By Lucy

We both woke up shortly after 7AM on Thursday. Possibly he was just pretending to be asleep so as not to disturb me.

I hurt myself, an increasingly common occurrence. I tripped over his bags in the middle of the night as I went to my desk for a Tylenol. I was surprised to find, in the light of day, that I actually split my baby toe open and there was a sizable scab.

Breakfast as usual, away to feed the chickens at 8:30 as usual. He was packed up by 9. There wasn’t really a point in delaying his leaving – Simo might get annoyed and I was going to be working most of the day anyway.

“I got you some kindling.” He says proudly, gesturing to a pile.

Because you… what? Thought the carpenter doesn’t know how/ can’t lift an axe? I should stop ragging on the guy for being nice, but I always question if he would do that for me if I were a young man (probably not).

Back to normal.

Ended up working more than I thought. Simo got a new set-up for work; since she works remote, they send her a work laptop and phone. They haven’t been replaced in 10 years and badly needed it. Problem is that we have a 67 year old woman attempting to do her own setting up, although fairness to Simo, she is fairly tech-savvy. The joke was that I’m more there for emotional support than tech support as we ran into frustrations inherent to the system. Like the laptop won’t allow you to change the internal clock from the one it was set to, which is the server in California. Or that the dark blue pixels were red, which probably requires updating the graphics card drivers, which we also can’t do.

At 12:30 I had to duck out to go back to my cabin. There was a Soroptimist meeting I couldn’t miss.

Here we run into one of the ironic truisms of Thunder Bay – I’m not missing much by skipping winter. After 2 years of the mercury barely kissing freezing, old man winter is back with a vengeance. Southern Ontario was buried under several feet of snow, so severe they shut down Pearson airport and even cancelled mail delivery. Thunder Bay was limping along under temperatures of minus 40 and below (which is also, interestingly, the temperature where Celsius and Fahrenheit meet, so I don’t even need to convert it). So the Soroptimist meeting was entirely on Zoom anyway, as no one wanted to warm up their car for an hour meeting and some tea.

The emergency issue is that the Soroptimist International of the Americas has a big soiree every year, in the usual style of American organizations, and they require all clubs in North America to pay the fee even if you don’t send attendees. Which is 800 USD, or more than 1 grand Canadian, seeing at the Canadian dollar is plummeting right now. I won’t say more than that.

They’re also gearing up for career days at public schools. Sadly, I cannot attend myself as it is before I get back, but I sent it to the union for them to send a rep. I also managed to line up a plumber and a computer tech through my contacts.

After I went back into the house, I still ended up spending most of the day helping Simo, which always makes me uncomfortable. I know she wouldn’t accuse me of shirking work, but I feel like I should be doing… more. Plus, the things on the list do need doing, so taking a day to do nothing is just adding to the backlog. Also, where’s my free time?

It also occurred to me that I was missing something else from the box… my little black dress. When I asked Simo about it, she said she remembered giving it to someone, but couldn’t remember who, and she doesn’t know a lot of people who are slender like me.

I’m on the fence about how annoyed I am. On one hand, the dress was only 20$ new and I’d had to for more than 10 years, so it’s not like it was brand new or expensive. I could probably find a close replacement pretty easily. But it had sentimental value.

Actually, it was a reminder that beyond buying work pants to replace those that had worn out, and motorcycle gear, I hadn’t really gone clothes shopping since… 2019. Maybe it’s time to update my wardrobe.

Speaking of clothes, my riding jeans split along where the saddle rubs the inside of my legs. Money well spent there! I’m on fence about trying to fix them or just lightening my load and letting Simo dispose of them.

Once I was free, I threw a bandage on my injured toe and went out for a jog. 4 days with no running! The toe protested being forced to run, but we all know I’d run until the soles of my feet bled if I didn’t make myself stop. I limped my way through, practically doing the Terry Fox hop by the end.

Even after dinner I was roped into helping her, as she’s trying to plan out the furniture she will need for the house she just bought. Relax, Simo!

Friday is another boring, average day. I weed a bit here and there. Sweep and mop the back porch. Clean the laundry room. I diverted some of my gardening time to clearing out the knee-high stinging nettle around the chicken runs.

I have a eureka moment. Simonetta asks me to come with her out to the back 40 to measure something on the house she has out there. I notice the truck the cabin is on the back of is has the name of Gary’s son; presumably it was his company before he went to jail.

