Eating Dirt

Tree planting: a plethora of memories, good and bad, flood to the forefront of my mind when I hear those words.  Well I did it again, officially signed up for another contract that could potentially warrent my death.  You may think I'm joking; hardly.  It's the type of job that will tear you down to the point of breaking, if you let it.  It will cause every last fiber of your being to scream in rebellion, begging you to stop, give up.  But you never quit, that word is not permitted in your vocabulary.  And so, with the ferociousness of a savage beast, hatred more intense than you've ever felt before, brewing inside and spilling over, you take the negative energy and transform it, pounding that earth, knifing your shovel into it again and again.  In frenzied movements, you tear across the land, a mere silhouette against the backdrop of a darkening sky.  Legs battered and bruised from slamming into stumps, knuckles torn and bleeding, stinging lash marks on your cheeks from branches whipping back in your face, toes blistered from slamming your foot into the earth thousands of times per day; but you don't seem to notice, you don't stop.  So, think you know about tree planting? Read about it somewhere?  Heard someone's stories?  Trust me when I say it doesn't matter, you have no idea until you've actually done it. 

I have a vivid picture in my mind of virtually every piece of land I planted.  I remember the insurmountable joy I felt as I planted my last tree in the ground at the end of last summer’s contract.  It was as though a tidal wave had crashed over me, dragging my limp body away from every care or obligation I had; the most liberating feeling, I remember like it was yesterday.  I thought that had been the last bus ride I would have to take that would rattle the hell out of my brains; the last seedling my dirt-stained, duct-taped, calloused hand would ever grab and methodically place in the ground; the last time I would kick the earth closed around it with the toe of my worn out, soggy boot; the last morning I would wake up at 5:30, wanting to plug my ears and scream as the alarm clock blasted in my ears, reminding me of the dirty routine that so ruthlessly orchestrated my life. 

There were those days when the menacing sky unleashed its furry upon us, relentlessly spewing forth from its bowels as if somehow we deserved punishment.  There was no shelter out there, no pity.  Black flies, mosquitoes and deerflies plagued us, swarming in clouds of a thousand or more, the sick, droning, buzz of their wings (they literally sounded like a bunch of 450's at the start gate, engines maxed out, ready to fight for the holeshot) threatening to deafen and craze anyone who cared to pay them any attention.  But how could you not?  They feasted on any exposed flesh; ravaging legs where pants had been ripped open until their little wretched bodies ironically drowned in the very blood they were trying to gorge their gluttonous selves on.  

But despite this repulsion, there is something enticing about it; loosing connection with the outside world to live in a remote wilderness, to daily find yourself an intricate part of the surreal tranquility of a beautiful yet sickly skewed landscape.  It offers a kind of meditative calm and the freedom to be yourself without fear of judgement. I confess to having a love-hate relationship with it.  Arguably one of the toughest jobs mentally and physically, there is something about it that elicits certain fervor, instilling an ineffable satisfaction as the competition intensifies, your name creeps up towards the top of the list and personal bests are beat.  

Strangely enough, there is something peculiarly appealing about this raw, rugged, nomadic way of life that is so opposite of the typical norms that permeate urban society. It teaches you patience, determination and proves what you're really capable of.  It also changes your perception of life, the way you see ordinary "necessities" that would otherwise be taken for granted.  Probably the most appealing aspect is that as a planter, you have absolutely no responsibility other than trying to make the biggest dent in that multi-million-tree contract.  The biggest decision you need to make is whether or not to wait in line for the shower or go to bed dirty. However, no responsibility comes hand in hand with no control.   You have next to no control over your life; everything is determined by someone else, from which town you will spend your weekend in to which crazy driver will get behind the wheel of the bus that will transport you.

Arduous job aside, there are the fond, unforgettable memories that accompany camp-life and the weekend hype.  There are relationships that are formed; it brings the most unlikely people together because while we all have our differences, we do have at least one thing in common. We are a bunch of hunched over, scarred up, sun-weathered, worn out, trench-footed beings who receive enigmatic gratification from planting trees. And unlike most stereotypical assumptions, we are not a bunch of tree-hugging hippies.  Well some might be, but generally speaking we are just ordinary people from all different walks of life; as diversified as the ground we plant.  So, in the heart of the North alongside those treacherous logging roads, mapped out like ravelled arteries; somewhere back there we left behind a part of our legacy.  And as much as we hate it, there is a magnetizing aspect; it beckons our return, and so we pull out our dirt-stained planting bags and shovels, purchase our plane tickets and soon we will reunite to pick up where we left off.

