Weekend Retrospective: The Bus Edition

For my summer job, I plant trees. Lots of them, little ones, big ones, all over the place. We own northern Ontario, yo. (Well, actually, the Queen does.) The thing about this job is that a lot of people hate it, including a crewboss that shared my ride to the block every day. (Incidentally, my ride to work every day was a blue short bus named the Vagiant, which was written in big letters on its front roof). His supreme hatred for planting trees was kind of a spectacle and increased exponentially throughout the season.
Northern Ontario weather is famously fickle, and we were at least 100km from the nearest place anyone took readings for, so when the weather forecast was seventeen celsius and it started snowing, no one was that shocked. As we huddled into our fleeces, started bitching at least a little because that was allowed, and played mental gymnastics with our resolve, he put on this song:



The rest of this post is dedicated to the insurmountable entity that is the planting bus. Old schoolbusses with 200000 km on them, driving where the average SUV fears to tread, always there, sometimes pushed, sometimes pulled, but always there.