"Eat Shit for Long": 2025 Planting Moments

Last year, after a 3-year hiatus, I returned for a 6th season to the world of treeplanting. This year, I came back again for a 7th, but there's a 50/50 chance I'll ever have an 8th season. Alas, here's a short story collecting a few of the more notable moments of the season. Enjoy!

The tents may be the same, but the camp is very different

Pretty much everyone from the old blogs have changed. A few people remained: Jasmine is here (one of the few who didn't get a blog name change, although she's now an assistant supervisor and no longer plants), Colin stayed (although he is now a checker), Eddie stayed (and still plants), and a spattering of others not mentioned in previous blogs. Otherwise, pretty much everyone is a fresh batch of under-30s; our supervisor is also new (okay not entirely new; he was a crew boss one of the earlier years and a co-supervisor with Rainer another year, but he took over completely in the years I was gone).

There are also a lot of changes in the way camp is run: some okay, others less so. For example, there are twice as many showers and always leftover food available on the day off (these are excellent). However, only half the crew bosses still plant and the number of non-planting staff roles has gone from 3 to about about 13 (not excellent). "Do this" his very differently when the person telling you is also doing the thing vs. one of an ever-growing group paid to boss others around without actually doing the work themselves. Leading by example is very much a thing of the planting past. Luckily, for most of the season, I'm on one of the crews lead by a foreman who does still plant.

The crew I'm on for the bulk of the season is a continual absurdist cacophony of insanity, so this story is centred on that crew. They're all getting pseudonyms, in the same style as previous planting posts (except Jas and Eddie for some reason?). We'll call the crew boss Ferdinand because he reminds me so much of Ferdinand the Friendly Bull. Just like Ferdinand the Bull preferred to sit and smell the flowers to fighting with the other bulls, Ferdinand the Foreman can often be seen sitting calmly in the middle of the block rather than planting. Then we have Bob & Doug, named for being slightly more clever versions of Bob & Doug McKenzie (NOTE: there is a Real Doug in camp, but this is not Real Doug). In the early season, Bob invariably has a touque perched at the top of his head, neck bleach pale and fully exposed; how his neck never freezes, I've no idea. Doug, on the other hand, is thoroughly protected from the cold: hoodie drawstring clinched tight around the sides of his face, concealing the varying number of warm hats beneath and essentially ballooning his head to twice its normal size. 

Bob and Doug McKenzie, Canadian icons

The one other girl on the crew is Annajo, named such because I am incredibly lazy. Annajo is full of energy and generally positive, which is a great respite from the often-depressing work of slamming your shovel into an old coal mine for 10 hours/day. The final seat in the truck tends to change.

There is one particularly terrible shift this season (but for the story's sake, I'm going to use some creative liberty to combine all 3 days, and the people in the ever-changing seat, into one). It's on the coal mines, which are rock hard and way up on the top of a (former) mountain. We also have to drive through an Autonomous Operating Zone (AOZ), in which giant haul trucks do not have drivers. This means we will spend a lot of time waiting for an escort through the AOZ.

 

Before this, however, we have a morning safety meeting (in which they steal several minutes, and therefore income, from our day to brief us about things like "stay 20m away from animals," "remember to drink water," "look out for rocks," and other things to both make themselves feel worthwhile and help the mining company avoid a lawsuit from Worksafe BC). 

Vibram soles are supposed to be the best in the business AND YET

Stumbling out of the truck in the morning, planters are tying their boots and fumbling around for their hard hats and hi-viz vests.

"Alright, Doug, let's take a look at you," Bob says, positioning his hard hat and turning toward Doug before  concluding: "You look like a fucking idiot."

Offended, Doug immediately responds: "So do you, dumbass." He then turns to gaze mournfully at his own reflection in the truck window. "Dude, we look like idiots," he laments, "All our swag's been absorbed by PPE."

Once the safety meeting is finished, we clamber back into the truck to wait for the drivers to finish their added safety meeting. While waiting, Rob, the English first-year planter currently occupying the ever-changing seat, is having a minor crisis: he needs to use the toilet but there are none around. At first, this just provokes a round of chuckles and jeers, along with a few genuine responses like "Just go find a spot, Rob" and "Hurry up and go, dammit, or you'll make us late."

