Page 16 of Seeds of Christmas
But I’m not admitting that out loud.
The next twenty minutes are a blur of equipment checks and last-minute instructions. Carter’s surprisingly efficient—he doesn’t need to be told twice where things go, and he’s careful with the delicate instruments.
Maybe he is taking this seriously.
Professor Bam spreads a map across the truck’s hood, weighed down at the corners with sample cases.
“Alright. Site one is here”—she taps the map—“about an hour north. Easy access, you’ll be done by early afternoon today. Site two is another hour east. Both can be done today. You’ll overnight at the Valley View Motel—I’ve already made a reservation, two rooms. There you can start to process the initial data and enjoy a good night’s rest.”
Carter and I both lean over the map. Our arms are almost touching. I shift slightly to the left.
I’ve visited most of these sites before so I feel good about this.
“After that, you’re here,” Professor Bam continues. “That’s a longer drive, about three hours. Then Saturday morning, you head to the cabin at Monarch Ridge. That’s your base for hitting the other sites over the next trip.”
“The cabin’s here?” Carter asks, pointing to a spot on the map that looks extremely remote.
“Yes. It’s about forty minutes from the motel on forest service roads, so take your time and take plenty of supplies. And get all the receipts; my lab will reimburse all your spending, of course...” She looks between us. “You’ll be at the cabin for the other nights. Is that still alright with both of you? There’s a landline for emergencies, but cell service is limited from about ten miles before you get there. You might catch it or might not, so don’t count on it.”
“Yes,” we say in unison, then glance at each other.
Professor Bam smiles. “Good. The cabin’s stocked with basic food and lots of firewood. It’s rustic but comfortable. You’ll collect data from the sites, which are both accessible on foot from the cabin—about an hour’s hike to each. Then you pack up, come back, and Rhiannon and I will send data back and forth for the analysis and our paper.”
She pulls out two folders, hands one to each of us. “Your copies of the protocol, site information, emergency contacts. The truck has a full tank and winter emergency supplies. Any questions?”
I flip through my folder. Everything is meticulously organized, tabs marking different sections. It’s beautiful.
“I think we’re good,” Carter says.
“One more thing,” Prof Bam says, pulling out a weather report. “The sites you’re monitoring? They’recriticalbaseline data for a climate study that’s going to Congress in February. We need continuous readings through the holiday season because that’s when we expect to see the most significant temperature anomalies. If we miss this window, we don’t get another chance. The grant ends, the study is incomplete, and three years of work means nothing.”
She looks at us one by one. “So when I say this data matters, I mean itmatters. Not just for your grades. For actual policydecisions about geothermal resources in protected wilderness areas.”
“Noted,” Carter replies.
“Excellent.” Professor Bam’s face goes soft. “Thank you both for doing this. I know Christmas isn’t ideal timing, but this data set is really important. You’re doing great work.”
“Thank you for the opportunity.” Carter sounds sincere.
“Absolutely. Now”—she pulls keys from her pocket and holds them up—“who’s driving first?”
Carter and I look at each other.
There’s this moment—probably half a second in real time, but it feels longer—where we’re both clearly trying to gauge who wants to drive more. He raises an eyebrow. I raise mine back. It’s possibly the most mature interaction I’ve ever had.
“I can drive,” I say, at the exact same moment he says, “I’m happy to?—”
We stop. Try again.
“You should—” I start.
“No, you can—” he says.
Professor Bam watches this painful display with barely concealed amusement.
“Rock paper scissors?” Carter suggests.
“We’re adults.”
