Driving out to the mine. Arrive at the gate at 7:30am. The northern definition of a daytrip is, oh, you know, a three and a half hour drive in each direction.

Mining culture, safety culture, old timers.

In the orientation, the safety instructor points to me, "YOU! What are YOU going to be doing in 10 years?" Huh, what? Me? Why is he asking me? What is he asking me? I am supposed to answer getmarried-havekids-traveltomexico. The honest truth? I don't have a 10 year plan. Life is happening now, there are way too many variables to predict or plan for the way that my live is moving. I say, "Well, that's a big question." He prods further. I shrug and say, "Working." He prods further, "Do you want to buy a house? How about a horse?" I shrug/nod to get him off my back. The last thing that I need at a mine is to be singled out.

Cold wind blows through camp. Grey clouds, snow-dusted rolling hills. Distant drone of heavy machinery.

Me and the mine and the minus four wind. My future and my life and my present, tangled entities, dangling ends, do you plan how the pasta falls onto your plate?