Treeplanting: A Rainy Night Outside of Quisnel

The day started sullen, and the rain and wind slapping against my tarp right now remind me that nothing has changed.

It started at breakfast with a "I-hate-work" mentality. It took all my physical strength to say a simple 'morning' to anyone. And then the mess tent was unusually quiet. Not the usual groggy lull of early morning, but an aggressive silence. Planters staring down at their eggs and pancakes. No eye-contact; no dream-rehashing; no jokes about getting maimed by a bear and going on workers comp.

I hated the short ride to work. A 5 minute drive to the reefer. I sat, arms tightly crossed, staring out the window not saying a word to anyone---iPod on, growl playing at my lips. Another 5 minutes to the block, and by the time my bags were loaded, I knew that making my minimum of 2000 was about as possible as breaking 5000 today.

Three day old filth, a stale mind, and checkers that couldn't be pleased no matter how hard I tried. I desperately hoped to be caught blindside by...anything. Something external to swoop out of the blue and legitimize my suffering---a sign from the divine? like a tornado? getting fired? or a sudden strange disease?

I continued to drag my feet through my piece....three steps: one. breathe. two. stop. three. slowly bend over....jam the poor sapling into the ground.

The day went on, and on, and on. Rock hard mounds were the day's specialty. I could've cared-less about quality, or numbers, or life, actually. I took a nap behind a stump---bags still on. The light rain gave me a shiver. I examined small frogs. Napped some more. Realized I have no water left so I took a small hike over to Joel/Steve's cache to steal a sip or two.

I am having huge doubts about my choice to come out here again. Bromide thoughts put a damper on my spirit. "I'm a smart girl, and could be in the city developing my "career skills." Real estate, or consulting. Putting the economics to good use. I don't need the money. I love people...being stuck amid these mounds of clay is making me lonely, and miserable."

When I got to the neighbouring cache, I found Joel hunched under his tarp. The mental toll of the day had disgorged his will too, and his usual Huck Finn lightheartedness and denitist quality smile as much of a reality as us hitting PBs today. I took a seat and gave his arm a rub---not saying a word. Just sitting with another miserable soul made me feel better for a minute at least.

When the day finished up, I find out I lowballed the entire crew---even Joel. Figures. Your standards start in your head, and I had set mine shit-low. I held back tears the whole ride home.