The most common questions I get about living in the bus are about being a woman travelling and living alone. Don’t you get scared? Don’t you get lonely? Of course I do, but I was lonely and scared in the city, too. Way out down some forest service road in the bus with Jude and the cats and my axe and my woodstove I feel complete in a way. It is better to just rely on yourself. I see so many people in relationships based off of a mutual need to not be alone rather than an appreciation of each other (I’ve been there, too) and it fucking horrifies me. I don’t NEED anybody, but of course, sometimes it would be nice to have somebody. Sometimes it gets tiresome just to be doing all of the daily mundane tasks by myself. I’d love to be able to make a partner chop wood for once, or climb up to clear snow off of the roof, or drive, or pick up the diesel bill.
I’m more capable than any men I’ve ever had in my life. My ex didn’t even have his driver’s license- when we went on a vacation it was colored by the fact that I had to drive 2,000km and stay sober while he quaffed beers everywhere we went. White boy rapper wouldn’t last a day in the woods (and I don’t think had his driver’s license.) The women in my life have been the real bad asses.
Here’s a brief shoutout to the amazing women in my life. My mom, who became an amateur MMA fighter at the age of 44. I could write a book about what a bad bitch my mom is. My grandma Esther who’s demure presentation masks a core of absolute iron. She raised my dad and went to school full-time and got a degree. There are grainy 1970’s film photos of her on a motorcycle. She chops wood and drives the tractor and used to live with my dad in a tiny homestead in Tekhummah. That remote little wooded plot with the falling down cabin and the well could be mine, now. I want it incredibly badly. Her sister, my aunt Evelyn, who travelled to Europe on a freight ship as a teenager. This was even more impressive for somebody from a conservative Christian family from Tekhummah.
All of my coworkers from my seasons of treeplanting. Women who smell like diesel and woodsmoke and exert mastery over ATVs and chainsaws and trucks, women who do their own oil changes, and everybody else’s, women who lounge casually outside of mess tents with their beer and smokes. God I love them. Women who casually tap me on the shoulder to show me how to use an angle grinder or to take over the flatdeck trailer I just can’t wrangle around a tight corner. Women who can plant thousands of trees in a day, and good ones, too. Women who run camps, not with the military precision of a man, but with the kind of empathetic leadership that commands true respect, and love. I am constantly in awe of the women that I work with and they are always inspiring me to learn a new skill, to say yes, to accept help and guidance. Laura and I changing flat trailer tires and convoying the dry bus and the kitchen bus from camp to camp- those are some of my fondest memories.
I have worked with some incredible women in kitchens. The culture is slowly changing but kitchens are a sexist place. I remember one job I had in Guelph where I kept getting put in the dishpit because ‘women are more organized’ while a guy who’s only prior experience was microwaving pre-portioned meals at Swiss Chalet stumbled through a service on grill. Fuck you, dude. He got paid more than I did hourly, too. Chef Gallivan who just made the most beautiful, sophisticated food and commanded a kitchen quietly with her no-nonsense presence. A great chef does not need to scream or threaten or belittle their staff to get results. Vicki, who owns her own bakery now. Women who could out-drink, out-party and out-cook every single person on staff.
I have never thought twice about being a woman travelling alone. I do what needs to be done and learn how to do what I don’t know how to, and that’s the way I like it. And if I’m being honest, I’d rather have another woman on board to help with the wood chopping and the chores than I would a man. We would be the most powerful bitches on earth.