Desert Boots

Found me some desert boots this morning in a basement of trinkets. They were probably pulled off a dead man somewhere with feet the size of nine. Now I am ready. I can feel the outline of his phantom feet as my own make themselves at home. Some purple foamy sandals would top the list, but beggars can't be choosers. Two pair of work boots? High baller move. The Bush List is pages long, though nothing is really written down to strike through. I think I am ready.

Oh the list of things to be missed! Hand around the back of a neck while driving. Cozy bed, comforts of home. Skin on skin. The flare of fire for a night time cigarette against my favorite face. Things like that.

There is a draw to the woods that I can't really explain. It sits in me like hunger. Dear muscle memory, please carry me through, please knock my reservations down like bowling pins. It has been two years since I planted anything. My shovel feels awkward. My arms are noodles but my legs are strong.

I will be planting for two weeks beside my friend Lisa and cooking for six under the guidance of a stranger named Emily. This entire operation was birthed quickly providing little time to fret over all the things I do not know. Going in blind with desert boots!

If anyone is interested in corresponding with Lisa or myself, you are welcome to write. I will definitely respond. No laptop in the bush this year. Typewriter and ink only. I imagine my cooking schedule will leave minimal room for sleep or relaxation, but I intend to do my best in the correspondence department on slow afternoons.

Looking forward to waking up to Lisa's laughter and birdsong. Yellow light of early morn. Listening to Sonic Youth on the way to the Block, splashing coffee from rough logging roads carving rivers into my filthy body. I am ready.

Here is the HQ address:

PRT Frontier-- Bram's Camp
c/o Meg Kroeker
Box 757, 75 Pollard Rd
Dryden ON
P8N 2Z4

Queen of the Road! See you in July.

ps. In other news, Craig and I took the mopeds out for the inaugural ride of the season. Whoa. Finally tasted the nectar of speed. Now I know what he was talking about. Just as I am getting the hang of riding, it is time to leave. Something to look forward to. Oh the places we will go. There are no words to describe such thrill.