A limerick in honor of beer

We set out on this trip with naught a plan in mind

An adventure to craft and miles of road to find.

There was just one rule; to us it was clear --

If we spotted a brewery we'd have to drink beer.

Yes, I'll admit it was a plan unrefined.

It turned out to be genius, fail-safe and solid

Although we lacked money, our pleasures weren't squalid. 

We drank, inspected, drank more, and [almost] got wasted.

Collected stickers, met strangers -- every beer was tasted.

It's a wonder my arteries all haven't clotted.

From the coast then inland, back to the coast and then north

My boyfriend, our dogs and I set forth.

Then east and south, east and south again

It's a wonder I have any cells left in my brain.

More than thirty and counting breweries henceforth.

Below is a synopsis of -- no joke -- the 30+ breweries that we have visited to-date. It's borderline obsessive....

Brewery Tour Leg 1: https://goo.gl/maps/5p3i9 *

1. Firestone Walker Brewing Company -- Paso Robles, CA
2. Beach Chalet -- San Francisco, CA
3. Lagunitas Brewing Company -- Santa Rosa, CA
4. Anderson Valley Brewing Company -- Boonville, CA
5. North Coast Brewing Company -- Fort Bragg, CA
6. Fall River Brewing Company -- Redding, CA
7. Deschutes Brewery -- Bend, OR
8. Cascade Lakes Brewing Company -- Bend, OR
9. Rat Hole BrewPub -- Bend, OR
10. 10 Barrel Brewing Company -- Bend, OR

We brought these goofballs, Jessica and Ryan, with us to Lagunitas.

More goofing off in Oregon.

Brewery Tour Leg 2: https://goo.gl/maps/eznNT

1. Bend Brewing Company -- Bend, OR
2. Crux Fermentation Project -- Bend, OR
3. Fort George Brewery -- Astoria, OR
4. Astoria Brewing Company -- Astoria, OR
5. Seaside Brewing Company -- Seaside, OR ** 
6. Full Sail Brewing Company -- Hood River, OR
7. Double Mountain Brewery -- Hood River, OR
8. Mad Bomber Brewing Company -- Coeur d'Alene, ID ***
9. McCall Brewing Company -- McCall, ID
10. Payette Brewery -- Boise, ID
11. Cloud 9 Brewery -- Boise, ID

Met up with Bret's dad in Bend!

Los Vaciladores were big fans of this one.

Daintiness was invented somewhere near McCall, Idaho.

Dainty, I ain't: don't get in between this woman and bar grub.

Brewery Tour Leg 3: https://goo.gl/maps/H6lah

1. Wasatch Brewery -- Park City, UT
2. High West Distillery -- Park City, UT ****
3. Snowy Mountain Brewery -- Saratoga, WY
4. Steinley Cup Microbrew Festival and Competition -- Saratoga, WY
5. O'Dell Brewing Company -- Fort Collins, CO
6. Fort Collins Brewery -- Fort Collins, CO
7. Aspen Brewing Company -- Aspen, CO
8. Carbondale Beer Works -- Carbondale, CO
9. Copper Kettle Brewing Company -- Aurora, CO
10. Oskar Blues Brewery -- Longmont, CO
11. Prost Brewing Company -- Denver, CO

These were the breweries we tasted at the Steinley Cup:
Snake River Brewery (Jackson, WY)
Grand Teton Brewing Company (Victor, ID)
The Library Brewery (Laramie, WY)
Coal Creek Tap (Laramie, WY)
Prairie Fire Brewing (Gillette, WY)
Lander Brewing (Lander, WY)

That's about enough whiskey for me for a while.

Met up with my brother in between his art residency at Brush Creek Ranch, Wyoming.

Aspen is snooty but the beer there is great!

This is Bret's favorite brewery in Colorado.

Home is where my parents are which also happens to be at the Copper Kettle, my favorite brewery in Denver.

Layover in Wyoming (it's its own Brewery Tour Leg): https://goo.gl/maps/63VlP

Altitude Chophouse and Brewery -- Laramie, WY

Freedom's Edge Brewing Company -- Cheyenne, WY
And just yesterday: Shadows Pub and Grill -- Cheyenne, WY

*I'm limited to 10 per stretch on GoogleMaps
**I left this off the map because this was by far the worst brewery out of them all and it doesn't deserve to have any more visitors.
***I didn't get to go to this one so it doesn't count.
****This wasn't a brewery but rather a kick-ass whiskey joint!

Cleanliness is godliness…or work of the Devil

If we lived back in the Oregon Trail old timey days I’m sure that not bathing would totally fly with our covered wagon cohorts. In this day and age, a stinky woman with greasy hair and Sasquatch legs is not an ideal passenger seat companion.