Andrej has mentioned he thinks I should publish the blog as a book. I was hesitant… usually you want existing blog content to be 50 percent or less of a book, because why would someone buy it when it’s free on the internet? And I couldn’t think of anything to add. But looking at the branded truck, it hit me. I could do some Jane Austin Emily Bronte nonsense; an old, creaking home, a mystery with some criminality, people who won’t talk about it… perfect!

The question now is, do I self-publish or try to find an agent? Both have pros and cons. Self-publishing has two routes as well, the cheap one being Amazon. There’s not a high cost upfront, because they print to order, plus you get a small payout every time someone “rents” the book on Kindle Unlimited. However, you’ve now sold your soul to Amazon.

There is traditional self-publishing, which does have a steep upfront cost plus you have to do all the advertising yourself, but then the profits are entirely yours.

Or spending a few years harassing agents until one finally takes me on. No cost to me, but less profit and you lose control of the book after writing. The other problem with self-publishing is that you are slightly less saleable to agents, although I’m not sure it’s enough of a concern to make or break my choice.

I can count on a bit of a head start. I’m willing to bet the book would be forwarded to every Soroptimist on the planet, so that’s some sales and word of mouth. I have some people to spread it around Thunder Bay. I might even get good coverage in New Zealand cuz it’s set in New Zealand; an article in Stuff would greatly increase my sales.

Options, options.

I had a second eureka moment. Earl is allowed in the paddock the house is in, and since Gary just cut the grass and baled it into hay, it’s nice and short; perfect for jogging. “Can I jog with Earl in the paddock?”

“As long as there is no sheep in the adjacent paddock.”

The boys come back, although Alex immediately heads off to spend the weekend with his wife. There’s a bit of gossip; Ethan passed out drunk in the lobby of the hotel in Akaroa. Oops!

Ethan comments that Alex is really good at scaffolding. When I point out that scaffolding is good money, Simonetta interrupts. “He was doing scaffolding. That environment is part of the reason he’s unstable now.”

Yeah, that checks out. Still, what does she think of me, if she knows that to be true?

I let the chickens out in the afternoon, which I am slightly resenting. The sun is setting a full half-hour later than it was when I was in Haast, but it still sets too late for my liking. The chickens won’t go back into the pen until sunset, so I can’t change into my jammies until late.

I wonder what this is doing for my circadian rhythm. It occurs to me that I have spent my entire life living by the natural change in light from summer to winter and back, except now. I’ve gone from summer to summer to summer – literally, as the vernal equinox is March 20th, shortly before I head back to Canada. As close to even as it gets. Would that do anything to my system?

There’s guests for dinner, so me and Ethan eat alone at the table.

The next day, I am surprised when I go to feed the chickens. They usually go back to their own pen at the end of the day, but apparently the night before, a bunch from the third pen slept in the middle pen and were wanting to be let into their own pen for breakfast. I was really confused what was happening until I noticed there was about half the usual number in the third pen.

The guest the night before wanted a weird cocktail; Pimm’s with lemonade and Angostura bitters.

Simonetta decided her and Kelly were going to clean out Simonetta’s personal fridge. So glad not to be a part of that!

I took Earl for a run in the paddock. Well really, I didn’t need to do anything; she follows me automatically. She seemed to enjoy it! About halfway through, her tongue was lolling out of her mouth from the heat, so I took her back up to the house for a drink of cold water and told her to stay. But when I was halfway through another loop of the paddock, there she was, running across the paddock to join me! She must be enjoying it, I can’t imagine why she would otherwise. This really is all the fun of owning a dog with none of the work or cost!

Once I was done and had a shower, I left the door open for a breeze to come thru, and Earl strolled right in and made herself at home. I probably should have kicked her out, but it was nice.

Duff is alive again. He has 2 moods; unemployed and despondent, or employed and manic. When he is the first one, he doesn’t reply to my email for weeks (no, I haven’t heard from Eli since August). He’s got a job now, so he’s in a great mood, bought a new snow mobile, and wished me a happy Valentines “in case no one else had”. Since he is employed, he brushed off my suggestions that he contact the mill for work, which I think might be short-sighted; the mill will be work for the whole summer, plus travel payouts. But also, I just miss him and would love an excuse for him to visit. I was really wanting to introduce him to some of my friends, like Paul.

