Planting Camp

We're in to our second shift having worked 7 days straight from 4AM until 9PM every night. I feel the need to announce that we're alive and well as I've failed to be in contact with anyone since our arrival. All is well in Alanna and Lizzie's world though and when exhaustion doesn't over take us the giggles do. The internet is magically up today in camp and I have found an empty hour while Lizzie plunks through the planting dishes and I rather guiltily cruise my inbox. Life is good: The bugs out here aren't here and other than the odd ankle nibble we've been unbothered by the insects known to torment planters. I drive a big honkin' truck when we go in to town and we feel suitably dirty and dishevelled if not a bit silly and pretentious- like the kid who can't believe their father handed them the car keys. Lizzie has been my encourager and constant companion in every task and we pray together, have great conversations in the kitchen, laugh and giggle constantly and are loving the great big sky, the freedom of our days and even manage to bear with chagrin the chores that fill the hours. I'm still working through some of the anxiety of getting full meals on the table every day- a physiological more than a practical battle which can be wearing when the work never stops. Tonight there shall be shepherds pie (veg alternative as well), rosemary sweet potatoes, herbed peas, rottini broccoli salad, apple spinach salad, three bean salad, pumpkin pie, and rhubarb pie (desserts compliments of Lizzie.) I just ran out to ask Lizzie "Want to finish later?" as she washes up the last of the cutlery in the pouring rain. Response- "Might as well finish, I'm already wet." Reasonable enough. 

My poor feet went from trench foot dampness after discovering that my one pair of shoes had a huge crack through both heels (old shoes not so great after all) and the mud puddles that I stood in all day where constant pools for damp feet. Since switching to flip flops a few days ago my feet have become equally blackened by dirt (and all else) and I pull on socks at night to protect my sleeping bag from my feet. General pyjama policy is to wear them to protect my clean covers from my grubby self. Laundry mat conversation with a planter went as follows: He asked me "You wear pyjamas?!?" as I rejoiced over the freshly laundered pair that Lizzie had washed for me. "Yes...?" He smiled and nodded before pulling out from the dryer his own pair of full-body long-john pyjamas, bum-flap and all, and we all rejoiced. I told Lizzie I was trying to blog, with great difficulty, about how to summarize life here when our setting is so completely other. This conversation took place happened after I hopped in to the cook shack via window, stood there reboiling some hot coffee and milk in a soup pot, and eating yogurt with a knife as she sliced almond bars in her mother's apron, disheveled and dripping wet. She said, "How bout just describe exactly how it is right now." Yesterday a planter very sweetly asked her, "Um do you mind if I wash my boots here in the sink?" This was returned with a recalibrating moment as his sincerity was not to be missed despite the fact that she reminded him of how we like to use those sinks for washing silverwear and dishes. He was calmly handed a bucket with warm water and told to toss it somewhere the sludge would go un-noted.