Hesitating, Rob stammers, "I'll wait for Ferdinand and ask him." This immediately ignites the rest of the truck in a fresh round of giggles and guffaws.

"You wanna consult the crew boss about your shit?!" Doug starts to nearly cry with laughter.

"This is planting, Rob," Annajo offers helpfully, "You gotta just go."

"This is a carpark, Annajo," he sarcastically snaps back . More chuckles and jeers.

Panicking, Rob finally blurts: "Guy, guys, this is a Code Brown!"

"Omg just go in those bushes!"

"There's so many gaps; anyone could see through!"

"Go behind them then."

"That's the road; anyone on the highway would have fully view!"

"What about just over that hill?"

"What if there's someone on the other side?"

"Jesus Christ, do you have to go or not?"

At long last, Rob winces and finally bursts out of the truck, running full speed down the little road to the end of the hill... and keeps going... and going...

"Damn he's really going for it."

"And no shovel either?"

"He's a rookie; he's not burying anything."

"He'd better not take forever."

Eventually, the driver meeting finishes and Ferdinand re-enters the truck. "...Where's Rob?" he asks, having been, in the end, left unconsulted about Ross' shit. We wait... and wait... until nearly all the other trucks have started to pull out of the parking lot. Ferdinand starts honking.

"What's taking him so LONG?" Bob laments, climbing out of the truck to get a better look, "Seriously, did he run off to fucking Timbuktu just to take a shit? ROB!!"

Several minutes later, Rob makes his way back over the hill, climbs back into the truck, and we make our way toward the AOZ to then wait in line for another truck to escort us through. While waiting, Ferdinand looks at the desolate, bleak world of coal and shale rock all around us.

"It looks kind of like the moon," he says.

Doug frowns. "Yeah but it's way worse and it's just on earth and it sucks."

Suddenly, Bob changes the song playing from Bo Burnham to a Cosmo Sheldrake album, a very sudden shift.

"Hey wait, what's that about?" Ferdinand interjects.

"Because I like it," Bob snaps back, "Feels whimsical, motherfucker."

A few moments later, Bob and Doug are having an earnest discussion on whether or not they could successfully sneak a bomb onto an airplane.

"Naaah, I doubt it," Doug muses, "They'd catch us for sure."

"Yeah," Bob agrees matter-of-factly, "I mean, they'd probably do an anal cavity search."

"WHA-?!" Doug blurts, exasperated at the sudden turn of this formerly-serious discussion, "Bro, who the fuck is hiding a bomb in their ass?!"

"I don't know," Bob responds defensively, "it just seemed like a reasonable response."

After little over an hour of waiting, our escort arrives and we are driving through the AOZ. Looking at the massive haul trucks towering over our tiny Ford F350s, it's wild to think there's no actual human sitting inside.

Pulling up to our piece, Ferdinand informs us that (1) this is an extremely important piece and all of our trees have to be perfect, and (2) there is a blast at 4:00 that, should it be delayed, might delay when we can leave.

"No." Bob blurts decisively, "No, I'm not doing that."

"Yeah, what's the point of taking extra time to plant perfect trees without an actually-appropriate price bump," Doug agrees, albeit significantly more articulately than Bob, "and if we do get a price bump, we'll still need to put like 2000 in to make it a good day."

"And if we stay late, that means we'll have to eat shit for long!" Bob adds.

"Eat shit for long," Annajo echoes, "what a phrase."

"Look, I'll ask," Ferdinand sighs, pulling out his phone to call our supervisor while the rest of us start bagging up. A few minutes later, he comes back. "Okay, he's agreed to day rate of 400 each."

"No." Bob and Doug respond in unison, before Doug follows it up with, "we can make 500 just by putting 1500 trees in the ground. We're not putting in perfect trees for that." Ferdinand nods and pulls out his phone again, making another call to our supervisor.

When we're all fully bagged about to head into the land, Ferdinand comes back with yet another proposal. 500. Bob and Doug agree to put in "perfect trees" at the expense of numbers.