My benefits finally clarified the steep cost. It’s fun playing email tag, with the time difference and all. The 800-odd dollars is actually for January, February and March. The cost is 278 a month. And when I asked how to reinstate my benefits, they said I’d have to ask the union hall, how vague.

Ok, so the cost is higher than the Toronto union, but easier to be reinstated… in theory.

When I went to put away the dogs before dinner, I found one of the guests feeding the chickens handfuls of grass through the fence. Which isn’t, like, a bad thing in and of itself, just odd. I went over and jokingly asked them if they’d want to help me feed the chickens the next morning, and they gave me some spiel about the chickens are starving and how they love grass.

Oookaaay… Well, whatever makes you happy, weirdo. This was 1 of 2 days I hadn’t bothered letting them out, cuz I didn’t feel like getting up to close the gates at 9, so they ain’t going without.

Dinner was roast beef with roast potatoes and gravy, Gary’s dream.

Sunday morning, just as I finished giving the chickens water, the same guests came over with a couple of slices of bread to feed the chickens. This slightly annoyed me – not going to ask if you’re allowed?

“Are the owners elderly?” She asked.

As I opened my mouth to reply in the affirmative, she added, “Cuz this place is so run down.”

EXCUSE ME?!

I have no idea what my face was doing, but either my indignation didn’t show or she didn’t care. She kept going, “And the orchard is so poorly kept.”

Don’t make me feed you to the chickens! I choked down all my angry words and smoothed my voice into something neutral. “Yes, they are elderly, and she has quite severe arthritis. Which is why this place is for sale.”

“Oh really? How much for?”

“I believe she wants 3 million.” Actually, she wants more, but it was the last number I remember hearing. And it would be nice if this turned into a sale.

“For this?” She sniffed. “How much land is it?”

At this point I started backing away from her before I couldn’t contain myself any longer.

What’s especially galling is that she booked the cheapest accommodation on the property, so if she thinks she’s hot shit then she’s cheap hot shit. (Also she later left a bad review for “cleanliness”).

I spent almost all of Sunday playing Rimworld. I should probably explain Rimworld for everyone who wonders why I play it so much.

Rimworld is a colony sim… or a story generator if you’re pretentious. People often say “that game was recommended to me, what’s it like?” and I love it, but there are two things you have to know. First, it does not pull its punches; when you fire up a new game, your chosen colonists spawn with 5 days of food (a month is 15 days in this game) and if you haven’t figured out how to get more by then, they will quickly starve. They also sink into an increasingly bad mood the hungrier they get as well, so it’s harder and harder to dig yourself out of any hole.

The second is that the game rewards psychopathy. For example, 2 of my colonists spawned with asthma, which requires they consume meds every 3 days, which have to be time-consumingly grown or bought. Or I can replace them; by buying new lungs from a trader, by making bionic replacements – a process that will take a couple of years – or… I could just cut them out of this prisoner I have, whom I will have no benefits from releasing alive.

I mean, technically it rewards critical thinking and thinking outside the box. Like, say I get raided and the raiders are hanging out next to a wild grizzly bear while “preparing”. I could wait for them to attack… or I could just send a colonist over to enrage the bear, which will then tear the raiders apart for me!

The random number generator also changes the game constantly. For example, every time you get raided, the game rolls a bunch of dice for the raiders, so you might get a raider who is related to one of your colonists. The relationship didn’t exist before that raid; they were just invented there. But you have a choice; do you try and recruit the family member? What do you do if your colonist shoots their relative and accidentally kills them? There’s no right answer to this question as far as the game is concerned.

The biggest reason I play is a lot is that it’s not very graphically intense, being a fixed viewpoint with “paperdoll” characters, and it can be paused at will or run in the background. The colonists just kinda do their own thing and can only really be aimed, not directed.

Sunday over dinner was different. Simonetta talked herself into a conversation about actors that were big in the aughts. She started at Leonardo di Caprio (in relation to getting teenage girls to learn Shakespeare) and ended up trying to remember Johnny Depp’s name (from What’s Eating Gilbert Grape). When we finally puzzled out who she was talking about (I don’t know anyone who’s seen that movie) I commented that I think Johnny Depp looks better in his 40’s than he did when he was in his 20’s.

“Yes, but then you do prefer older men, don’t you?”