Throughout the duration of this road trip, showers have become less and less frequent. The twice-daily tooth brushing regimen has been abandoned. What was left of any feminine appeal that I had before has disappeared entirely. As I sit in the car on our way to visit friends in Utah, I realize that the Mormon billboards and pamphlets have it all wrong. Alcohol and abortion aren’t the work of the Devil. Cleanliness is.

I’ve come up with the top 3 personal hygiene priorities that pretty much go to Hell in a hand basket when you’re on an extended road trip. They are listed in order of importance and subsequent abandonment.

#1: Bowel regularity

If you know me well (or have spent at least an hour in my company), you would know that the conversation will somehow inevitably end up on poop-related topics. I can’t explain why this happens but believe you me, if this girl’s insides aren’t happy she doesn’t make for a good road trip buddy.

The first thing to go on this trip was any semblance of healthy diet. Pretty much every meal involves French fries and a beer, and that doesn’t bode well on my already infrequent “habits.” I’ve found that exercise tends to help keep things on schedule, but that has also disappeared entirely. We had grand intentions of riding bikes every other day to offset the beer and bar grub but like most things in life that resolution fell by the wayside. As you can imagine, bathroom trips for this gal have degraded into a once in a blue moon experience. 

Actually we did fit in a pretty awesome bike ride in Redwood National Park.

And another day of bike riding with the added benefit of beer tasting in Bend, OR.

#2: Good hair days

Some people theorize that the less frequently you bathe, the less oils your body produces thereby reducing your need for a regular shower. I even know a few people who have tested that theory and they swear by it.

So far the longest I’ve gone is 5 days without showering and I can attest that this theory is completely bunk. The 100+ degree weather in Oregon and Idaho was not conducive to an acceptable odor in the car (not referring to the dogs). My beloved Mammoth trucker hat covers things up nicely but it’s starting to accumulate a ring around it that’s as big as the Deepwater Horizon oil spill.

It has been fun, however, figuring out ways to use the handy dandy solar shower that we brought with us. There is NOTHING in this world that is better than a crisp, clean shower in the middle of the woods with no one to sneak up on you for miles. The only thing wrong with this situation is when you have to source your water from a moldy lake that has more unidentifiable floaties in it than the population of Mexico City. Yes, that happened. Yes, it was still refreshing as ever.

Hippie shower essentials: 2-in-1 shampoo, travel soap, a mini towel, and a 5-gallon bag full of renewable energy-powered warmth.

Can’t beat an outdoor shower in a setting like this! Sans the forest fire smoke in the background.

This is somewhere on the Nez Perce Reservation in Idaho.

#3: Wearable clothes

We’ve only done laundry twice over the last month. ‘Nuf said. Which means I’ve resorted to wearing the same shorts for over a week and change underwear every other day (ick, I know). It’s more than likely that those shorts have a layer of poison oak on them somewhere (I contracted yet ANOTHER case of poison oak from who knows where). Dammitalltohell! I'm pretty sure it was Charlie who gave it to me this time.

To conclude, in the poetic words from the Pitcher side of my family I should mention that if you’re on my list to visit I promise to shit, shower and shave before we meet up. At least I hope to! 

Travels with Katie and Charlie

It's not so ironic that I am currently reading John Steinbeck's classic Travels with Charley while on this meandering tailspin of a road trip. I didn't really plan it that way, but it turns out that it is the perfect accompaniment for an adventure like this. Not to mention the fact that my dog's name is also Charlie, our truck is as well-equipped as the mighty Rocinante, and I write every bit as well as Steinbeck. Maybe not that last part, but pretty much everything else is totally on point.

One of the opening passages in the book talks about a concept that completely aligns with our approach to this trip, one that I don't mind plagiarizing in this post because there really is no better way to describe it. He writes:

"In Spanish there is a word for which I can't find a counterword in English. It is the verb vacilar, present participle vacilando. It does not mean vacillating at all. If one is vacilando, he is going somewhere, but does not greatly care whether or not he gets there, although he has direction."

I often think of what is going through our two dogs' minds as we've made our way through northern California, Oregon, Washington, and now Idaho. Case in point, these two are vacilando to the T and I have a feeling that they're loving it.

Take Charlie for instance.

This dog has spent 50% of his life in the cone of shame since he met me. 

If you've met him, you would know that he and I are a perfect match. We're like two peas in a pod -- we're both easygoing (unless we're tied up on a park bench or tree and are left alone with no view of our loved ones), crave affection (almost to a fault), love attention (but don't know what to do with it once we get it), have poop problems (more on that later), have separation anxiety issues (ask Bret about that one), and can't carry a tune worth a damn (it's a beagle/Ross thing). I'm pretty sure that the unpredictability of this road trip has messed with his head, but I'm judging it as a success in the long run because this dog really needed to lighten up. And so did I. And we're doing it quite well!

