The first of August. That means we’re at least halfway through the season. Fortunately slash unfortunately, there aren’t a whole hell of a lot of salmon kicking down our doors. That means less sleep deprivation but also less moneys in my pocket for post-season travel.

The bunkhouse has been a source of nearly non-stop drama. The workers are from the U.S., Micronesia, Ukraine, Poland, Russia, Turkey, Jamaica, the Phillipines, the Dominican Republic, Taiwan, the Czech Republic, Serbia…(I’m sure I’m missing somebody). Anyway – the bunkhouse rooms house 5 people, they have some parties and for some completely predictable reason – conflict ensues.

A recent incident involved police intervention at 3:30 a.m. to interrupt a Micronesian vs. Fillipino fight. At least one of the Micronesians spent the morning in jail, and about 20 people quit or were fired in one dramatic morning. That’s about one sixth of the work force.

I, on the other hand, just moved to a fantastic little cabin house which is almost directly between town and work (2.5 miles in either direction). Compared to the half-duplex that preceded it – across the street from the low-income housing playground – this place is a castle in heaven. It is small but has a hardwood loft and an expansive cedar deck which heighten and widen the lounging space. And…though it’s only probably 50 yards from the main highway, I’d never seen it from the road on my daily drive to and from work. It’s completely surrounded by trees and not by screaming children or chain-smoking parents. Refreshing.

Alas I must away with me. The hour draws late, and the salmon come a knocking early. I wake up at 5:15 a.m. to clock in after breakfast by 6.

I hope you’re all well and far more tan than I. We saw the sun yesterday…I think it had been about 20 days of rain before that.

I’m pasty.

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