(Memoirs of a first year tree planter)

(Memoirs of a first year tree planter) is just a tentative title while i work on this. youll know when its complete cuz the title will change.


so you want to go treeplanting you say?
let me spin you a yarn...or ya know, a dozen...

"There's a genuine, not love, but at least respect amongst tree planters. Not just because we all know what it's like to be in the shit. But because we all know what it's like to be in the shit, and we're still here." - Lukas Ryder

We are on the northbound greyhound just south of williams lake, b.c. we are headed to prince george to begin our first season of tree planting with Celtic reforestation the skies are blue and the clouds thick and i still feel like i am just outside of victoria and still on the island. i drift into sleep thinking of family trying not to think too much about the plant to come cuz i know once we get there thats all that will consume us. when i awaken i dont know where we are but i know we are much farther north. the last trimmings of snow drifts of winters last gasp still line the road sides. the shutters to the sky have been closed. it is still mid evening but the skies are a black brown and paint the rivers a creamy diahrea color as if a dozen cocacola trucks had over turned in the current just out of sight around the bend. sheets of sleet batter the bus. i rub my eyes to confirm the startling change in my reality and laugh to myself as this seems to be a sign stating "you have no idea what youre getting into" we arrive at PG at 9:30pm. (Prince George was called "the northern capital of b.c." [what a shit hole. gummoesque kids loitered out front of pretty much any place they could from the library to the cinema. there was a skin shop on every second block and according to a guy we picked some weed off of he had been shot at with a shotgun the day prior over pretty much nothing. If boredom warms the devils hands this town was a fucking hottub]) pulled into the greyhound station 45 minutes late of when our foreman was to pick us up. luckily when we walk out of the front doors into the rain, a Crummy (a large modified pickup with enclosed canvas back to house planting / personal gear, trees, first aid equipment etc.) with the celtic logo on the side is waiting for us. we walk up to the front left side and knock on the window. A short, kind, blonde woman in her mid 20s rolls down the window introduces herself as Emma our foreman and tells us to throw our shit in the back and get the fuck in so we can get the fuck out. we walk around and pull back the hooked closed canvas flap to reveal other planters personal bags, planting bags, shovels, a wheel barrow, helmets, long pink cords i have no idea what are for and other misc. crap im soon to become well acquainted with. we get in the back of the crummy and introduce ourselves to a couple of the other planters on our crew (dont remember specifically who it was at the time) "we're staying at the Brothers Inn" emma tells us. "we'll probably be there another 3 or 4 days before we go out to camp on account of the ground is still too hard to plant." Brothers Inn was a shady motel 15 minutes North East of town. Ran by an asian couple who were pretty much ghosts unless you weren't paid up for the night. We had two rooms side by side each with two beds in them, stove, sink, tv, bathroom. It was here we met the majority of our crew. Our fucking family and eventual saviors of one another in some way or another through out the course of the next few months.
There was Cody and Rob Whynot. Two easterner brothers who were proud as anybody of their Nova Scotian home. "We're not fucking newfies we're Nova Scotians" they'd spit at anybody who used the term within earshot of them. This'd be their 3rd year in the shit. Spent their first year planting Ontario, 2nd Alberta, now here they were here in B.C. They were the alpha dogs of the crew but as helpful and caring as you would hope they'd be. Don't get me wrong though, sure they were decent enough. But they didnt give a fuck about anybody who wasnt on their crew. One evening a few us were sitting around drinking after dinner. Talking about motives and why we're all out here. Cody had this to say: "Sure the exercise is phenomenal, sure you meet alot of amazing people, and sure its a fucking blast in general. But we all know why we're really here. It's about the fucking benjamins! Us, we look out for eachother cuz we're on the same crew. We help each other out so that in the end we can all make a lot more money. But those other yahoos in the company? I dont give a fuck. they could get mauled by a bear or rolled over by a logging truck and I wouldn't think twice. Ya know why? cuz its about the motherfucking benjamins." and thats just the way he was. The two of them laughed and partied and had a good time with everybody as any. But they really knew what they were doing and why they were doing it. I guess thats what made them the high ballers they were.
There was Dawson. He was a different story from the Whynots all together. He didn't need the money at all and was just there for shits pretty much. He'd plug along enjoying the scenery. Stopping every once in a while to hollar into the trees or sock dingers on his cache breaks. While I planted around him he'd stop to ride giant logs like a cowboy. I remember one time on the bus back to camp he was talking and making everybody laugh 'til we cry like only Dawson knew how and in between laughing fits Warbsy said "Dawson I would love to have known you when you were eight" to which he shrugged and said "Yea I was pretty much the same."
There was Lauren "Warbsy" Warbs. This was her second year. What a friend, sister and mother she was to us all. Always cheerful and optimistic. She really recognised how important gestures of physical contact were for maintaining a good mentallity out there and would without being asked rub backs and feet or simply place her hand on your shoulder when she spoke to you. Supportive, loving and a gorgeous voice. A true blessing.

Terminology:
Bagged out: all trees from bags have been planted.
Bag up: fill your bags with trees.
Block: a chunk of land usually large enough for an entire crew to take an entire day or two to plant to specified density.
Cache: the spot along side the road where you stored your personals, boxes of trees, equipment etc. while you are out planting.
Cache break: any breaks are usually taken out by the cache as that is where personals such as food and extra clothing are kept as well as tree boxes for bagging up are. Cigarettes are not permitted to be smoked any where but on the road so a smoke break would also be called a cache break.
Cream: incredibly soft ground that's easy as hell to plant.
J Root: a tree planted in too shallow of a hole causing the bottom of the plug to bend to the side.
Piece: small sections of a block. ex. planters are designated their own piece of the block to plant.
Silvicool: a bright silver reflective tarp pulled over your cache to keep the trees cool and your shit dry.
Slut: to plant trees with no attention to quality. only concern being speed.
Plug: a sapling to be planted.
Pound: Quality planting done fast.
Low ball: to plant the least trees out of any number of group of people.
High ball: to plant the most trees out of any number of group of people.
Socking dingers: to bat small rocks with your shovel at a target, eachother, or just straight up into the air.

talk about the bus ride to and from the block.
Pat/Lukas/Cody/Rob/Dawson/Lauren aka "Warbsy"/Mara/Sarah/Ilana/Emma/Matt/Brian/Sim/Daniel/Reuben/Claire/Ruby/planting photos:see my facebook for four albums of planting photos.