Tree Planting Adventures

I’ve been meaning to write this ever since I got back from planting three months ago, but clearly that never happened. People have asked me how it was, to which I’d usually reply “I had a love/hate relationship.” It’s really difficult to sum up 2 months worth of experiences in a few sentences, so instead I verbally vomited on my blog. Enjoy.

Tree Planting

There is certain discomfort and pain associated with it. From aching muscles, blistering hands and feet, trench foot, numb toes, and claw-hand...it's all part of the job. Oh and the cold, rain, mud, swamps, blistering heat, sun, bugs, endless walking, exhaustion and long, rough bus rides, living in a tent, long line-ups for a warm (if you're lucky) low pressure shower; I mean...probably the furthest thing from anyone's "dream job."

So...why?

The thought had crossed my mind years ago when I had just moved. I had a few friends that had done it and it sounded tough, but totally my kind of thing. I had considered doing it in Quebec years ago, but when push came to shove, I couldn't go that far away from home. Not yet. But years slipped by and things changed. I changed. I was coming to the end of my 4 years of university and with another year of schooling ahead of me, there was no point (in my mind...) of getting a "career" job. I would much sooner spend it doing something that would challenge me, something outdoors, something new. I wanted an adventure, so bush life for two months it was.  I started thinking about applying to Havemans where I had known some others had worked. It didn't take me long: I got a couple friends in on it and it was done. I applied, got an interview and a few weeks later was notified that I got the job. Did I really know what I was in for?  Not at all. I didn't really know what to expect. I mean, obviously I didn't think I'd be planting a farmers field, but I'm pretty sure no one can fully prepare you. for the job.  I'd talked to a few friends that had done it, but everyone's experience is different. Our year especially was bad: land, lack of organization, bugs...

Road Trip

Once upon a time, these 3 crazy people decided to go tree planting

We left on May 10 for our road trip to Thunder Bay. It was quite the drive; I'd never been that far north or west. The landscape was drastically different, deciduous trees largely predominating. Tall, green, spruce loomed high as mountains, far as the eye could see, and jagged rocks jutted out here and there. This was the rugged North that welcomed me. It was awfully cold, much colder than Southern Ontario. On the second day of our journey, 6 out of 10 hours of driving was through a blizzard. The majority of lakes were frozen over, their shores showing merely a hint of thawing. The only vehicles we shared the road with were logging trucks. We chilled on Sunday, taking in what Thunder Bay had to offer. It was a pretty place, gorgeous wharves and rocky mountains, but it was bloody cold. I was thankful I had packed a suitcase full of wool sweaters, socks and thermal pants. I was going to need them if this was any indication of what the future held for me. It was not uncommon, from what I heard, for planters to get snowed on at least once a season. So I went prepared for frigid climates.

The Real Deal

We arrived at the shop on Monday May 13. Pulling in, we were greeted with a parking lot littered with people, random piles of luggage strewn over the yard, school buses, heavy duty Ford trucks and trailers. It was a little overwhelming and we didn't really know where to start. After filling out some paperwork, we threw all our belongings into a trailer among everyone else’s. They made it very clear that we better get the right trailer because if not, we wouldn't be seeing our stuff again.

Hanging at the office after transferring our stuff 

Once our stuff was thrown in and labeled, we got to personalize the school bus, the vehicle that would take us to and from our pieces every day. We formed special bonds with those buses, I tell you. A few hours after arriving, we were on our way. I had thought we were planting in Thunder Bay...but I was sorely wrong. There were three different crews and mine, Crossroutes, was headed to Fort Francis, bordering Minnesota, which was another 4 hours away. And so we hopped on our bus for the first ride of the season, off to discover our tree planting fate.

We arrived at our "camp site" before dark, thankfully. Our belongings were chucked out of the trailer onto the ground, everything covered in dust (most of the roads out there were dirt). We found all our stuff and went off to claim our spot. It wasn't much of a camp site, not your typical one anyway. We took a walk down "tent ally", as it was called...really just a gravel drive, to claim our spot. We were pretty thankful for our full sized swiss army cots - although we gave those up once we moved camp so we could fit three of us in a tent; choosing to take the sandy beach as a substitute. It was nice to be above the ground, especially during the big rain storms we had where other's tents and belongings were completely flooded.  The cots also served as a place to hang our damp clothes.