"It's a good thing Bob and Doug are always so irate," Annajo chuckles as she and I head toward our respective pieces, "I would have just taken the 400." I laugh in agreement. 400 ain't bad. Luckily, both Bob and Doug are young, energetic, and short-fused hiballers.

The land itself is terrible. Rock, really. Imagine slamming a shovel into the Canadian Shield. Or trying to spoon soup out of concrete. The earth doesn't give so much as flinch; every shovel thrust clangs like you've insulted it. But you still need to get those trees in so you just keep hitting it, over and over, like some cruel geological joke indifferent to your blisters. Actually, blisters are the least of our worries; at this point, all blisters have already formed into a thick shield of calluses. The real problems are tendonitis and tennis elbow, so we have Leukotape to restrict movement and reduce the likelihood of developing them. Also probably lung disease is up there: stabbing holes into the blown-up lungs of the earth while your own lungs fill with black dust can't possibly be great for them. The job is a delightful exercise of self-destruction in the desolate land of Mordor. We trudge, sweat, and swear our way through the day, pushing saplings into the bones of what was once a mountain.

Found this sad little collection of larches in a tiny area of dust surrounded by rocks

By 4pm, we hear that the blast was delayed. By 4:30, it's still delayed but we're too tired to keep planting overtime. Instead, we haul our sweaty, sooty, coal-coated selves into the trucks, drive to the blast guard, and wait until we can pass. We wait... and wait... and wait... The blast goes off around 6pm, but then the mines have their shift change and our escort back through the AOZ is the lowest of priorities. By 7:00pm, Annajo and I are getting hungry in the front with Ferdinand, the boys in the back seat are going loopy, and poor Ferdinand is just trying desperately to hold things together. He hands Annajo and I the leftover remnants of his lunch.

"Whatever you do, don't look back," he says seriously while passing the food. Annajo and I promptly turn around to see three pairs of legs reaching upward, boots positioned firmly on the ceiling.

"Oooh yeah that's a good stretch," moans Doug.

"Fuck, man, how did you get that far?!" gushes Bob, as Doug's legs march even further up over his head, along the ceiling, until reaching the back window of the cab.

"Stretching. Don't you stay in shape for planting?"

"Fuck no. Gotta keep it tight; gotta keep it locked in."

"I don't think that's what 'locked in' means."

Annajo and I turn back toward the windshield.

The next time we turn back is when the boys have devolved to threatening each other as a means to hold our supervisor ransom for a raise (at this point, there was no communication whether or not we'd be compensated for being stuck in the truck this long).

"Not gonna pay us?" Bob threatens our imaginary supervisor, "Oh yeah? How bout if I just kill Rob then?"

"Wait, what?" Rob starts to protest but is overpowered.

"Or what about Bomboclat?" Bob continues growling, "Seen him recently? No? Better start looking."

"Who's Bomboclat?"

"His fucking cat, dawg," Bob breaks the menacing hostage-holding character to explain, "I stayed at his house for a couple weeks before the season, living in the reefer because I didn't wanna buy a tent, but I made myself sick in there. He has a cat named Bombardier, but I call him Bomboclat because it's way cooler."

Doug immediately takes this information and runs with it.

"Better keep and eye on Bomboclat," he picks up the ransom threat toward this imaginary supervisor, "because I need some new loafers."

"Or a nice new leather bag," Bob chimes in.

"Call our work 'reclamation'? Try reclaiming Bomboclat off my fucking loafers."

This sends the whole truck into fits of laughter.

"Oh god," Ferdinand winces, "I don't think we're allowed to say this." (Let it be known that both Bob and Doug are actually the sweetest humans and neither Bomboclat nor Rob were ever in genuine danger. Ferdinand, however, may have suffered from the stress of being responsible for them).

At 8pm, our escort finally arrives to drive us through the AOZ. We leave site at 8:30pm.

Total workday: 14.5 hours

Total time actually working: 5.5 hours

Total time sitting in a truck: 9 hours

 In the bottom right of the screen, you can see our departure time

We later learn the other reason why the escort took so long to arrive, in addition to the shift change, was because one of the automated haul trucks malfunctioned and was not where it was supposed to be. Giant robot haul trucks going rogue in the area we're supposed to be driving in our little F350s? Well that's reassuring.

