This season has been a first of sorts. I have made observations or innate facts have been realized that had not been fully developed in previous years.

First I realized the degree to which my stupidity can reach. A lesson is never learned until someone dies or a season is cut short due to injury. It was a really nice day, both in terms of planting and weather. Storms began rolling through the valley though for a few hours they missed us. By roughly 3pm, thunder could be heard in the distance and a large ominous cloud was looming over. Suddenly flashes of lightning could be seen large enough to fill the sky with a brilliant white. With every lightning strike I would pause and count out the seconds between lightning and thunder. 7 seconds: 7 miles. 5 seconds: 5 miles. 1 second and now it is over us. At this point I have thrown my shovel away and am sitting down while rain, hail and wind blow through. My back is turned to the wind yet water works its way into my hood and drenches me.

I have not written about this yet but two years ago myself and 3 other planters were struck by lighting. I have had hundreds of volts move up my body, exit my arms and throw me to the ground. Yet my concern was not with safety but with the money I was losing. 20 minutes later, lesson clearly not learned, I cautiously picked up my shovel during a lull and began planting. The fact that I did not go to the truck or that the majority of my coworkers continued planting goes to show how dumb we truly are. The industry has evolved to a point over the past decade to one where safety is a priority. While safety was once not spoken of, tree planting companies and governments have worked hard to reduce danger and death. However the attitudes at a practical level are not much evolved. We can talk about safety and do talk about safety ad nauseum but at the pragmatic level, nothing is ever enforced. One of the rights we enjoy as silviculture workers is the right to refuse unsafe work. I promise you that no one would ever exercise such a right. The prevailing attitude is to push through and “man up”.

Second is the attitude Western Canadians and my coworkers have towards Native populations. Coming from a city with a small and geographically constricted Native population(Montreal), it is impossible to not notice the people, paradoxes and tensions between groups in British Columbia. I remember visiting Vancouver as a child and was blown away at the fusion and prevalence of Native culture and white society. There appeared to be a fascination and respect for Native art and culture. Having spent 7 years in the Canadian North, the true paradox between a love of art and culture at a distance and reality is much clearer.

I read a paper this year which discussed the problem of Natives within large cities. The author argued that cities develop race based geographical zones. When these zones collide, Natives are confined to a specific zone and viewed as being intrinsically different. So, the author argued, Natives exist in a no-mans land; not in or of our white geographical landscape. This explains my experience in British Columbia. Native people are either invisible or are forced to occupy a dangerous place in our psyche.

Tree planters have an uneasy relationship with Native populations. We are often camping near reserves or are planting on reservations themselves. I’ve been robbed twice by Natives, we’ve had people come to our camps and fire guns and one year some of our vehicles were run off the road by a group intent on causing us harm. I won’t bother explaining sociological reasons behind these events and far from being an apologist, I do understand this to not be indicative of a population at large. With these events in mind, I still cannot understand how such blatant racism goes unchecked in our camps. Natives are casually referred to as “chugs”(an allusion to beer drinking I assume) without anyone flinching. When we discuss drinking or alcohol, people will take on a heavy Native accent. When one person was called out on his continual referencing of Natives as “fucking drunks” the excuse leveled was a justification based on his growing up in a Native heavy town.

I cannot pretend to have any answers. Truthfully, I know relatively little about colonialism, sociology and its relationship towards Natives and whites. I never realized the extent to which this racism is prevalent in planting camps and wanted to address it.