Yesterday a veteran surveyor took me out for a couple of hours. �I'll admit to some harmless flirting; Chris is lean and geeky and loud and brash and funny and energetic and quick and so fast paced that I stand there with my mouth open in laughter while he goes a mile a minute. �Polar opposites, standing as far north as I've been, amongst clapboard shacks of the original geologist camp. �

He takes me into the woods and down a slope of construction scree to place electrical poles. � He drives fast through deep puddles on the haul road. �He turns up the music that he thinks that I like, and I howl with laughter as he rolls down the window in pretend urban cruising. �As we turn into the laydown, he passes me a bracelet from his wrist. �I turn it around in my hands and leave it on the dash. � �Did I warm over his heart? I'd choose him over the rest. �

The sun sets on my seventh night in camp. �I lay on my single bed, listening to music, my window cracked open to let cool air wash down my face. �

A man I met on Monday remembered my name when I ran into him today. �The chef teases me about choosing eggplant over steak. �The safety man calls me young lady, and my coworkers probably think I'm a million years old. �I'm ok, I'm still ok, and I'll get through this. �More smiles, more openness, �this is now and here is now and this is destined to be one of the great experiences of my life.