Soon, I won’t see the dark of night. That’s what happens when you go to bed at 8pm and wake-up at 4am. That’s what happens when you cook for tree planters.
One more year, though of course that’s what I claimed during the 2009 season. Last summer I was in Norway, staring up at the cliffs from which base-jumpers were launching themselves and realizing that perhaps base-jumpers are the only people on earth crazier than tree planters. But when I returned from my year abroad, I shook my pockets and found no spare change in them. Not a penny. So I thought okaaay, one more summer.
It’s taken awhile to come around to the idea, but I’m actually looking forward to camp. Now that the snow is (nearly) gone, now that I’m well-equipped with base-layers, and now that I’m nearly convinced my body’s not too old for this, it’s time for optimism.
I like cooking for planters because they genuinely love food, and genuinely love you for cooking it. I like excusing myself from the world and hearing no news but news from the block. I like having strong arms and absolutely no regard for what I’m wearing. And I love days off around the campfire, with a motley-crew of planters playing music. Those are my chances to re-connect with life after sunset, and they're simplistically sweet.
So here I go again: one more season, one more summer in a tent, and one more chance to blindly choose my outfits. I am absolutely, positively certain of one thing:
There will be stories to tell.