Perhaps days like this are just what happens when you've been eating shit for too long - seven seasons' worth, in my case. Somewhere along the way, the point became the weird loyalty, shared absurdity, and sense of camaraderie forged in wasp stings and tendonitis. But the last two years, I started asking questions - about the work, about increasing management, about how much crap one person can actually eat and still call it a lifestyle, about whether the collective delusion is still funny or just deeply sad. And once you start asking, it gets harder to keep swallowing. 

Maybe it's time to step away. Or maybe I'll be back next season anyway, still bumbling out of the truck at 7am, still complaining, still duct-taping my bags together and muttering something about vibes.

Either way, at least we know exactly what we're eating.

Our motley crew (albeit with faces removed)

My cousin came this year too 💓

Treeplanting #21: Chains and Wizards

Note the impressive glove tan.

Perfect timing as Jake douses me with water

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Being on Uncle Jim’s crew has actually been excellent. In my first year, he’d have to explain everything to me, which I think annoyed both of us, but now he expects me to understand and I do. I can appreciate his dry humour so much more now. It’s also amazing how he carries the immense respect of literally every other tree planter. Even Jake, who has a fair bit of pride, is constantly sneaking a glance at Uncle Jim for fear of disappointing or frustrating him.

On my last day, we were on a fairly high-altitude block. These are typically saved for the end of the season because they are still covered in snow at the beginning (at least that's my assumption). However, they also tend to be muddier because the snow melted most recently. Since Uncle Jim drives the "best" truck (I think he's the only one Rainer trusts with it), he's usually sent to the more difficult blocks because his truck has the highest likelihood of actually reaching it. However, since it's his truck that normally pulls out the stuck trucks, he also can't take as many risks with it because if we get stuck, we probably can't get towed out by any of the others. So whoever drives this truck has to be extremely aware of what it can and can't do - another reason why only Uncle Jim drives it. 

We reached the block without any major setbacks. There were a couple fallen trees over the road but driving over them was no problem. However, getting to the landing at the back of the block was a bit more difficult. Uncle Jim ended up pulling out the tire chains, which was exciting and pretty damn effective.

Attaching the tire chains onto the rear wheels

Pre-mud pit chains. I never got a picture of them afterward.

 After the chains were firmly fastened, we could slowly make our way in and out of the massive mud pit blocking the entrance to the rear landing of the block.

We had a party on the last night off and it was actually pretty wild. I didn’t get wasted, but five of my own drinks plus one of a friend’s spread over seven hours can actually keep me tipsy (respect for all the other lightweights out there who can have a good time for less money). A few of the guys had already started playing “Wizard’s Staff” at supper, where they tape every new can of beer they open on top of the one they just finished. When the staff of beers reaches as tall as they are, they become a “Wizard.” The winner is some combination of Tallest Staff and Last Wizard Standing.

Since it was so nice that evening, people pulled all the tables and chairs outside the tent to eat (never mind the fact that this is bush camp – it’s all “outside”). Among the people at our table was Jim (not the uncle, remember – the younger one). At one point, he left his chair to go get something else, leaving his plate and drink at the table. Promptly, Jake confidently strode in an sat himself down in front of Jim’s plate.

Upon Jim’s return, Jake cooed, “oh were you sitting here? Oops.” Jim rolled his eyes, picked up his plate, and switched to another table rather than engage. Two seats over, Jasmine and I made eye contact and grin, both acknowledging the other having witnessed the amusing event.

At some point several hours later (after both food and daylight had long disappeared), Braeden initiated a game of Flip Cup. Unfortunately, the rules of the game were a bit confusing for the inebriated players and several didn’t realize the game of Flip Cup involves flipping their cup. (For anyone unfamiliar with the game, it’s not worth explaining).

