exactly how dirty my hair was. Whoops.

Fake Bits

So I went out with Holly today and got my nails done. You know, those pretty yet pretentious fake acrylic nails, nice white tips - very wasp, very... bitchy. The girl, lets call her.. oh, Thao, told me I had rough man hands. Uh huh. But at the end, I had "feminine woman hands". It actually feels like I have a split personality starting at my wrists. I'm afraid that I'm going to start taking Valium, drinking at noon and eating little cucumber sandwhiches with these hands, and I won't be able to do a god-damn thing about it. Yup, call me Kitty. Or at least my hands.

Why Does Wes Anderson Have To Be So GOOD.

The Darjeeling Limited

Do Not Do Drugs

..or at least not when you watch this.

Some Planting Pics

A really tough block.. I think I MAY be crying in that picture..
My friend Seb and I on the last day, after we planted our last rookie trees together.. and then proceeded to drink almost an entire bottle of Southern Comfort...
I could fit in tree boxes. People find this hilarious.
Drinking beer after a particularily hard day.. where I might have mentally quit 12-30 times.

Penance.

I've just bought a bookshelf to put in my room so I don't have a leaning tower of Poe stacked on my desk anymore. Yes. More shit to add to the shit that I have in my room. J gets in tomorrow night, which means that I have until Saturday morning to both lose 10 lbs and get my house in order. So, I've left my dissasembled bookshelf in the hall and picked up the computer to escape. Ish.

I've been thinking the past few days of my choices of summer work - they've gotten progressively harder and more demanding, and slowly my off-summer work has started to do the same. And honestly, I've been contemplating the idea of pennace.

After years of dealing with depression (that I didn't know I was dealing with and didn't know was depression), leaving a boyfriend and a home and a cat, running away to India, I returned stable enough to work on my own, and took a job in the oilfield.

After I cheated on Bryan, the months that followed were sheer agony. I developed ulcers, lost copious ammounts of weight, slept all the time, cried at the drop of a hat, mentally self-flaggellated with texts on virtue etc etc. And took up tree planting this summer.

I find even in smaller circumstances, it's the harder tasks I'll take on after perceived moral lapses - as small as forgetting to pay for a coffee results in inadvertantly long workouts - ridiculous things. I thought about it tree planting.

Heaven forbid I ever kill somebody. I might get in shape and start working in a mine or something.

Just something I've been thinking about.

Go Figure.

Had a terrible nights sleep in my own bed last night. I was too comfortable and it was too loud. TOO comfortable.

Summer in Retrograde - Belated Post #1 - The Mercenaries.

They arrived, somewhat like marauding Huns, in the middle of the night. We woke surrounded by them - a new encampment of ancient mini vans and VW campers circled us, gear stacked at the ready. They arrived to breakfast with matching mohawks, smelling of whiskey and incense and weed, with narrow eyed and smiling - mercenaries in our tree war.

***

As far as my experiences with war go, it would be remiss to imply that I have any. Yes in those trucks in the morning the air of some sort of battle, mostly mental, is there. The clattering of gear being tossed into trucks, shovels and water bottles smashing together, tree boxes heaved and handed planter to planter out of the reefer, into the mist , all make your ears cringe at first, the first day, the first shift. Rookies are loaded overdressed and scared into the trucks with the same lack of ceremony as the tree boxes, they too making nervous noises that will grate for the first while. Those beside you rip duct tape in small screaming strips, the smell of sulfuric tape mixes with black coffee and rank boots as rookies are shown with as much patience how to tape their fingers; given brief invaluable tips that they invariably forget and figure out themselves mid-season, only briefly remembering somebody may have already told them and yet congratulating themselves on what they've discovered. Weary vets who know the drill bullshit over old seasons and smile knowingly at the too nice gear and clean rookies that are ramrod straight in beside them, while they curl to doorjambs and each other in an attempt to nap on the drive.

