This week started in a forest. The day after our block tried to kill us.
Blocks occasionally have high standing trees on them that do not have the protection of a surrounding forest. And because of the area that we were working on was pretty mountainous the wind was murderous, causing trees to crack and start falling as we planted.
One girl on my crew was missed by a few meters and scavenged a piece of the tree that could have crushed her. Later, after it was decided it was too dangerous to work on our block another person on my crew had a close call. This time with the heavy metal doors of the box truck slamming shut, almost closing on him and crushing body. The sound of the crashing bang and Greg shouted a warning as Maddy jumped out of the way was terrifying.
We all pulled out cigarettes and laughed after that, turning up the music on the truck and taking photos, Maddy looking pale and shaken.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
The Block
Many people don't really understand where exactly we plant trees, including a fair amount of unfortunate souls who get hired for the job and find there way on a crew.
The first misconception is that we plant on a grassy field that is flat. No. No it's not like that at all. Instead, usually, there is a fair amount of debris, logs, trees, hills (and cliffs) and multiple places where you can't plant, and a few places you can. The places where you can, once you find them, need to be spaced properly from another and you start by following the tree-line.
Which is why last Monday was just fucky; Our camp was comically planting on a grassy field. Well, everyone but my crew. We were in a mother-fucking forest. Our tree-line was where the trees ended. We had to make our way through dense foliage attempting to plant trees where there were already trees. This wouldn't be so difficult if our trees, bags, and dibbles would float their way behind us instead of getting snagged on literally everything, causing constant spectacular failure at mere walking.
And we still have to have the right tree density. Hopefully, it is not hard to understand that it is hard to find our little 6 inch tall trees among fully grown ones. And ferns. And many other plants that are the exact same color. Your flagging had to be impeccable, just so that the person trailing a few meters behind you didn't miss your line of trees.
And the worst part, is after we carried our heavy bags through the woods we would reach the end of the forest and look out to the beautiful field where dozens of our friends were planting. None of them tripping or looking out for dangerously cracking trees. And you'd have to turn around, despite the overwhelming urge to to simply plant one tree, just one tree, where it was nice. But you couldn't.
The first misconception is that we plant on a grassy field that is flat. No. No it's not like that at all. Instead, usually, there is a fair amount of debris, logs, trees, hills (and cliffs) and multiple places where you can't plant, and a few places you can. The places where you can, once you find them, need to be spaced properly from another and you start by following the tree-line.
Which is why last Monday was just fucky; Our camp was comically planting on a grassy field. Well, everyone but my crew. We were in a mother-fucking forest. Our tree-line was where the trees ended. We had to make our way through dense foliage attempting to plant trees where there were already trees. This wouldn't be so difficult if our trees, bags, and dibbles would float their way behind us instead of getting snagged on literally everything, causing constant spectacular failure at mere walking.
And we still have to have the right tree density. Hopefully, it is not hard to understand that it is hard to find our little 6 inch tall trees among fully grown ones. And ferns. And many other plants that are the exact same color. Your flagging had to be impeccable, just so that the person trailing a few meters behind you didn't miss your line of trees.
And the worst part, is after we carried our heavy bags through the woods we would reach the end of the forest and look out to the beautiful field where dozens of our friends were planting. None of them tripping or looking out for dangerously cracking trees. And you'd have to turn around, despite the overwhelming urge to to simply plant one tree, just one tree, where it was nice. But you couldn't.
Camping
Five days ago I lived in a tent, which I had stayed in for three weeks. While working. It was damp and cold and muddy, and I barely got to shower during that entire time. It was both a trying and spectacular experience and so much has happened since I last posted that my thoughts are in a constant cluster-fuck. I'm only going to mention some of the important events though and I can post about the others later.
Living in my tent was nothing like camping. For one thing, it was not optional and there was no retreat from bad weather. When we got torrential downpours everything got drenched and it never dried out. We would go to our blocks, and then proceed to spend the next 10 hours slipping and sliding on logs, smothered in dirt and mud, boots filled with water, and freezing our very little butts off only to come home to be wet for the rest of the night. Collectively we would join around fires attempting to dry out our boots, socks, and feet, smoking and drinking beer to help sleep reach us. When we entered our rarely dry tents we would bring in the constant moisture that carved its way into our bones. Every day was a repetition of this.
But, despite all the wet, the not showering, the being cramped into a small tent with your gear, it was a wonderful experience. I bonded with more people during those weeks than I did for the month and a half I did in res., simply because there are no doors as barriers. During our time there we had wicked evening bonfire parties, and we ate constantly; stuffing our faces with trail mix, deep fried potatoes, and whatever else that can be consumed. We were secure in knowing that not showering despite smelling worse than a putrid garbage pit was not anomalous. Bush camp was an experience that I can sum up as being both amazing and horrid, and I'm fairly sure I would do it again. I may, however, be a sadist.
Living in my tent was nothing like camping. For one thing, it was not optional and there was no retreat from bad weather. When we got torrential downpours everything got drenched and it never dried out. We would go to our blocks, and then proceed to spend the next 10 hours slipping and sliding on logs, smothered in dirt and mud, boots filled with water, and freezing our very little butts off only to come home to be wet for the rest of the night. Collectively we would join around fires attempting to dry out our boots, socks, and feet, smoking and drinking beer to help sleep reach us. When we entered our rarely dry tents we would bring in the constant moisture that carved its way into our bones. Every day was a repetition of this.
But, despite all the wet, the not showering, the being cramped into a small tent with your gear, it was a wonderful experience. I bonded with more people during those weeks than I did for the month and a half I did in res., simply because there are no doors as barriers. During our time there we had wicked evening bonfire parties, and we ate constantly; stuffing our faces with trail mix, deep fried potatoes, and whatever else that can be consumed. We were secure in knowing that not showering despite smelling worse than a putrid garbage pit was not anomalous. Bush camp was an experience that I can sum up as being both amazing and horrid, and I'm fairly sure I would do it again. I may, however, be a sadist.
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