This was our tent at the second camp: the tree became our sock holder since they were way too smelly to stay in our tent

The first week we learned a lot of planting lingo. Terms like chico, block, piece, plot, cream, scarified, unscarified, reefer, cache, duff shot, slash and ghost-lining were thrown around, but we had no idea what they meant. We discovered that tree planting has a language of it's own.

The first few weeks were by far the most difficult. Learning how to plant wasn't the easiest thing. I was constantly afraid I wasn't doing it properly. You had to make sure you were planting quality stuff because they hired people to come and do quality checks. Pods could not be exposed, trees had to be straight, tight, and had to be spaced accurately. Quality checkers came in, threw a shovel in the ground, attached a 15 ft rope and walked around in a circle. To pass a plot check, you had to have between 9/12 quality trees in a plot, unless the land didn't allow for it. (e.g. rocks etc) If you failed, you repoed. A word no one wanted to hear. That meant you walked your land, checked all your trees - wasted a lot of time. There are something like 27 ways you can plant a tree, but only one way you can plant a good one - a lot to think about when you're first learning.

This is what a typical piece of land might look like

They taught us how to find a micro-site. You had to screef, basically a kicking motion with your boot, back and forth across the land to uncover the site. Then you tossed your shovel in, made a C-cut, pulled the earth forward, took the tree with your left hand, planted it and then kicked the earth to close the soil in around it. Repeat a few thousand times and that is your average day in a the life of a planter. Monotonous work, that's for sure. Sometimes we spent too much time finding our land boundaries, and that slowed us down.

A Day in a Planters Life

Basically the day went as follows:

5:20 alarm goes off - you pull up your blankets up over your frozen face and groan for a half hour.

5:50 you get out of bed. For the first month, I slept in whatever I planned to wear the next day because the air was way too cold to change in the morning.

6:00 lunch stuff was set out in the food tent. We'd pack however much food we wanted for the day and throw it in our backpacks. Then we ate breakfast, grabbed our gear and got on our assigned bus.

6:30 the bus left.

Mess Tent/Planter gear

Planting Buddies

Once we were on the bus, duct tape came out. We taped our fingers and palms. I did it because I hate wearing gloves.  Tape allowed your hands to breathe, while still somewhat protecting them. I always taped my shoe laces too, otherwise they came undone.

sporting the tape

8:00 we arrived at our block -depending how far our site was...first few weeks we had an hour-hour/half drive and they were walk-in sites, meaning we had to shoulder our planting bags, back packs and carry however many gallons of water we took for the day, and our shovel. We had a few pieces that took us about 45 minutes to walk to - probably the biggest piss off ever, because obviously you don't get paid for that.  We would be shown our piece of land by one of the crew bosses. They'd take us to a starting point, usually along the quad path or trucking road and point to some tree way back in the distance. They'd tell us to line in (meaning we'd tie flagging tape to trees every 20 feet or so until our back line) and once we reached the tree line (often not visible from the road), we would move right until we hit the next persons flag line. That was our piece, that’s what we would fill. Me and my partner got lost numerous times in our piece, not always a fun thing considering what's out there. I got completely disoriented when I was alone one time. I was just walking back to the cache, but went a different way then normal. After a few minutes I realized I didn't recognize the landscape at all, and panic set in. I yelled and got no response. Considering someone got left behind once at a block, there was reason to be scared.

waiting for our crew boss to show us our piece

Trees are planted 6 feet apart. You measured it by steps. For me it was every two and a half. It didn't matter what the land looked like, you had to walk it. Sometimes loggers did a real shit job cleaning up their mess, so you would run into massive piles of logs/stumps/chips and you would have to tromp over that with 700 or so trees on your hips. Easier said than done. I fell numerous times. One day it was pouring rain, and I was walking across my land, stepped over a fallen log, was snagged by the pants and got knocked down flat on my back with a bag full of trees. Trying to get up with 700 trees isn't the easiest thing to do. If you ran into a swamp on your land, you still had to go through it. That was probably the worst thing, having soaking wet boots all day. I wouldn't have minded so much, except it always killed the feet. Swamp foot, it was known as. Our land in general all season was pretty crappy and it became extremely frustrating. We rarely had cream.  Once your bags were empty, you would go back to the cache where your food and water was. A "cache" consisted of the boxes of trees that the tree-runners left for us and replenished throughout the day. There were two different species that we started off with: Jack Pine and Black Spruce. The spruce for wet land, pine for high and dry. Generally speaking, you would aim to empty your bags in a way that you ended up back at the cache just as you bagged out so you wouldn't have to dead walk.

