Lumbersexual (Novella) (2 page)

But after this summer, I had no clue what I’d do.

It was one thing to be in college, because I had focus—the overriding purpose of studying, taking classes, getting good grades.  Goal after goal to achieve.

Now it was another thing to get a job and go out in the real world, work forty years, and then retire in Florida.

Not that I wanted to do that.  Actually, I had a much better idea of what I
didn’t
want to do than what I wanted to do.  I didn’t want to be stuck in a lab extracting plant DNA like I’d done for the past four years under carefully controlled growing conditions.  I wanted to smell living things, not just use a computer to model how they were supposed to be distributed over the countryside.

So for now, I had a summer job restoring meadows in Yosemite National Park, and I’d figure out what to do after that.

I hoped.

Not a half hour earlier, I’d paid my twenty dollars and entered the park from the south entrance, evergreen trees lining the winding mountain road like tall stacks of books in my college library.  As I drove my little 1991 Honda, my golden brown skin prickled with anticipation.  I was finally here.  I’d thoroughly prepared for this summer by packing brand spanking new hiking boots that I’d attempted to break in the week before, a zero-degree sleeping bag, a for-reals-OMG-I-was-gonna-try-backpacking-this-summer backpack, and a stash of Cheez-Its because I couldn’t live without those.

Shrug.

I rolled down the window and let the clean, piney-scented mountain air brush my face and blow my shoulder-length dark brown curls.  The Sierra Nevada Mountains smelled different than the lowlands of California’s hot, flat Central Valley that I’d just passed through.  

And what a change from the broad expanses of vibrant green soybeans and tightly planted corn of Iowa where I’d grown up.  This jagged mountain landscape was testing my fear of heights.  

As I continued on the winding two-lane highway, I craned my neck and started identifying the trees I’d learned in class—incense cedar, valley oak, ponderosa pine.  A branch from a conifer almost hit my passenger side door.  I couldn’t wait to see a giant sequoia.  Such a rarity.

Shit, I swerved to avoid missing a deer standing in the bike lane.

Keep your eyes on the road, Maggie.

My soon-to-be supervisor, Kristy, had warned me that cell phone service was spotty in the park, so I’d printed out a map to my new home, employee housing in the small community of Wawona, and placed it on the passenger seat for safekeeping.  But now I pulled it out, studying my way.  I needed to find myself this summer.

Literally.

The path to my new home was easier to navigate than life after college where there was no map.

I turned off the main highway onto a paved side street, followed it back to a small cluster of log cabins in the woods, and parked my car on the pine needle-covered ground on the side of the road.  The two-car driveway was quadrupled-parked with a huge, ugly brown van, a gray Toyota truck, a vintage yellow Volvo, and a red Mazda.  I turned off my car.  

When I opened the door to get out, my first reaction was
wow
. I’d never lived in the mountains before.  It was . . . quiet.  A bird call sounding suspiciously like “Cheeseburger” split the air, and something skittered through the pungent bearbrush to the side of my car.  In the distance I heard the rush of water, which I knew to be the Merced.  I stepped out of my car, boots crunching dry oak leaves, which lived at this elevation with the pines.  #botanynerd.

But silence.

Then it was broken when the red door of the log cabin burst open and out spilled a ton of overly enthusiastic people.

“Maggie!”

“You must be Maggie!”

“Roommate!”

“Welcome!”

I hadn’t been able to tell who said what, they’d just kept streaming out of the house like water over a dam and I ended up surrounded by almost a half-dozen smiling people who all looked about my age, twenty-one.

“Hi, everyone,” I said, and waved awkwardly.  Only child.  Bookworm.  Not used to attention.  I looked down and kicked at a small white fir branch on the ground.  “I’m Maggie Washington.”

“Yay!” said a tiny girl with killer hiking boots, who waved back at me excitedly and then shoved her hands into her pockets, as if to control her eagerness.  “I’m Emma Chen.  You’re finally here!  You’re staying with me!”

Everyone gathered around me, and they all said their names and shook my hands.

“I’m a hugger,” Emma burst out, and reached around and wrapped me in a warm hug.  

“Me too.”  I hugged her back.
 

I smiled at all my new friends.  “Sorry, I’m late.  I had to, you know, graduate, pack up my apartment, put my things in storage.”

“It’s all good, girl,” said Ian, and gave me a chin lift.

Then they overwhelmed me with offers of assistance.  “I’ll get your bags,” volunteered Matt, and he pulled my bag out of my car.  In one trip, we took my gear inside and dumped it in my new shared bedroom.

Now I sat with all of them in the living room, getting to know my new roomies, who’d clearly settled in already.  I looked around at the sweatshirts, hiking boots, bicycle helmets, backpacks, flashlights, and lanterns strewn everywhere, wondering if I’d fit in.

“I don’t have to eat roadkill, do I?”

“Of course not,” Emma assured me.  I got the idea that Matt’s diet was already a household joke.  Then changing the subject, she said, “I just graduated like you, and I’m going to medical school in the fall at the University of Chicago.  I’ve always wanted to be a pediatrician.”