The noise is played in reverse as the trucks rumble to a stop on the dirt roads- gear, shovels and water bottles are wrenched rapidly from the back, the continuous thud of tree boxes being unloaded hand to hand and thrown to the ground plays in the background. Boots are pulled on, hands given a final lash of tape, rotting gloves pulled on top of that. Slowly, loaded with trees, dull and monochromatic with dirt, each is dispatched to pieces, shovels customized like guns - each glinting and flashing like muzzles. Once, sure and swift followed by a flash of green and a kick by the vets, once, twice, three times, slow and inaccurate by the rookies.

***

They didn't arrive unbidden. Painfully we've moved from block to block, tallies small and amounting to less everyday than we'd hoped. Encouragement, duct tape, coffee - all three are gone to be replaced by silence, callouses and whiskey. Zanzibar, rumour has it, has finished for the season, millions in, and dispersed. Rumours of possible friends, 6 planters, give momentary hope, lighter bags, faster steps. They're coming.

***

Everything has assumed a pace, unbidden, unwanted and inevitable. Plodding evenings with the same colours on your plate, nutrition lacking diversification from the shift before. Wagers are put on one of 6 choices - chicken, beef, pork, pasta, Indian or Mexican. Both ethnicity's are promptly removed after a day of low production yet high output. Bed. Wake. Cold. Peel the clothes from the bottom of your sleeping bag where they've garnered some warmth from your fermenting feet and squirm on dirty layer after layer. Breakfast. Truck. Plant. Repeat.

***

They're obviously unwell, to help us. Burnt out and propelled by what one of them has brewed in the back of their van, they move - tanned and leathery, through us. 10. 7. 8 year vets. Without effort, hung over, they plant 35000 trees in a day, sweating pepperminty gasoline whiskey around the campfire. They eat less, sleep less, drink more, smoke more, and plant more than any of us have seen. They are the only planters that pull their gear at the end of the day, resting it beside their vans, like sleeping with their favorite guns.

***

Then they leave. Grass matted where they were, whiskey bottles leaned against trees. Breakfast, truck, plant. Repeat.

Road Trip(ping)

It's about 30 degrees outside the car, and damn well nearing 40 inside. I'm in the back in flood pants, a bathing suit top and a tiara plowing through "To Kill a Mockingbird" and attempting to ameliorate my feelings towards the current heat with those that Scout must have in the deep south in the summer. As of right now, the cracks between my toes are swelling and the pages of my book are buckling under the sweat of my fingers, and neither are helping to lend sympathy to Ms. Finch.

Everything in here smells slightly of sunscreen and licorice and skunk, with nectarines every once in a while when the smushed escapee gets nudged under the seat in an attempt to redirect the sweat thats pooling in the back of my knees.

Each place that we've passed through have a prevalence of one type of a shop or another - Prince George has a number of pawn shops and thrift stores, Fort St. James had pizza and hardware shops, Quesnel ice cream and tattoo parlours.. poor Williams Lake and its abundance of corn bread women just had an over abundance of lingerie stores. So far, the highways have offered up nothing of interest, just mile after mile of incredibly depressing landscape in the hue of dead, dry and dying - and the occasional ominous cherry stand.

Inside however, crammed among backpacks, shovels, old books, new books, dirth/clean and every state in between, our three aching bodies are trading massages for um fillled screamers, magazines for books and brief naps for time in the drivers seat. The impossibilty of driving down the middle of BC in a non air-con Subaru from the 80s without being parboiled.. is dawning on all of us.

Done.

After an evening of Sodom and Gamorrah in the Woods (which sounds like a delightful play), we are officially done. Done the planting, the year ender, the sun burn, the bug bites, the 5:30 mornings, the 11pm evenings, the stress, the trees, the shitter digging the beer drinking the the... everything. It's finished. We (being Matt Hollie and I) packed the Subaru to the gills, said our good byes, and left.

In such an environment, you're thrown into sheer and utter exhaustion with people that you don't know, and forced.. encouraged... find it necessary.. to make friends. And all the masks and niceties and whatnot.. you just don't have the energy for. So you discard them, and what's really left, is you. And only you. Which means that while you make friends, better friends, stronger friends, faster - the people you hate on day two, you really hate on day 78.

