He was smiling at me like he was trying to be friendly. But not showing teeth. Not with his eyes either. Something about it didn’t look right. It was more like the skin was pulling back from his mouth.

When they hit a straight stretch of road, Eustice looked away from the yellow lines and glanced sidelong at Sam—his eyes closed, mouth hanging open, arms folded. He could be a unicorn, an elf, a fairy.

“Hey, you, talk to me,” she said. “I know you’re not asleep.”

Sam stretched and rubbed his eyes, stayed turned towards the door and managed a passable rendition of a sleepy voice. “What? I was sleeping.”

“What kind of kid are you?”

Excerpt from “Burly Bush Man,” my book about my time tree planting in Ontario and B.C.

Montaillou: The Promised Land of Error is one of a kind

An insider’s look into this fascinating subculture.

First two chapters