Today we gather dirt.  The reason we invited a woofer to the cabin this year is that dirt gathering is such drudge work and it is made so much better by having a little help.  There is, of course, a second reason: we have enjoyed all the young woofers to date so it is not all exploitation but dirt work is definitely an ‘earn-your-keep’ type chore.  My definition of a ‘little help’ is to say, “Go get dirt.  Dinner at 5:00.  See you later” but Sally won’t go for that so we’ll all be digging dirt unless I can find a more suitable chore that allows me to stand up. 

Dirt gathering is hard mostly because there isn’t much to gather.  Our ‘property’ is rock, actually.  We are situated on a peninsula of granite thrusting into Hoskyn Channel and, over the eons, it has attracted enough dust and such that moss eventually grew.  As the moss grew and subsequently died, enough compost-cum-dirt developed to foster Salal (shrubs) and the process continued until eventually we got trees.  But despite such herculean-but-natural efforts over thousands of year, the soil is still shallow and riven with root systems.  Digging on our site is like taking a fork to roofing felt.  So, we value any dirt we can get.

Yesterday the women ‘hard-scrabbled’ enough dirt to fill three wheelbarrows.  They were at it for four hours and the yield was about 1/6 what we have to get.  I find that discouraging and so I go do other things.  So long as the other things are deemed necessary and important, I am relatively free.  Today I will build the box into which the dirt will be placed.  Trust me, I’ll build slowly.

Sally and Phoebe don’t seem to mind.  They chat like magpies and lots of shrieks and laughter can be heard.  They seem fine on their hands and knees shaking little handfuls of  
dirt from some rat’s nest of roots and twigs.  They dig with hand trowels and little hand-held implements of flora destruction.  It is painstaking.  Maybe I can build two boxes? 

Had to whack another mouse yesterday.  That’s two mousecides on my hands so far this year (altho I wear gloves during the executions).  Harsh.  I suppose a guy who has had a few street-fights, undergone a few operations and eaten meat for 60 odd years would have some comfort with blood and guts and I guess I have.  But not much. I keep thinking that I should be able to hunt.  I should.  It’s a real-man thing, I think.  And I should be able to kill and butcher a deer.  Mankind has been omnivorous for eons. 

Deer meat is good, there are plenty of them and, after all this time on the planet, I am pretty much knee-deep in indirect slaughter, mayhem and gore.  So, what is another carcass or two?  Eh?  Well if dispatching a little mouse is anything to go by, I am not going to do it.  Rib-eye steaks?  OK.  Mouseicide………..well, when required I guess.  But cute little deers with those big eyes?  I don’t think so.

Hmmmmmmm……………………Sal is a good shot………………maybe………..