Morning blue sky. Erik’s radio crackles in the kitchen. It is cold, but you know by morning stretch circle you will be breathing hard. Enjoyment of the breakfast line depends on your mood--if the coffee is ready and if there are coconut flakes left. A lot rests on the pleasures of food these days.
Tighten your shoe laces and hike in. Quiet in case we see a moose. It has yet to happen. You are breathing hard again. Tool in hand, your body knows what to do: lift, squat, lift, squat. You revel in the rhythm, the movement of the trees, the changing light.
Midday. The clouds move east. For the most part, they always move east, Lindsay reminds you. The aspens dance in the wind and the afternoon storm approaches. Rain gear is on standby. At lunch everyone basks on the forest floor. It quickly becomes your favorite place to lay. You watch the ants scale your legs and carry little crumbs back and forth.
Remember to drink water; hydration is your friend and you'll need it to get through the afternoon. The saw rides smoothly back and forth. Perfect golden curls fall with each stroke. Pull and wait. Pull and wait. Your log crackles and rolls. Another cut to clear the path. So you reassess a simple problem and then you can begin drawing the saw back and forth again. Your muscles begin to ache but nothing else captures your attention--only the saw: its rhythm and your breathing. It thunders in the distance, but you carry on, rogue hoe in hand. Bend and pull, bend and pull.
At the end of the day you walk out the newly cleared and tamped trail, past the crosscuts and back to the van. No moose in sight again, back in the van, down the bumpy road. Back to camp and Erik’s radio, clouds are still moving further east, and you'll get to do it again tomorrow.
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