“What?” I exclaimed, face red. How on earth did she come to that leap of logic?

“Isn’t it true?”

“Pete’s not my boyfriend!” I protested, as Ethan and Gary exchanged a knowing look.

Of course, Ethan knows about the Vagabond, but I kinda doubted it was interesting enough to tell Gary. Or maybe it was.

Simonetta glanced at Ethan. “So she’s not interested in you.”

Was that a legitimate concern? She’s just teasing us!

Oh wait, Kelly knows about him too.

Well, it’s not a secret!

After the roast was over and I went back to my cabin, I noticed the biggest freakin’ spider I have ever seen in my life in the corner of the ceiling. It was hard to tell in the dying light, but I’ve been here long enough to memorize all the knots in the timbers. Now what?

I ran back into the house. Ethan was loitering in the living room. “There’s a monster in my cabin!”

He tilted his head in confusion.

“There’s a… a…” I made the creepy crawly gesture. “A giant spider.” I hadn’t want to admit I’m scared of spiders.

He got off the couch and grabbed a broom as he followed me to the cabin.

He did seem taken aback by the spider’s size as well, trying to kill it at the end of the broom. Eventually he lost sight of it and declared it dead… apparently too much of a wuss to get close enough to confirm!

“I thought there might have been a possum in your cabin.” He says.

“Nah, I could handle a possum.” Just not an arachnid. My spider killing technique still mostly consists of me flinging my shoes across the room at them, but this thing was just too big.

In the morning I found the spider curled up, dead, in the middle of the other bed. I guess it had enough life in it to crawl a bit. Do spiders bleed out? They must do something of the sort, they have some sort of interstitial fluid even if they lack a mammals circulatory system.

I grabbed the broom and swept the corpse out the door before it could revive.

Every day is starting to look all the same to me. Sleep in the same bed, tend to the chickens, make the same beds and clean the same bathrooms. Like I’m trapped in some boring version of Groundhog day.

I also start applying bug repellent before bed. My legs are constantly covered in little bites that I didn’t have the night before.

Monday morning, Simonetta and Gary left before I got up. They had to do something urgent in Christchurch, so I was all by myself.

I talked to Richard about how and when to show up at his place. He said it would be better if I arrived on March 1st, because he leaves for his next tour on the second. A little early, I’ll talk to Simo about it.

Since I was weeding around the Granary, I called Jeremy to get some socialization to keep me awake! We hashed out the first “level” of the game and some of the script.

Ghostwriting is an art unto itself. What I can say is that two of the main characters are brothers, but that’s about all Jeremy had decided on. What are their names? How old are they? What kind of people are they? Hopes, dreams, careers, relationships, favourite flavour of ice cream, anything I can start to craft a narrative around? Still, I relish the challenge. I look forward to helping Jeremy realize his dream, but I’m also looking forward to having something concrete to put on my resume. “Wrote game script for best-selling game of 2026” sounds nice!

Simo texted me around 1; she wasn’t going to be back in time and we have guests in the house, a couple and their small child. Could I greet them?

Sure. At 1:30 I packed up, hosed myself with Febreeze so I wouldn’t smell, changed into my nice clothes, set the dining room table for 3, turned the lights on etc etc. Then I sat at her desk and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I should have grabbed my laptop.

The guests finally arrived around 3. The main guest, Martin, had a million questions about the property, what time and what dinner would be, on and on. Just as he went out to grab his bags, partner and child, Simonetta got in. While he was outside, she ran upstairs to put on her nice clothes. I was forced to continue sitting around in case they wanted anything else.

Once she was finally ready, I went down to let the chickens out. Martin wanted to bring his little girl in case she found chickens interesting. She did not, although fortunately he thought her crying in terror was hilarious, because I was not going to try and put the chickens back in the coop!

Now that I had some time to myself, I buckled down on Duo. I’ve actually been doing about half an hour each day, double what I was doing before. I think it’s starting to really click, but it also helps that there are long stretches of nothing in Rimworld, so I’ll play and do Duo at the same time. I’m two-thirds of the way through the course, for whatever that’s worth.

Me and Gary had dinner alone because Simo was cooking for the guests. She used us as test subjects for a new creamy spinach sauce which was excellent, although the chicken she served it on was slightly overdone. I tried to connect with Gary a bit… no dice.

Ah, whatever. Less than 2 weeks ’til I leave again.

