it was late May. The sun was hot, mid-day, but there was still a bite in the air. I was sweaty, hot, tired and feeling a chill down my spine. I had around four hundred trees in the ground, and the day was not going well. She was the acting shift boss and came by to see how I was faring in my plot.
It wasn't going well. I was leaning on my shovel, by the logging road, dust in my mouth. when I blew my nose teh snot was a deep viscous gray. The bugs were just starting to come out, but mercifully were blown askew by the annoying wind.
My mood was torn between the beauty of spring in the north, and the meloncholy of letting love go. Kathleen had moved to Edmonton, and I was still in Ontario. Not that it would have worked anyway, but god, did I yearn. But the wind was blowing, the land was greening and the sky was a sunwashed blue.
I chatted with the shift boss about my problems, both planting and love, and she offered me sincere if sparse consolation.
but what I remember most is her walking away. Wearing baggy pants, flannel shirt, big rubber boots and kicking up little puffs of dust as she walked down the logging road. Singing Janice Joplin.
I bought 'Pearl' as soon as I got into the city.
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