Saddle up

A half dozen, fifteen passenger Dodge vans are warming up. They whine like fighters on a flight deck behind the old mansion in the heart of Eugene's Fraternity House district. Bags are placed in coveted seats as stewards make last minute checks, tires, lights. Each van gets a cardboard box filled with PBJs or cream cheese and jelly. Pink panthers at the end of the month; beets and cream cheese between bread. A three gallon yellow igloo water cooler with red top sat in the back of each crummy.
The house is alive with the clank and murmur of sixty tree planters finishing breakfast. Their stainless steel trays rinsed, stacked and silverware tossed into a large metal bowl of soapy water. A few were going through heaps of clothes looking for a pair of sox or gloves.
Many hadn't worked a day in their lives before a few months ago. I was one of these. Now duty demanded we find our place in a designated van, buckle in and ride into the wilderness where a full day of demanding physical labor in all kinds of inclement weather would be exacted.
The weather could be fierce. Mud sucked moisture leaving hands cracked, thorny blackberry bushes ripped flesh and vine maple, a wispy rubbery plant worked like a whip raising welts.
There is a verse in the Bible about a certain demon possessed man who lived among the tombs slashing himself. We took it as our, tongue in cheek own.