A Falkland Postcard

I'm just keeping you "posted". In re: to letters sent to me, I just now received them, read them, smelt them, ate them, re-read them and replied to them.
Yours truly,
Signed and sealed,
Lynn Marie.

p.s. This is what the alphabet would look like if q and r weren't in it.

Curse your branches

Shouts of Tabernac fall down the hill. Ulysse topples over and lands lying in slash. Miriam steps on soft solid ground and sinks to her knees. Mosquitoes find the centimeters of space on Petes face that aren't covered in deet. I don't put my rain coat on because it is sunny and then it pours. Then I go to get my rain coat and then it is sunny and then it pours. Will flies off the quad. Snider leaves his glasses at the other end of a 15 minute walk in. Doug pounds his shovel into a rock. Manny mutters soft curses under his breath about Isaac. Isaac shouts Maria at the top of his tall lungs. Maria! Maria! Maria has a bug in her eye, mud in her eye, a twig in her eye. A bunch of us have Christmas toes, the claw, split feet.

Tree planting is about growth. The roots need to be in the ground straight, deep (not too deep), covered. Sometimes, in some land, it takes opening a few holes before you find the right spot to plant. Sometimes, in some land, you plant a tree where it does not belong. Sometimes you plant trees too close, or too far. Miriam looks like Uma Thurman and asks me if I still like planting. I look like a mess and tell her uh huh. Will comes by, puts Pete on the front of the quad, me behind him, and Miriam on the back. We go pull out trees and plant them again. In the first two weeks two people quit. Then two people were injured and one of them quit. Then another was injured and quit. Then two people were transferred on our crew, and two off. Then one left, two more left, and two more are leaving. A checker became a planter. A low-baller became a high-baller.

I dream about tree planting while I sleep and I dream about everything else while I plant. Mutually, as a crew, we love everything we hate about it. We all fall. In slash, mud, in devil's club, and in flower patches; off quads, at the bar, down hills and up them. Then we curse in a few different languages. Then we plant more trees, for one more week, and wait a year to plant more again.

7300 days.

And I'm exhausted.

See the dirt. Plant the dirt. Be the dirt.

Prince George and 100 Mile House, B.C.

Add to that

How long does it take to get trench foot?

Where no mosquitos at

Does anybody else wonder, every day, at what it might be like to be Jay-Z? Maybe with 8 hours of pure thought a day you think of something better to think about. Not me.
I also wonder the following:
Can mosquitoes suck enough blood to compromise iron levels?
Why am I here?
If I fall in the woods do I make a sound?
Why doesn't everyone do this?
Why would anyone do this?
What will I make for dinner?
Will the checker even check this?
What do my biceps look like?

That's all. And if you were wondering if I can break steel in two pieces, the answer is heck yes I can.