At another point, one of the players drove his van toward the mess tent and a couch was hoisted on top. Different people climbed up to sit on the couch at various points. At some point, one of the crew bosses (we’ll call him Leo) jumped from the van onto one of the tables (which were conveniently pulled out of the mess tent, remember?), and everyone cheered. Encouraged by all the cheering, another planter jumped off the van onto the couch, but this time the table bent completely in half. That table was promptly moved out of the way and another put in its place. Next Danan jumped from the van, managing to buckle the legs of the table on the first jump (he also did a sort of side-chop onto it which looked a bit painful). This table was then cleared away to make room for a third table. Before anyone jumped, however, Braeden quietly snuck in, subtly pulled the third table out of the way and replaced it with a tiny plastic lawn chair.

“That’s enough tables…” he said, sort of apprehensively. No more tables were broken after this.

The next morning

There seemed to be sort of fight between Leo and another planter (let’s say Dylan) but they were both too wasted for it to actually become dangerous. They are also both pretty sweet and harmless guys, so the whole thing seemed to alternate between Leo shouting angrily, Dylan looking confused, Leo coming closer and other people starting to get worried, then the two of them just start hugging it out and end up laughing. Then they would separate, but Leo would still look and angry and start shouting again a couple seconds later. Then the whole thing would repeat. An equally wasted and harmless Benoit (who would later move on to become the Champion of Wizard’s Staff) seemed to have appointed himself as Mediator and would sometimes be standing, or rather tottering, between Leo and Dylan to keep the peace. Meanwhile, all three of their Wizard Staffs were looming tall overhead. Well, Benoit’s was looming tall overhead; Dylan’s was looking pretty floppy by that point, the sad result of too many Wizarding Duels.

The next morning, Jasmine, Sandra, and I all headed to the nearby burger bar for hangover food and to chat about the night before. The most exciting part I seemed to have missed was when Braeden was making some sort of disparaging comments about women, so Jasmine (who is quite small) aggressively pounced on his back and put him in a chokehold.

The morning of Day 1 on the next shift, I left. This year, I had to leave camp early to attend a wedding. While the wedding was lovely, leaving camp early was disappointing. I actually started missing the feeling of planting a tree on the drive back from work on Day 3 last shift.

It's so sad seeing all the crews in the morning and my name's not there :(

I came out of my tent around the same time as everyone else, just for breakfast and to say good-bye. I joined Nina in waving good-bye to the trucks (something I’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance). Before leaving, Celine jumped out of Ben’s truck to give me a hug good-bye.

Gross pic of the blog: peeling the dead skin off my feet.

After clearing out my tent, these are the dead wasps I found. Apparently, I wasn't as diligent as I thought I was

While waiting for my ride out of camp, Rainer mounted the quad onto his truck in the most treeplanter-fashion

😢

Treeplanting #20: Camp Drama, Montana, and Fucking Wasps

Dressing up for Montana. Hat courtesy of Uncle Jim. Photo courtesy of Mariya.

Hat courtesy of Uncle Jim. Photo AND belt courtesy of Mariya.

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One shift we had a double day off landing directly on Saturday and Sunday. Jasmine and I decided to cross the border into Montana, exploring the towns of Eureka, Stryker, and Whitefish.

Before going, I decided to pull out all my cowboy-looking gear. I have a planting shirt that looks very Western, borrowed Uncle Jim’s hat, and had recently found a pair of equestrian riding pants at a thrift store. I tied my hair into braids to complete the picture. Mariya, upon seeing me, pulled out her camera and briefly lent me her belt. A photoshoot ensued.

Jasmine and I had no problem crossing the border. The guard asked us questions for about 15 seconds and we were on our way. Jasmine has an impressive collection of Disney music and early-2000s pop music, so we happily sang pretty much the entire way.

We explored the town of Eureka, but it’s a very small town and, being a Sunday, everything was closed. We carried on until we saw a sign for “Stryker.” The grand town of Stryker consists of about six houses and a post office. Outside the post office is a very large sign (bigger than the actual “Stryker” town sign) that reads “SAVE THE STRYKER POST OFFICE.” While taking pictures with the sign, a man in one of the six houses came to sit on his porch and proceeded to play a banjo. It was an extremely suitable instrument for the situation.

Save the Stryker Post Office!! The largest sign in town.