But it's done. It's made me stronger, smarter, made me work harder, drink harder, laugh harder, cry harder.. than anything I've done in my life. And baring that, it made me a fair chunk of change and gave me a suntan.

We're headed to Kelowna, should be there by this evening. Miss you all.

No balls, no walls.

Just exhaustion. Sheer, unbelievable, unshakable exhaustion that is slowly but surely grinding me into the mud. BUT, it's for 3 more days. I can do that.

8 days and Counting.

Like most of my life lately, this blog will have to be fast, dirty and probably shallow. Har har. It's a treeplanting reference. Shallow trees.. *sigh*

I'm 8 days away from being done. Which alternately feels just as long as if we were at the start of the season, and surprisingly short. I've been out here for 3 months now. I'll have to actually type up some good blogs that tell you what the hell I've actually been doing like - learning to appreciate Ballantynes in the morning, learning why people don't wear thongs out here, getting leaches in strange and startling places, being pulled out of a bog by a New Zealander..

I wish I had more time to tell you.. it's been so much better. Ok. It hasn't. But it's been bearable and I've taken a lot of Motrin today. And the rain stopped. Which vastly improves just about anything. Oh. Except for the peeling blistering mess on my back. Which brings me to a new lesson- It's not just the bugs you need to worry about when planting topless. No, it's the sun too. Mom, thanks for the SPF 60, my nipples are happy. My back.. not so much. Balls to the wall they say - I'm almost done.

Shovels for Hands and Trees for Feet

Hello all, and apologies for the fact that this is a long time coming. I am neither dead nor too injured, just tired and had a day off on a SUnday, which basically means they roll up the streets and internet doesn't work. Yeah. You think I'm joking.

It has not stopped raining here, I feel like a piece of soggy bread thats falling apart at the crust. Some heartless SOB from another camp stole my rain jacket from the laundry mat and as such I have been braving it in wool sweaters and many layers of thermals. They will mildew in treeplanter hell, where they must plant uphill all the time, never downhill, and must bag up 500 large spruce at a time. And there will be no DEET there, no DEET my friends. I curse them, everyday, every morning, every drop. And if you are out there dear treeplanter, watch your back. For if I catch you in my MEC jacket, I will double plant behind you and steal your flagging tape, and eat your block treats BEFORE I hit you with my shovel. No mercy. NO mercy.

On the lighter side, such rainyness has allowed for such heartening in-camp activities such as- mud wrestling (or digging out the truck in the mud) fire dancing (or running around the fire trying to steam your thermals dry) boot races (who has the most water in their boots) and the 5/15 sprint (commonly known as the five day fifteen hour a day shift). It's like the Treeplanter Olympics, awards vary from cheap whiskey to being on the shitter digging crew. Yay!

I am well - busy, tired, bug bitten - but well. In an effort to procure at least 1 day off between our spring and summer contract we've brought in some planters from a big company that had time off - they're a a little like tree planting mercenaries. Messy, smelly, tough and hardworking. OH.. wait.. we're all like that.. Ok, I think they just drink more? OH..wait.. Regardless, it does not appear that we'll get time off (surprise) but will be moving up to Mackenzie on the 6th, camp set up the 7th, plant the 8th, until the 20th. Sweet lordy. 25 days left, then cherry picking for a month, then home. When you break it up like that it isn't so bad. Like, not so bad like "You have non-terminal cancer".

I miss you all, and will try to get to a computer with photos next day off. I hope all is well - if you see anyone in a red MEC rain jacket.. *draws thumb across throat*

Silviculture

sil·vi·cul·ture - (sĭl'vĭ-kŭl'chur) n. The care and cultivation of forest trees; forestry. Alt - The culture surounding the care and cultivation of forests and trees, usually involving a lot of whiskey, trench foot, PB&J and hopelessness. Oh, and late night dance parties.

It seems like no matter which company you're with, no matter where you plant, no matter what town you're in, that there are just some..standard practices. Dance parties while filing up the gas, spandex tights are perfectly acceptable- and encouraged- to be worn under shorts, (I call this "silvi-couture"), you should eat as much as humanly possible at all times, whiskey cures everything, duck tape is a perfectly acceptable substitute for a) a sewing kit b) electrolysis c) bandaids, and debts are paid in six packs or bundles of trees. It's a pretty good trade for 72 mosquito bites that I have. I got a glass of month old red wine for a reward at the campfire last night. Pretty sweet.