It was raining really really hard Monday night, “bucketing it down” the Kiwi’s would say. The sound on the tin roof was so loud it kept me awake.

Tuesday was interesting on three fronts. Firstly, someone finally told me there was a provincial election going on! (thanks Mike). Fortunately, applications for mail-in ballots doesn’t close til February 21st, so I could still apply. Not sure it really matters cuz Doug Ford will probably win by a landslide again, but at least I tried!

The second was that someone offered Jeremy a job but strongly implied he’d have to move to Toronto for it. He had dollar signs in his eyes, although me and Kai tried our damndest to disabuse him of the notion. I don’t know anyone who lives in Toronto anymore (bar, perhaps, Dahlia, but then she lives with her parents so that doesn’t count) because it was too expensive for rent. Toronto is hollowing out like a chocolate bunny.

Thirdly, when I went to tell Simo my plan was to leave on the 1st, she asked if I could stay. The people who were supposed to be coming in March were no longer interested.

I did debate saying no and leaving anyway. She could probably find a replacement, plus it would be nice to be in Christchurch for a change of scenery, some sightseeing, easier to sell the bike. But it’s cheaper to stay here, which cinched it. I can’t tell how disappointed Richard was when I told him, I did ask if that was ok or if he desperately needed me. I’m pretty sure it was more of a favour to me than something he needed done.

The mailman showed up with several boxes for Simo big enough that I could sit inside them!

Tuesday for dinner, Gary’s son joined us. He’s actually quite charismatic and I enjoy talking to him, although neither of the older folks seemed thrilled by this development. Apparently there was some sort of hilarious switcharoo in Methven with Gary and Simo crossing paths accidentally that ended with Gary buying blue cod and NZ scallops from some random guy selling it from the trunk of his car.

In terms of “random fish bought from a car trunk”, it was actually really really good. We all commented that we should do it again, except, of course, how do we track down nameless fish trunk salesman?

Wednesday became almost solved my problems.

I ended up mostly helping Simonetta with stuff around the house; we attacked the kitchen now that Gary is gone. At least it will be clean for a couple of days. Then we unpacked her boxes, which were kitchen wares for the new house, and sheets. She insisted on plugging everything in and trying it once, and opening the sheets, just to make sure everything was in good shape. I suppose that makes sense.

I ended up having to go into both Alex’s and Ethan’s respective rooms, to retrieve things she has stored under their beds. In Alex’s room I tidied up the collection of mugs with a half-inch of mold at the bottom and the empty soda cans. In Ethan’s room I just dodged the cobwebs and empty beer bottles scattered on the floor.

At 2 I called the local motorcycle shop, just in case they would be interested in reselling the bike or know someone who would want the bike. I know the bike is such that it would be valuable to the right person, but only the right person; most bikers wouldn’t want it. Luck was on my side; they’d just had a teenage girl in looking for her first bike, which nothing they have fits the bill but mine certainly does! Jack-freakin-pot! He told me to just drop it off at the shop and then she’ll come take a look at it there.

“I’ll just get in contact with Gary about it, then, yeah?” He said, laughing.

Gary’s so bad. We’re still waiting for the shop to get in the part of the lawn mower, and the grass is out of control. Simo is almost scared of accepting bookings in case customers leave negative reviews because the lawn is quite overgrown.

The shop said I could drop it off Thursday, but Simo wanted to do it that day. She said she’d be at the shop at 5 and that I owed her an ice-cream. I waited ’til 4:30 and drove down. There was a strong Southerly wind pushing me around, but I was only wearing my work pants cuz I wasn’t fixing the jeans.

Last ride on the bike… possibly. I should have thought of that last week with Pete, actually. That was a good send-off.

The shop was mostly closed up, but the lady at the cash managed to find a spot for me to squeeze it in.

5 o’clock came and went.

Did Simo forget about me? Or did she get stuck on a phone call? I started walking up the road to where the ice cream place is, because I’ve let my phone plan lapse – I’m light on money and it’s not like I’ll need data much – so I’d need wifi to contact her.

At 5:15 she finally drove by. She didn’t stop for ice cream… not in the mood anymore? I was kind of disappointed, it would be fun to have an ice cream and hang out like two friends.

My phone’s been acting up too. Freezing, not connecting to wifi. Gonna need a new one when I get back too. It is an old phone.

Money money money.