Lumbersexual (Novella) by Leslie McAdam Page A

his back next to me, I didn’t have anything to say.
    All I know is that it felt like he popped another cherry.  Not just the seeing the Valley cherry.  But one of trust.
    And we laid there for a very long time.



“I think we need to reroute pedestrian traffic this way,” I said, sketching lightly with a pencil on the map, “that way we’ll avoid this impacted area.”  I gestured to the ground.
    I stood with my crew in the hazy late afternoon sunshine of a July day at my meadow restoration site by the Wawona campground.  In a month, we’d not seen much change in the area, and I had some ideas on how to improve it.  I consulted my notes and flipped through the digital photos on the government camera, looking for ideas.
    After a few weeks on the job, I realized something—I loved it.
    I’d gotten used to the blisters and the bug bites.  Now I always packed extra Band-Aids, moleskin, and half of the first-aid kit at Rite Aid.  I’d learned to take foot care seriously.  I’d also learned how to manage how tired I got from hiking.  
    And just as I’d thought, I loved being out in the wilderness.  I loved helping things grow.  Coaxing the delicate ecosystem of Yosemite into a more natural state.
    In the past few weeks, I’d also found that my roommates were exceptionally helpful.  Engineer Ian had given me lessons on how to use a map and compass, and I found myself familiar with how to use maps well.  Landscape architect Matt helped me design better workarounds for the problem areas.  And Katie made everything more beautiful, helping me to draw maps to scale.  Yazmin was always good for a massage.
    “Maggie.”
    I turned around.  Court loped up, wearing his Smokey the Bear hat and ranger uniform.  He had to be the sexiest forest ranger ever, with the way his frame filled out his uniform shirt in his shoulders and biceps.  My eyes went to his heavy, dark belt and his narrow waist and hips.
    He hadn’t let me alone, going out of his way to come up with almost-daily activities for us.
    I loved every minute of it.
    There was one thing I wanted to do, though, and still hadn’t.
    “I’m taking you on your first backpacking trip.  Next day off.”
    “Love the way you ask these things, Court.”
    But really?  I was thrilled.  Overnight out in the woods sounded adventuresome and peaceful.
    He grinned.  “I know what I want and I get it.”  He stepped forward and ran his finger down my cheek, but since we were both in uniform and surrounded by the crew, he didn’t do anything further.  Smiling, he whispered, “There’s a great loop up to see some lakes in the high country.  I want to see your little botany heart go wild.”
    “The trees will change to lodgepole pine and red fir at higher elevation.  Do you think scarlet monkey flower will be blooming?”
    “I do.”
    “I can’t wait.”
    Three days later, I found myself hiking up the switchbacks, carrying my new backpack—OMG trying it for real—thighs burning, too focused on my next step to ogle Court much, although I noticed how good he looked in a simple blue t-shirt and cargo shorts.  
    Testing my fear of heights.  
    “This is hard, Court.”
    “You can do it.  Just take the next step.”
    I clung to the side of the mountain, not wanting to look down to see the elevation gain, just focusing on the next step.  And somehow I made it, but not without getting pretty dizzy.
    Once we climbed to the top of the mountain, the elevation flattened out and we could walk next to each other.  I pointed out wildflowers, and we stopped and took pictures of the pristine alpine scenery—white rocks, clear blue lakes, conifers.  When I first saw a marmot—a highcountry rodent the size of a cat—it startled me so much that I froze up and dropped the Cheez-It I was snacking on.  In a flash, Court picked it up to keep us from having accidentally fed a wild animal, and then kissed my temples.  “It’s just a marmot.  No big deal.”
    I