The last two days of planting we went from swamp to swamp to swamp to more swamp. Most planters will pee their pants in excitement over a really good sphag swamp, but not me. I get confused about how to manage it, can’t find my trees, bag the wrong number of PJ (non-swamp trees), and get soaked up to my knees so I have wet boots for the next few days. Give me furrows or brackie. More predictable. That being said, Monday and Tuesday weren’t terrible days. I was still planting with Lindsay (we agreed we kept each other off our asses) and it was nice to share the miseries and joys of planting.
"Iz the Wiz"
Tuesday’s misery: we were dropped off with two guys, who were supposed to lead us to our new piece. They told the bus driver the wrong road, which they didn’t realize until the bus drove away. The block we were in was kilometers long, and no one was going to be heading down the road. So we started walking. But we ended up at the main road and, the guys realized we had gone the wrong direction. So we started walking in the other direction. We walked about 4 kilometers, in our stupid huge boots, full jugs of water banging off our hips in our planting bags, trying to find a comfortable way to carry our shovel, before our knight in big white truck, Brad, came to rescue us and drive us to our piece. It’s shitty to walk for an hour and not get paid. Especially on a day when Barnes announces to the bus no one’s coming home til everyone hits 2k. Not an unreasonable demand, but I need that hour.
Tuesday’s joy: jumping in the lake (see prior posts to read about “jumping in the lake” and where it ranks on my scale of awesome). All throughout the day Lindsday and I discussed cold things that would be incredibly satisfying: ice caps, a jump in the lake, a jump in the ocean, standing in the Artic…. So I took the opportunity to ditch the bus and jump in Brad’s truck with Tim and a couple other guys, as we all crossed our fingers and hoped he stopped at the lake. And sweet glory, he did. I like that one minute we can be falling asleep on the bumpiest gravel road, exhausted and unable to move, and then someone says “swim” and we all hustle out of the truck to strip down to our sweat- and dirt-stained boxers or bra, run down to the lake, dive in, and come up smiling, feeling like a million bucks. It truly is one of my favourite things. Sweaty boxers and all.
Greenmantle crew. I managed to sneak in.
Anyways, I was so glad to be done on Tuesday. One week of planting, but I was toast. And I missed Jordan. I realized on the drive back, that I have now planted a “last tree” four times. Once in Black Bay, before I started cooking, again that contract because when we came back to the mainland I cooked AND planted one day, once after last year’s week and a half stint, and one more this year. And all four of those planting experiences added up to one full rookie year. So I am no longer a rookie! Yay! Now I CAN’T go back, because that means I’m a vet and I would have to step up my production. Not happening. I planted my last tree.
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