Shit has meaning

Worked hard this morning. Real hard. Took my shirt off. Cleaned up bat shit. Pulled my shoulder starting a gasoline power washer. Ran through fire. Put out said fire. (No, camp is not on fire. We’re just like fighting fires here).

The day is long, the wages are low, and the workers are tired. But the labour is good.

Being a labour Zionist, the notion of physically investing yourself in your home and its land is not lost on me. Camp is my home and my land for these two months. And so, in the midst of power-washing away a pile of bat poop, I felt a surge of joy in the work.

And then back to the poop.

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