My Office.

Ok, so perhaps it was not as bleak as all this - it actually was very pretty, with three mountain ranges on 3 different sides and a beautiful lake in the middle. However, the constant summer storms with huge rolls of thunder and lightnight, and the fact that I wield a very metal shovel was a tad disconcerting. No more so, however, than the little snake I found and picked up and put in my back picker, assuming it was a dear little garden snake, and was told later by our resident biologist that it was indeed a very poisonous snake. Which completely circumvented my entire plan to get over my ridiculous dislike of snakes. I've now been advised that generally everything red and black in the natural world is poisonous. Whoops.

And then it got better.

I quit. And then I realised, in the hail, the bugs, the mud, the 21 cent land, the devils club, the slash and the hell.. that quitting was actually worse than treeplanting. So I sat in the truck and cried like a child for about 20 minutes, then I put my bags back on and I kept planting. And now that I know that quitting feels worse than the bugs, the bags and trench foot..I guess I'm here to stay. I was officially not a treeplanter for about 20 minutes. And then somebody told me that the reason that I was crying, was that I realised that I actually WAS a treeplanter, and that's pretty much worse. Because now I know I'll be back next summer. With the bugs, the bags, and the trench foot.

(And thanks JL, but I found the Deep Woods off and a bug net, and I'm ok now. And by ok, I mean that it looks like I have chicken pox or maybe pestilence, but I'm proactive. And right now I'm wearing Carharts that haven't been washed in 2 shifts, cowboy boots and a bathing suit top for a bra. Mud could only add to the allure I'm sure.)

I Just Looked Up How To Break My Own Arm

Oh my god. The bugs.. the bugs are out. I look like I have some strange tropical lumpy disease, and they don't care about Deet. In fact, I'm pretty sure that they just see it as a drink with their meal. I seriously consider on a daily .. hourly.. basis, how exactly I could maim myself and make it look like enough of an accident that they might let me go home. I am so exhausted. I want to be a waitress. I will work at Safeway. Just as long as there are no bugs, bears, snakes, or trees. I hate trees.

Motivational. Really.

So this is pretty much the hardest thing that I've ever done in my life.. And I'm pretty sure it will be the hardest thing I'll do until MAYBE I give birth. And even then, I'll probably have to give birth tree planting to make it SUPER hard.

This is how it goes. You're up at 5, breaky, drive to the clearcut. Bag up 300 trees or so (for me that's enough - about 60lbs or more, depending on the type) and then out into the block which can either be flat and nice and soft, or a rocky cliff. Plant trees, return to cache, get more trees.. plant those trees.. repeat. Like, 50 times. If you're a veteran.. repeat until you've planted 3000 to 4000 trees. If you're me, be satisfied with 1500. Oh yeah, occasionally, sit down on the block and cry. Go home 10 -12 hours later, dinner, and bed. Repeat 4 times, one day off.

This is such a strange job. Physically it's demanding. I've lost about 10 lbs, my legs are like rock, and one arm (my shovel arm) tries to choke me out in the middle of the night for what I do to it. You'd think it would be easy - the same motion again and again and again.. But to have the mental fortitude.. that's something else. I thought I'd done tough things.. damn. I know now that I really can do anything. Short of maybe Alaskan king crab fishing. Unless I do it with a shovel.

The people are fantastic - archeologists, farmers, art students, philosophy students so on and so forth - a strange fringe group that makes up the lone group here. There's only about 30 of us, so it's friendly and close.

I'm sorry my storytelling skills aren't up to par - I'm just about more tired that I think I ever have been in my life. I'll write more on a day off when I've had more coffee. Just thought I'd let you all know that I was neither eaten by a bear, or by the black flies. Though sometimes that's what I pray for. Mostly the bear. It would be quick, and I hear they still credit you for the trees that day. Sweet.

I miss you all. And uh - Starbucks. And razors. More in a week or so!