You'd get to the cache, throw out your plastic wraps, fill your bags again and maybe grab something to eat quickly, refill your water and be off again. Planters carry several hundred seedlings at a time in specially designed tree planting bags that rest on your hips. I typically carried between 6-700 trees at a time: 500 comfortably. At times the weight of more than 500 was almost unbearable, especially when traversing rough terrain, or near the end of the day. We planted until whatever time they told us to be back at the bus, usually 5:00. Dinner was usually set out around 6:30/7, depending what time we quit, and we would gorge ourselves on monstrous portions of dinner and desserts. Most people disappeared after dinner, tuckered after a long day, especially the first few weeks as it was pretty cold in the evenings. You just wanted to snuggle up with your blankets.  Later on once it warmed up, it got more exciting. We would hang out and play Frisbee, toss a football, play euchre or just hang out around a fire. Swimming in the lake was pretty common too, especially once we moved camp and had a nice beach instead of a boat launch. Most of us ended up bathing in the lake rather than waiting for the line up that accompanied the showers.  Even though there were leeches, the lake proved to be quite refreshing.

An hour long wait one morning for logging trucks...photoshoot time

Some bus rides were awful. The roads were not maintained. Washboards, potholes etc were part of everyday driving. For some reason, we always sat in the back of the bus, where you feel the bumps the most of course. One day we were ripping down a road and hit a massive bump and all of us in the back came within an inch of smoking our heads on the roof. One guy who was passed out horizontally on the seat flew up and landed on the floor wedged in between seats. As such were our wonderful rides to and from camp.

saying bye to friends was never fun

I swear weekends are what got us through the planting days. We worked Tuesday-Saturday and got Sundays and Monday’s off. We would head out of camp an hour after we got back from planting on Saturday night and stay in a hotel.  We crammed up to 10 people in a room, minimizing the cost.  It was always interesting. Saturday nights were by far the highlight. We showed up at the hotel, got our rooms and then hit up the local club. You can imagine, about 40 of us walking in to a small town club. We literally took the thing over. So much fun. We’d hang out there until about 1am and then walk back to our hotel. One weekend, they kept the pool open for us until 5am! How we scored that, I have no idea. People were so rowdy. On that particular night, we had gone to Tims after the club ‘cause we were starving. We met one of the guys who was walking back by himself, completely drunk out of his mind. So we stayed with him and helped him back to the hotel. Of course, once he saw the pool party there was no stopping him. I went in just to check it out and got thrown in, clothes and all, by one of the guys. To be expected, I suppose...but having a Tim's sandwich in hand and clothes on, I thought I'd be safe. Sunday we’d wake up, go to church and then spend the rest of the day doing whatever shopping we needed to get done. And of course there was the Laundromat party. Wherever we wanted to go, we walked. One weekend we were staying in Fort Francis and went across the border to the movies in Minnesota. It was probably a good hour walk just to get there. When you’re on your feet day after day planting, and then walking all day on your off day...it gets pretty tiresome. We would head back to camp on Sunday evening and just hung out there on Monday. Monday was also optional plant day. Everyone was in charge of their own food that day. Our staple meal was pizza pockets, on the bbq. It was the best. That, and our must-have peanut butter m&ms! Couldn't go a week without eating a bag of them!

Tree planting changes a person. Temporarily, at the very least.  Imagine living in a tent for two months. Working in all kinds of weather conditions.

Wet feet.

Wet hair.

Wet clothes.

Cramped legs.

Long bus rides.

Miles and miles of walking.

Freezing cold nights.

Ticks.

Mosquitoes.

Black flies.

Deerflies.

Bears.