Classic Montana

Equestrian riding pants and pharmacy with an F

Once we made our way to Whitefish, however, the surroundings looked a little more promising. Whitefish is clearly a touristy town and, as such, cares very little for preserving the sanctity of a Sunday by closing everything. We wandered around for a while, exploring various touristy shops. It seems like this part of Montana is split between two political opposites: very left-leaning/“back to earth”/natural healing-style attitudes and then ultra right-wing/pro-Trump/ “protect the first amendment.” There’s no middle ground.

It’s almost the end of the season and I’ve cleared over twenty wasps from my tiny-ass tent. Every day after work, I enter my tent cautiously and peek around before relaxing, trying to spot any black-and-yellow movement before it catches me by surprise. Half the time, the wasps are already dead by the time I find them, and the other half I grab them with a spare sock and toss them out the door before they sting me. So far, four have stung me, but only two were bad enough to keep me awake all night.

These bitches are all over the place

One shift, I was on Dave and Sophia’s crew. This was nice because Sophia and I haven’t been around each other as much this contract. We spent a lot of the shift reminiscing about old times. On the first day, Sophia unfortunately had heavy menstrual cramps and so was bagging light and taking multiple breaks. Every time I passed her on the block, she was doing something weird. The first time, she was just sitting on the block a few metres away, seemingly focused on something.

“You look…invested,” I say.

“Ugh I feel like crap today,” she moans. A few hours later, I pass her again, in a different area of the block but also sitting.

“Don’t mind me,” she says, “just peeing.” The third and fourth times, I come across her sitting again for some reason.

“It’s a wonder I plant any trees at all,” she says.

On the second day, we have the most dramatic weather. In the early morning, it is fairly chilly, so we wear long-sleeve shirts. It warms up pretty quickly though so the sweaters come off early. A few hours later and it’s at least 25 degrees; everyone’s in t-shirts. However, partway through the third bag-up, the weather takes a dramatic turn. It becomes exceedingly cold and windy and begins to rain. Slowly the rain turns to hail. Once the wind slows down, the hail turns to snow. We plant faster to stay warm.

On the drive to work on Day 2, the snow came all the way down to the road (in JUNE!)

On the drive back, Sophia is feeding Dave fruit from a spoon as he focuses on driving.

“Look!” she exclaims, turning the orange spoon toward me, “A chicken!” Two grapes are at the top of the spoon with a small triangle-shaped piece of pineapple underneath. I the bottom of the spoon is spiked, making it look like a motley cluster of feathers. I nearly pee myself laughing. It’s late in the day, everyone’s exhausted, and everything’s funny.

Sometimes my brother sends me funny memes and I share them with the crew on the long drives

One day off, a few of us crossed the border into Montana to do laundry. Uncle Jim entered the mess tent just as I was drinking tea and said he was going to Eureka, Montana, for laundry since it’s the closest town. It seemed exciting so I came along. Mariya joked we’d be pulled over at the border for sure. Soren and Theo were in the back of the company truck while Uncle Jim and I rode in the front.

On the way two the border, there was a sign with a marijuana leaf and a line through it. This is probably one of the only border crossings where they have to tell you not to bring weed across the border.

Once at the border, the guard had everyone roll down their windows and proceeded asking everyone questions. For some reason, Soren was only nodding and shaking his head with a rather pie-eyed, bitter expression on his face. When the border guard asked, “Do you speak?” Soren nodded. The border guard followed up with, “So why aren’t you answering me verbally?” and Soren friggin shrugs!

Immediately, the guard asked us to pull over to a metal table and enter the side door. Inside, we filled out forms while they searched the truck. Up on the wall, we were greeted by a large, framed portrait of Donald Trump. The truck was pretty empty, with only our dirty laundry to root through, so it only took like 10-15 minutes.

At the laundry mat, there were multiple handwritten signs saying “ABSOLUTELY NO HIDES IN THE MACHINES!!” Of course that’s what people out here are washing.

On the way back, there is an hour-long lineup at the border, which is extremely unusual. We settle in, preparing for a heavy questioning. By the time we get to the border guard, however, it is much quicker than expected. He only asks Uncle Jim questions and Uncle Jim answers honestly. He declares his 40oz bottle of Scotch.

