Treeplanting #10: Stepping on Newborn Mice and Other Disorganized Stories

Molly and William walking back up the road toward the truck at the end of the day. Our crews had been working together this day.

One evening, I conveniently miss an intense drill of a fentanyl overdose where Molly and William were the actors. At one point, I hear Molly’s voice not far from my tent along with techno music being blasted from the speakers of her truck. What the hell? I think, Molly hated when Caedon used to blare his speakers.

Coming out of my tent a while later, I realize that people are clearly shaken up. Some people are crying while others are hugging each other. According to other planters, they blasted music from the speakers of the dually, sat in the back of the Fist, crushed up some Benadryl, spread it into lines, put some on their noses, and then laid down pretending to be unconscious. Apparently, it was so realistic that several 911 calls were made, people were sobbing, and one girl had fully climbed on top of Molly and William with syringes full of naloxone fully loaded. Sophia, the OH+S planter this year, had to forcefully yank her off of Molly before she injected it because she was so convinced it was real.

Safety drills occur around camp a couple times per year. Often, it’s basically just an extra camp meeting during dinner where people ask “so what would we do in this situation?” It’s not often that the drill is fully acted out to such an extent that so many people believe it’s real. I’m actually glad I missed this one – on the chance I had fallen for it, I don’t think I could have handled seeing Molly as an OD victim. That being said, it probably would have been helpful to learn how to react in the case of an overdose.

One day I tried to get a photo of Jasper's cork boots while he was heading out into the block. All I got was this one of him scratching his ass.

Here's a photo of Jasper actually planting, just so him scratching his ass isn't the only photo of him on this blog. If you didn't catch him, he's the orange shirt with the straw hat toward the bottom of the photo. 

Regardless of how slashy or filled with naturals the block is, it’s always easy to tell if you’re approaching Damian. Even if it’s the most miserable day out, chances are that he’ll be whistling or singing some uplifting tune wherever he’s planting. That is, in between his loud wails of frustration when he hits something unpleasant (ie. Rocks, slash, extreme duff, etc.). He’s quite a vocal planter. The “near miss” section of the daily crew report is conveniently filled in with “Damian fell over 6 times and almost fell over 7 times”.

One of the nights off, the planters on the Social Committee organize a glitter and tequila party. Rather than participate in the hype of the party (cuz I’m a killjoy), I come out for the very end when people have mellowed down a bit (in “treeplanter time”, this is only around 10:30. Parties both start and end early). The first thing I notice is that Molly is leaving right as I’m arriving, which mellows my mood a bit. I’m more loose-tongued after alcohol, as everyone is, and I would’ve welcomed an open, honest conversation with Molly. I miss those. (A few days later, I hear that the reason for Molly’s early departure was a mild concussion after being taken out by Cathy, one of the two camp supervisors. Apparently, Molly had been tackling random people to the ground while screaming “I STUDIED KUNG FOO, BITCH!” When she tried tackling Cathy, Cathy grabbed her and flung her hard onto the ground, where she stayed for several minutes. It was something I was sorry to miss. Molly spends the first few days of the next shift moaning about her head).

            Back to the party. By “mellowed down”, I mean that most people are circled around a roaring fire having various conversations rather than throwing each other into the mud pits made by the truck tires. On the other side of the first, I hear Edmund and Damian talking about art school. Damian’s adorable – he’s squeezed himself into a sparkly pink tutu-dress and is discussing things passionately and flamboyantly. He’s currently in art school while Edmund graduated several years ago. He looks so excited to be talking with Edmund, whereas Ethan is still the most morose, bitter soul in camp – with a wonderful heart of gold of course. (I forgot to mention Edmund in the first post this year, but he's one of the returning planters as well. I think he shows up in this post). The two make a fantastic pair.

            Later, I find myself learning up against William as a sort of relief/comfort. We’re having sort of absurdly deep conversations that don’t really fit the environment - the dissolution of concepts and seriousness, the insincerity of confidence, justifications versus reasons, etc. I think people sometimes see me as innocent and naïve and I often unintentionally use that to my advantage (such as in this case). Sometimes he mentions something about going to his tent, to which I’d respond with something like “Wait what??” and he’d just laugh and brush away what he’d just said. I think he sees me as very innocent and, to be honest, I don’t think I care that much. It’s not like I didn’t notice his fingers slowly sliding underneath my shirt or his hand moving over my ass as I moved. I just chose not to acknowledge it, probably because I enjoyed having the acknowledgment or something. Whatever – alcohol brings out our insecurities, right?

            Unsurprisingly, this interaction with William inspires a call to James the next day. It is a depressingly uneventful phone call.

Back to actual planting things, these are my legs. Not bad for halfway through the season already! I'm slightly proud of my ability to avoid serious cuts and bruises this year.

The glove on my left hand started getting holes bad enough to interfere with planting, so I decided to wear my right glove backward on it, leaving my right hand gloveless. This doesn't look too dirty, but I assure you that dirt is thoroughly caked on there. Scrubbing my hands raw with the brushes and soap were not enough and, three days later, the first three knuckles on my right hand are still thoroughly dirty while typing this.

            One day we are working on the same block as William’s crew, whose truck is parked a few meters up from ours. While unloading boxes from the truck early in the morning, we suddenly hear screeches coming from the direction of the other crew. Looking over, we see Edmund frantically hopping on one foot shaking his boot in one hand.

            “A mouse ran out of his boot when he took it off!” the rumour travels through our crew and we all laugh. Back in camp in the afternoon, the rumour slowly travels further until Ethan himself clears up the story.

            “My Bama sock was feeling really tight after I’d put my boot on,” Ethan begins, “so I take it off thinking there’s an extra sock or something scrunched up in there.”

            “Keep listening – there’s so much more,” winks another member of his crew.

            “When I take it off, I mouse comes scurrying out,” Ethan shivers, but it’s clear there’s still more to the story. “Then I turn the boot upside down to shake out any mouse pellets or something. Out roll six red, hairless, and dying baby mice!” Ethan squirms uncomfortably while telling the story, clearly upset by it, as are we all. Squashing an entire family of newborn mice with his feet!! Poor Ethan – of all planters to have this happen, it’s the most dramatic, squeamish, and easily traumatized Ethan! For several days afterward, he talks about his “night terrors” of squashing newborn animals with his feet.

A late riser, I often arrive at the mess tent with only a few minutes to pull together a lunch and breakfast before the trucks roll out in the morning. However, I do have this routine timed out to a T and have only been late maybe once in the whole contract. As evidence, I would just like to bring attention to this day when I was the ONLY one sitting in the truck at 7:00.

GWEN'S BACK!! Probably only for a day or so before switching back to Marty's camp for the rest of the contract, but still. Marty's camp and our camp could be considered sort of "sister camps". Our camp is slightly behind schedule for getting all the trees in the ground by June 20 (otherwise there's a fine) while Marty's camp is slightly ahead of schedule. This sometimes results in a planter switching camps for a shift or so to get things back on track, such as Gwen coming to our camp.

Quote of the Week:

(regarding the American "right to bear arms")

Planter #1: You can't change the Second Amendment

Planter #2: Yes, you can - it's literally called an "amendment"!


PS - don't forget about the Palestine delegation in which I am participating this August! Around $200 has been raised so far - lots more to go! To donate, go to http://cpt.org/donate and follow the steps to donate. Toward the end of the process, there will be a box that says "donation inspired by". Be sure to enter my name in this section to ensure that the donation goes to this delegation.