I didn't see a bear myself until my very last day in Thunder Bay, unfortunately. Bears weren't too much of a concern for me. I was more scared about moose, as they are territorial animals. Thankfully I never had to deal with one. We had an issue with bears in our camp, especially the 2nd camp. We were camped out on the beach, down the hill from the mess tents and main camp area, and the garbage bins were up the hill again from that. So while they never came down to the beach, they raided the bins a few times.

I remember the first day the black flies came out.  It was hell on earth. I had a bug net on, but it did absolutely nothing for me. They found ways to get inside through the little holes around the neck, and they would relentlessly chew away at your flesh. I was constantly slapping at my face. I got so pissed off at them I was practically running while planting, swatting them away madly. If someone saw me that day they probably would have deemed me insane. Some people got bit so bad their entire face swelled up. Others eyes were swollen closed. They're relentless. The first month we battled the black flies and mosquitoes and ticks. The second month, the deerflies came. They were probably the worst. While they didn't bite as much as the other insects, they tormented you. From the moment I stepped off to the moment I got back on the bus, they buzzed around my head. One day it was so bad that when I took my cache break, I wrapped myself in the tarp to get a moment of peace. The flies literally drove me insane. I remember several nights waking up in the middle of the night and itched myself literally for a half hour straight. Once you start it's so hard to stop...

I wore leggings, and eventually they would get holes from getting snagged on stuff. One day on the ride home I noticed this on my leg. Hundreds of black flies had chewed away at my flesh. That mark is dried up blood caked with dead black flies. I still have a scar from it...

Ticks were the least of my worries. When people first talked about them at the beginning of the season, I was honestly a little grossed out. However, of all the things I had to deal with, they would be my top choice. Getting rid of them is as simple as pinching and pulling them out of your skin. Killing them...the only way you could really do that was sticking them to duct tape. They would lie there, squirming their little legs sometimes for days before dying. Torturing them was awfully satisfying, not going to lie. Burning them with a lighter, or smashing them with a rock were really the only options for killing them. Pinching or squishing with your finger just wouldn't work. Above my cot in my tent I had a piece of duct tape hanging so in the middle of the night when I felt them crawling on me, I could stick them on something and know they wouldn't pester me again. Duct tape was a planters best friend.

swag-sexy Saturday

Tree planting stole away any societal norms that we knew.  We really did not care about appearance. Many girls came home at the end of the day with a well defined dirt stache It was bush life, what do you expect? You relieved yourself wherever, whenever no matter who was around, really, and talked freely about it. We had competitions as to who came up with the most creative place to go. Some went as far as to climb a chico (dead tree). Others of us used the middle of the road, just for fun, or in the middle of our neighbours cream, aka good land.  Sure made life interesting.  Where meal times are concerned...we were pigs. I piled my plate for breakfast, packed like 5 muffins, a sandwich, 10 cookies, and fruit for my lunch. Not even exaggerating. For dinner, a huge plate, plus seconds, plus dessert. We ate well. We ate like pigs. No one cared. Not when you're tree planting.  The best was our attire.  I packed way too many clothes. Sweaters, thermal pants, sweat pants, tonnes of t-shirts. All I ended up ever wearing were leggings and plaid. To the club, to church, to work. That was my outfit.  Oh, and wool socks and sandals.

There was one day that I remember being particularly difficult. We had been given an internal (meaning we had to walk through someone else's piece and their back lined our front) and the day before we had hit the big two-four (2,400...you get an extra half cent per tree when you hit that number or higher). Needless to say we were pretty tired the next day. Not to mention it was boiling hot, no breeze whatsoever and the deerflies were awful, as usual. Our piece had a pretty big swamp section and we were tempted to take our shirt off, soak it in swamp water, and throw it back on. At that point we really didn't care how smelly it was.  It meant being cool for a few minutes. I soaked my shirt, and my bandanna That was also the day where we found a log, and we sat for about an hour, poking fun at each other, reminiscing and complaining about how awful tree planting was. Some days were like that, you just couldn't be motivated no matter what. A similar day which we found it really difficult to be motivated, was when our bus got stuck. We had passed our road and went to turn around. The driver misjudged how soft the land was and we were stuck. A bus full of us. We sat around for at least a half hour trying to get it out but to no avail. People slowly started meandering off. Others of us were so pissed and had no desire to walk. (It was probably an hour walk to our piece from there, and we were lugging all our equipment, food, and water.)