 “I’ll let you go this time,” says the border guard, “but normally, if you’ve been in the States less than 48 hours, you need to pay a dollar per ounce in taxes.”

“Oh I didn’t know. Oops,” apologizes Uncle Jim.

Back in camp, we are discussing the border crossing, both the way there and back.

“I told Stryker [Uncle Jim] about the liquor rule before we got to the border,” Theo says, “but he just winked at me.” Of course he did.

The Eureka laundromat also had a large pile of free bibles. Someone took one and placed it in the shitter. It's undetermined whether this was meant as reading material or toilet paper. I suspect Uncle Jim.

For one shift, I ask to be on Uncle Jim’s crew again. Rainer gives me that quizzical raised-eyebrow look.

“It’s been three years,” I reason, “and I’m a better planter now than I was in my first year, which makes sense.”

“Of course,” Cathy responds, “You think maybe he won’t ride you so hard this time?”

“He has to,” Rainer cuts in, “Gotta keep up the Stryker name.”

With that, I was placed back on my uncle’s crew for the first time since my greener year. We’ll see how that goes.

One of the gentlest, mildest crew bosses in this camp is Jim (not Uncle Jim -  a different and much younger Jim). He is incredibly calm, frequently laughs awkwardly, and it is difficult to imagine him ever being angry. For this reason, I find it sort of funny that, somehow, there is a planter in camp who absolutely (and quite dramatically) loathes Jim. This planter is Jake.

Apparently, several weeks ago, Jake had been on Jim’s crew in the mines. (Half our camp plants old coal mines which pay a lot more per tree/shrub/grass/anything they hope miiiight actually grow, but the ground is more difficult and depressing. The other half plants “normal” clear-cut blocks. There is a lot of extra paperwork involved in planting the mines.) While planting the mines can be more confusing (in fact, a general shitshow, I’ve heard), it seems Jake was planting very poor trees and not listening to Jim. Eventually, Jim had enough and requested for Jake to be taken off his crew, which also means being kicked out of the mines. Now, Jake is back planting normal clear-cut blocks with the other half of camp.

Jake did not take this well.

Dirty planters coming back from the mines

One night, I overhear him chatting with Mariya, the incredibly sweet and kind assistant cook. He is sending an excessive amount of ill-wishes in Jim’s direction.

Mariya, awkwardly trying to defuse of the situation without making Jake angrier: “Maybe sometimes people mean one thing but it sounds like something else.

Jake: “No no, it’s because I plant more trees than him. He’s jealous and trying to screw me over. I’d be jealous too if I was as ugly as him.”

I cover my mouth, trying not to laugh at the excessive pettiness..

Early one morning in the mess tent, as I’m pulling together my breakfast, Jake asking Mariya if Jim “suspects” him of something.

Mariya: “I think so yes. I think you were the first person he thought of”

Jake: “Yea he suspects me but can’t prove it. Just cuz I’m the first person he thought of doesn’t mean anything. I hear the word ‘ugly’ and he’s the first person I think of.”

“Oh,” Mariya laughs awkwardly, unsure how to defuse the situation.

“What did you do?” I ask, grinning.

“Nothing,” Jake responds, “you still need to eat your breakfast. Go have a seat, relax, enjoy your breakfast.”

“So considerate,” I smile, and make my way toward the couches to eat.

Glove tan is coming along nicely

One morning, our crew consists of Uncle Jim, Jasmine, Jake, Colin, Antoine, and myself. Uncle Jim, Jake, and I are the experienced planters, while Jasmine, Antoine, and Colin are first years. Jake is the last person to the truck in the morning, and the only empty seat is in the front with Uncle Jim and Colin. As he opened the door Colin got out, making room for Jake to slide into the middle seat.

A skirmish ensued.

After a few moments, Jake offers truce. He’ll sit in the middle seat on the way there if Colin sits in it on the way back.

Colin: “no no, I don’t sit in the middle in standard vehicles. No leg room.”

At this point, the whole vehicle erupts in jeers. This is where the argument was lost. Jake is a veteran highballer and Colin is a first year. This type of confrontation just doesn’t happen and by claiming “I don’t sit in the middle,” he is essentially saying “everyone else should sit in the middle except for me.”