 
“That’s awesome,” I said.  “I’m so jealous of people who have goals like that.”  I turned to blue-haired Katie.  “What about you?”

“I have a degree in art from the University of San Francisco.”  I immediately was drawn to her vibrant brown eyes and perky-but-cool personality.  She had killer hiking boots too, like Emma, and a tattoo peeking out under her black t-shirt.

I loved tattoos.  I had one on my ankle of a purple coneflower—an Iowa native plant—with a monarch butterfly.

The only memory I wanted to take with me of Iowa.

Botany nerd here loved it.

“This is the first time for all of us in the park.  Katie, Yazmin, and I work in the interpretive program.  We give ranger walks in the Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias and campfire talks.”

“What does interpretive mean?”

“Interpret nature for visitors.  You know.  Talk to them about ecology.  Basically a tour guide for the environment.”

“Cool.”  I smiled at her and turned to Ian, the barrel-chested wrestler.  “And you?”

“I’m from Idaho and I studied environmental engineering at Cal.”  His dark eyes flicked up and down my athletic body, with interest, perhaps.  I’d have to watch out for him.

Don’t make assumptions, Maggie.

“And you work with Matt at the ranger station?”

“Yep.  Live with him.  Work with him.  But there’s no way in fuck I’m eating squirrel with him.”

What a crowd.  This whole living in a log cabin with a bunch of brainiac granola children was unique.  I hadn’t expected to be roughing it this much.  No television.  Barely any technology.  We had a clothesline outside.  I wondered if there was a washing machine in the cabin or if we had to beat our clothes on a rock at the river.  

When were they going to get out the record player?

It was gonna be culture shock to be away from my phone all summer long.  And I loved taking pictures, but there was no Wi-Fi.  The National Park Service didn’t have it in its budget to install upgrades for this old house.

“So,” said Emma.  “You know about the party, right?”

Already?  “No.  What party?”

“There are parties every night around here.”  

“Seriously?  So who are at these parties?”

“Rangers.  Staff.  Locals.”  Gesturing to the other roommates, she said, “We’re all new, right?  Doesn’t feel like that anymore.  After one party you get to know people really quickly.”  She grinned.  “Even the notorious ones.”

I had to know.  “Who are the notorious ones?”

“There’s this really hot guy who’s known for getting together with the seasonal staff.”  She shook her head.  “I’d stay away from him.  And there are a few who seem to be pains in the ass.  But pretty much everyone is really cool.”

“Where is it?”

She shoved a pink half-sheet of paper in my hand.  I turned it over and giggle-snorted.  It was a used wilderness permit for hiking in the backcountry.  Someone had photocopied a flyer for a party on the other side with a crude cartoon of a bear and a ranger drinking beer.  “Tonight’s fiesta is at Kristy’s house.”

“She’s my boss.”

“Yeah, she’s a ranger supervisor.”

I read the fine print at the bottom of the invitation.  “It says there are rules?  No plates, no silverware, and you may not serve yourself?  That’s insane.”

Emma nodded.  “I’m bringing seven-layer dip.  Come with us.  You can meet everyone.”

“Sounds good.”  Then I realized.  “All I have to bring are Cheez-Its.”  My face fell.

Her facial expression started with raised eyebrows then morphed to a wrinkled nose.  “Between Matt’s roadkill and those, we’ll have to come up with something better for meals after this party.  We’ve decided to pool together our money and buy food for the house.  You in?”

“Sounds great.”  

“We have some time before the party,” she continued, looking at her watch.  “Want to unpack?  I’ll help.”

I followed her to our room, leaving the rest to hang in the living room.  Unzipping my duffle bag, I unpacked my shorts and jeans and put them in the battered 1970s wooden dresser she’d reserved for me.  Tanks and tees and undies put away.  Shoes shoved under the bed.  Emma took my toiletries into the bathroom, and I unrolled my sleeping bag on top of the mattress and positioned my pillow, giving it a little pat.

Home sweet home.

“Have you been to the big trees yet?” she asked, sitting on her bed.

“No, I’ve never seen them.”  I pointed to myself.  “Botany major here.  I can’t wait.”

“Oh em gee, they are so huge.”

“That’s what she said.”  A male voice came booming into our room from the hallway.

Emma and I looked at each other and burst into laughter.  “So it’s gonna be like that is it?” I called.

“Yep,” said Ian from Idaho, who was now officially designated a flirt.

I snorted.  “Perv.”

“Takes one to know one.”

That was true.

Wanting to rest from my drive, I threw myself onto the bed, still wearing my tennis shoes, hoping for comfort.

Ugh.  Lumpy.

Well, it felt better than the ground.  Emma looked at me in sympathy.  “I know you’re the last one here, so you drew the short straw, but honestly, none of the other beds is any better.”

“It just depends on who is in there with you,” called Ian.

“Sexual harassment much?” I called back.

“Absolutely.”

I laughed and then groaned and turned over.  Oh dear.  I mean, he was cute, but not for me.  Friend-zoned immediately.

I’d learned.  Unless there was a chance at a welcome fling, I always friend-zoned them before they friend-zoned me.