But, you don't plant, you don't get paid. And so we walked. Once we got to our piece, we were so bushed that a group of five of us just sat down and chilled for an hour before we even planted one tree. Another really crappy day was the day of bees. It was a pretty hot day to begin with, and our piece was typical: crap. The first few hours were okay, until I got stung-not once, but six times in a row on the leg. I booked it out of my piece, dishing out more profanities than an Eminem single as I ran like a mad woman down the road. It was one of the most painful things ever. I got stung another 3 times that day...

biggest box fire of the season

Planter Prom

 Hillybilly Style

The adventures did not stop when tree planting did, however. Our journey home ended up being quite an ordeal as well. July 6 we planted our last tree of the season, finishing off our 4-million tree contract. What a feat. We packed up on the 7th and headed to Thunder Bay. A group of six of us were planning on catching the 9pm Greyhound bus to Toronto. However, upon arriving at the station we found out they were full - AND - the next bus didn't leave until 24 hours later: we were stranded. That didn't get us down whatsoever though: we made the best of it. What did we care? It meant one more day of adventures, one more day of reminiscing together and trying to wrap our minds around the fact that we just lived in the bush doing one of the toughest jobs for two months. We made friends with the two guys working at the station, kept them and ourselves entertained until they closed at midnight. They let us keep our luggage in a back room over night, which was pretty amazing! We really didn't have any kind of plan for the night. We for sure didn't want to fork out for a hotel, cause we are cheap like that. So we split up. Three of us slept (or tried to) outside the Greyhound Bus Station. It was an interesting experience. I didn't sleep at all. After a few hours we decided it was ridiculous. I had been texting a buddy who was hanging with some tree planters at the bar, and they told us to come hang out. So at 2am I called a cab and we were on our way. We met up with a bunch of people and hung out for an hour or two before heading to McDonalds. Only the drive thru was open, and there was a sign that said "no walk-thru." We were extremely hungry, it being like 3:30 but didn't have a vehicle. So someone decided to take all our orders and then make friends with some random lady who was driving through. Meanwhile, the rest of us thought it'd be super fun to climb up on the roof because...why not? So we did, and turns out the manager found out, called the cops and 6 got busted and issued a nice $65 fine.

After that we ended up in someone's truck and got dropped off at a motel where our supervisor and some crew bosses were hanging out. We had decided we definitely weren't staying there over night: too crowded. When our supervisor saw us he was like "get me out of here..." so we ended up driving 45 minutes to his house. We got there around 5, met his two dogs and puppies-they were the cutest things ever! Definitely fell in love...

Anyways, so we got next to no sleep that night. At noon he drove us back into Thunderbay where we hung out all day doing nothing really. We were exhausted. Finally at 9pm we were on the bus, our journey almost finished. The bus ride wasn't really fun. We were quite cramped, making it impossible to sleep. It was a long ride: 18 hours or so. When we got into Toronto, I discovered that I was missing a bag: my tent with a moose antler attached to it. After inquiring, the bus driver told me it had got dropped off at the Yorkdale stop. So we had to contact the manager and get it shipped over on the next bus, making us wait at least an hour. But the looks I received walking around T.O. with a moose antler was totes worth it!  And so ended our trip...it was a bittersweet feeling. 

In Summary

It was such a great experience. You learn a lot about yourself, what you're really capable of. I have such a respect for anyone who does this job because really, it is one of the toughest. You really push yourself to the limit. By the end of the season, I reached my goal of 3,000. Someone had told me before I left that there was no way I could plant that many, and it was my goal to prove them wrong. I know I could have done much better, looking back. But the fact that I did reach the goal I set before going was quite satisfying. It's hard to summarize a two month experience. It really is. There are so many aspects of it that I absolutely loved. So many highlights. But it's probably safe to say it is the toughest job. It requires a crazy amount of stamina. It is all about speed, determination, and most importantly, attitude. There are many days when you wake up wondering what the hell was I thinking?

Was it worth it? Most definitely. But, after one particularly bad day of planting, I promised I would write myself a letter which would contain all the reasons why I never ever wanted to plant another tree in my life. However, I never got around to writing that letter, and I'd love to go back some day, if I ever get the chance. Tree planters are pretty bad ass, I must say. I was proud to have been part of such an amazing team because really, the people are what make it. The memories will be with me for life.