Uncle Jim: “Bye, guys, we’re leaving” and starts to put his foot on the gas. As the truck begins to roll away, Jake scoffs and slides into the middle, Colin getting into the passenger seat beside him.

Before we’re out of the driveway, Jake grabs Colin’s hat right off his head. Whooosh.  It flies out the window.

Colin glares at Jake. “Don’t ever do that again. I’m serious. Never do that again.” His voice is incredibly serious, but it’s difficult to take him seriously because Colin himself just isn’t intimidating. In the back, Jasmine, Antoine, and I are holding back eruptions of laughter.

After the first bag-up on the block, Jasmine and I are back at the cache at the same time as Uncle Jim, who is trying to work out the events of the morning.

“Do you know who was sitting in the truck first before the confrontation happened?” he asks.

“I think Colin was, but he just got out and tried to make Jake sit in the middle.”

“Hmm,” comes Uncle Jim’s classically verbose response.

“Like, if you’re first in the truck and someone comes, you slide into the middle.”

“Oh is that how it works?” This is more of a statement than a question. Uncle Jim’s rule is typically “last one in the truck sits in the middle.”

Around midday, we are working the back of the block forward when a fresh piece of gossip reaches my ears.

Uncle Jim: “Colin’s getting a ride back from camp with Ryan. He refuses to ride with us.” Ryan is the camp checker and drives his own truck between the different blocks.

“He refuses?”

“Well, I think he’s scared of confrontation. He asked Ryan if he’s got space for another person on the way back. I think he’s a little worried about the confrontation.” I think Uncle Jim’s feeling kinda bad about this, I realize, he’s pitying Colin.

“Oh look,” Uncle Jim exclaims in a sarcastically happy way, “Antoine cut off all our access to the cache in one line.” He’s looking at the extra cache of boxes on the block, around which Antoine has planted a complete line of trees. It was likely an accident (Antoine is a first year planter). In the distance, Antoine and Jake are both planting on the far side of the cache.

“What a gentleman,” Uncle Jim continues, “both of them. Jake insisting Colin sit in the middle first. They're both such gentlemen.” He’s definitely taking Colin’s side, against the rest of the crew, I realize, he thinks Colin’s overconfidence is fake.  In a way, this makes sense. Uncle Jim’s always had compassion for the social outcasts; people who just don’t seem to “fit” with everyone else, and it doesn’t take a genius to realize Colin is pretty isolated from most people.

The next day, Jasmine and I share the front seat (we’re much better behaved). Antoine is not on our crew today, so Colin and Jake are alone in the back. Colin is already buckled into the middle when he hears the news that Antoine is not joining us.

“So you can slide over there,” Jake points to the seat on the other side.

“Nah, I’ll just stay here,” Colin responds. Everyone in the front seat starts to listen closely, cracking up.

“Oh, you just love it when our elbows touch?” Jake goads, clearly annoyed, “Just wanna cuddle with me?” No response.

After several minutes of silence, Jake bursts again, “Why don’t you just move over?” he demands, “Do you just love it when our knees touch?” In the front seat, Jasmine and I are trying to hold back our laughter.

“I’m fine,” Colin shrugs.

“But why?” Jake mutters angrily under his breath, “You stink, man.”

Once we pass Fernie, we stop in a parking lot to pick up one of the town planters, Edouard. Edouard is French, just like Jake, so the two of them immediately engage in French conversation and the argument over seats is forgotten since Colin, who doesn’t speak French, is cut out from the conversation occurring on both sides of him.

Jasmine, one afternoon: "aah look how nice the rain looks in the sun."
Me: "ahh so nice. And that's my wool sweater hanging off my tent to dry."

Everyone lining up their chairs to watch the lightning storm.
Nina: "Quick, someone helped me put the planters outside to get some water. Wait - not you planters! I meant the flowers."

This was going around the internet

And a treeplanter edition emerged much more accurately

Love this photo of Marley and her arnica

Pretending we do good for the planet when we're actually just contributing to a large forestry industry