So I've been here in Alberta for about a month now, and I've loved it. Planting has been good, hard on the body but good for the soul. It has been a test of character, and for that I deeply appreciate it. There is a daily inner struggle as thoughts and questions emerge on the block, and there is no one but me to entertain them or ask them to. I am left to myself - I plant alone. Occasionally a foreman swings by for a minute or two to plot my trees and we say a few things, but for once there are no constant voices around me. Good thing too, for my thoughts are loud enough. I regret not being able to hear more of the sounds and murmurs of mother Earth around me, but they usually fade into the background because I have gotten so accustomed to them. I am lost in a world of my own. I almost no longer need to think of what my body is doing - step 1, 2, 3; crack open a hole with my shovel, reach down with my left hand and insert the limp seedling, close the hole once again with my right boot; take 3 more steps (Repeat 2000 times).
The repetition is almost healing. A veteran treeplanter recently told me to look at planting as a liturgy; a spiritual act or cleansing. The trees at first weigh about 50 pounds in the bags strapped around your waist, however, as you plant, the number of trees in your bags will begin to decrease and your bags will get lighter. It is an act of removing the baggage surfaced in your mind or spirit and getting rid of what is holding you down. This mental act can happen as many times as you 'bag up' throughout the day. It is no longer meaningless toil under the sun (or rain, hail, or snow) but it has become purposeful. It is no longer drudgery, but discipline of the mind. Time matters once again. We no longer only survive the shift but we thrive.
Many things could bring us down: the frigid 5:50 am mornings where you can see your breath; the rain that doesn't care that you are planting and pours down on you anyways; the knee-deep (or waist deep; it all depends) swamps that you fall into because you just needed one more tree to fit in order to make it a perfect plot; the scorching afternoon sun that makes sweat drip off your nose after only the second bag-up; the hard, dry, dusty land that you can barely kick your shovel into and makes you feel like a slave in the desert; the slash that cuts up your legs and your arms and your face because you thought a tree would somehow fit perfectly in the middle of it (rookie mistake); the tall grass that swallows up your trees and is somehow the exact same shade of green which makes finding your line impossible; the wet clay that sticks to you after the rain and makes walking impossible; the 15 minute walks into the block that make you tired before you even start; our worn out legs, stiff limbs, sore knees, bruised & sprained fingers and hands; the overwhelming sense of hopelessness; the (frequent) lack of motivation; bitter complaints from other planters; and the occasional thought of injuring oneself as a way of getting out of the whole planting ordeal altogether (and every planter has had a thought or two or this sort, guaranteed. Example: leaving food in your back bag so a bear will come and eat you on the block -- compliments of Gena Giesbrecht).
Yet we are alive and alert in the Albertan air in the seemingly complexity of routine, challenged to discipline our minds and our bodies - and hopefully flourishing, in the same way we wish our trees would (even though we planted that one a tad bit too shallow. oops.)
Until next time,
Steph
