Greg Baugues

Day Three on the Farm

This is lifted from my journal, from our third day on the farm. When I wrote it, the view looked something like this:

It started snowing on the bus ride from Istanbul to the farm. Within two days, we had twenty inches of snow.

One of the 4x4s supporting the roof of the community perma-tent buckled and split under the weight of the snow last night, then another cracked in the early morning. We spent the morning on ladders shoveling snow off of the roofs of the two tents.

I used muscles I’m not sure I’ve ever used before. I’m physically exhausted, hoping the farm owners don’t give us more work to do before lunch an hour from now.

If they don’t, maybe my socks will dry. They’re hanging at knee height to the right of the furnace. So glad we brought mostly synthetic, quick drying material this time, otherwise we’d be screwed.

You take these things for granted at home. Being dry and warm. You take for granted being able to effortlessly communicate with your co-workers. Being able to coordinate efforts, delegate tasks. So much lost effort here simply because no one is in charge. Too many four man teams put on two man jobs. But no one wants to be the guy just standing around looking lazy – especially not us Americans.

Lunch is coming up soon. Apparently my gloves are made partially of plastic. They just melted a little bit. Too close to the fire. My socks are mostly dry – dry enough at least. (My socks would later burn through. Synthetic.)

After lunch we’ll go back for a few hours of work, until 4pm. Then we’ve got the rest of the day to ourselves. Probably more chess with Arthur.

I don’t know why they say all that stuff about Frenchmen. He hasn’t given up once.

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