Haul

Haul had not always carried things that way.

When she was smaller, she carried everything at arm's length, as if the load might bite. Shopping bags swung wide and bumped her knees. Firewood was hugged in a wobbly armful that kept sliding. Once she carried a full tray of seedlings across the greenhouse, leaning back so far she nearly sat down, and the whole tray tipped. Soil everywhere.

She sat among the spilled seedlings feeling clumsy and slow, sure she just wasn't built for carrying.

The greenhouse keeper, a heron who moved very carefully, crouched down beside her. "You're carrying it like a stranger," she said. "Carry it like a friend." She helped Haul pick up a new tray and draw it in close against her apron. "Close to your body. Stand up straight, like there's a string pulling the top of your head toward the sky. Brace your middle, just a little, like you're ready for a friendly nudge. Then small steps, and look where you're going."

Haul walked the length of the greenhouse. The tray didn't wobble once. She hadn't been clumsy. She'd only been holding the load like it didn't belong to her.

When she was old enough, Haul walked to FitQuest, because it was a place for learning how bodies move.

The mentor met her at the gate and asked her to show what she knew.

Haul picked up two heavy buckets, one in each hand, and walked a slow lap of the yard: tall, shoulders level, middle braced, buckets close by her sides, small steady steps. Then she set them down carefully, bending at the hips and knees, not just her back.

"You set them down as carefully as you picked them up," the mentor said.

"The carry isn't finished until the load is safely down," Haul said.

The mentor smiled. "You belong here."

A young fox came to Haul one afternoon, struggling with her school backpack.

"It's so heavy," she said. "By the time I get home my shoulders hurt and I'm leaning sideways."

Haul looked at the backpack. It hung low, on one shoulder, swinging against the fox's knees.

"Let's make it part of you," Haul said. "Both straps, so the weight is shared." The fox slipped on the second strap. "Now tighten them, so the bag sits up high and close to your back, not down by your knees." The fox pulled the straps snug. "Stand tall, like there's a string on top of your head. And walk."

The fox walked across the yard and back. Her back was straight. She wasn't leaning anywhere.

"It's the same backpack," she said. "Why does it feel lighter?"

"Because it's close and centred now," Haul said, warm and pleased. "Before, it was pulling you over and you were fighting it all the way home. Now it's riding with you."