Katie, on the other hand, is Charlie's antithesis.

Katie and Arcata, reunited at long last.

Bret found her as a puppy just outside of Arcata 11 years ago. He has molded her into a dog of amazing fortitude and grace who is chill as f&%*. She would rather be left alone outside to watch the grass grow in perfect silence, away from Charlie's howls and out of arm's reach from those annoying people who want to pet her, rather than to sit on the couch next to you and put up with your human-ness. Unless you're eating, in which case she'll stare you down until she gets a piece of whatever you have and then swallows it without even chewing. She's an awesome dog and is a great role model for Charlie. Really couldn't ask for a better travel buddy (aside from Bret).

These two are masters of what Steinbeck means by vacilando because they have direction (whether they like it or not) but really couldn't care less whether or not we get to where we're going. That may be because they have no clue where we're going in the first place, but that's beside the point. We seriously have no home except for the bed of the truck, and they're totally ok with it. I think I may call them my vaciladores from here on out.

Here are a few pictures from their perspective during our early adventures on this trip:

Passed out after a long day of beer tasting and disc golf at Anderson Valley Brewing in Boonville, CA.

Going apeshit over the awesome waves at Clam Beach just outside of Arcata, CA.

Relishing the only shade after a 2,000 foot climb up Saddle Mountain in northwest Oregon.

I really couldn't be happier, even if I have no room to move.

More posts to come soon. Next time I promise they'll be about the human perspective of this trip!

On the road again...

This time last summer, I was reveling in the sights and sounds of a brief but much-needed return to the Rockies after finishing the first year of graduate school. It was a formative experience that was very much worth it, but it was also an existential trip down memory lane that was counting on some semblance of certainty once school would be completed.

A year later, I've graduated and guess what: it's pretty clear that it's time for more reflection. Well...it's more like, hey, I'm unemployed, I have no home now that my lease has ended, and I have no concrete plans yet because I'm trying to avoid the 9-5 life as much as conceivably possible until funds run out...so why sit around and twiddle my thumbs when I could be traveling instead? 

The Plan: 

There are enough cooking blogs out there to sink a battleship so I might as well write about something more akin to The Adventures of Milo and Otis than juice cleanses and substitutes for cream cheese. 

This time around I'm going to write about the next couple months on the road. It'll be just me, my boyfriend, our dogs, a home constructed out of the back of his truck, and a great deal of uncertainty to keep things interesting. 

Behold: our new home and the latest foray into "f"unemployment!

I have faith in this new living situation. Bret is a master of mobile living (he spent 2 years living in a camper before college). Ron and Joe are engineers by trade, so I'm [pretty] sure that this raised bed concoction won't collapse under us. Our dogs Katie and Charlie are the best travel companions that we could ever hope for (even if Charlie craps at least 3 times a day and Katie slobbers up a storm). And I have spent the last two months mentally prepping for irregular access to a bathroom and an uncertain hygienic future. I don't foresee too many problems on the horizon. As long as the car doesn't break down and we don't run out of money anytime soon.

The Execution:

The plan is to end up at a water conference in Snowmass, CO on August 20th in time to network the shit out of things and eventually land our dream jobs. Until then, we will explore everything nomadic about life on the road that includes breweries, disc golf, fishing, hiking, and lots of outdoor time. 

We've devised a rough route of where we want to go but I'm sure that it'll be revised as we get further into the trip. For now it consists of the better parts of California, Oregon, Idaho and Montana and lots of sunflower seeds to keep us awake at the wheel.

The End of an Era: 

Two years ago I cleaned out my life and put everything into a 4' by 4' storage space. A master's degree, a boyfriend, and a dog later, I have given away the majority of my worldly possessions and plan to embrace uncertainty head-on. This is really the best time to embark on such a journey and I'm looking forward to sharing the best of it. Stay tuned for sporadic tidbits about life on the road!

Our bed constructing engineering marvel of a team: Ron, me, Bret, and Joe 

Read this post if you think my tractor's sexy (Part One)

I have a confession to make. I... think I'm starting to like country music.

Gulp.

This summer I've been progressively exposed to more and more tidbits of  country music, and guess what? It's growing on me. My blind eyes are starting to see the light behind this treasure trove of what makes Amurrika so great ("fuck yeah!").

But it hasn't necessarily been of my own accord.

Wal-Mart, the grocery store, most bars, and even outside of the gas station err on the side of assuming that everyone wants to rock out to talent like the Trailer Park Choir, regardless of how much it makes your ears bleed. After all, who doesn't want to envision that beer-gutted dream of a gal, "sippin' on a Bud/ hangin' with her friends on a Friday night"? Hell yes I'll blow another dollar on a song, Monsieur Jukebox. That's dang good noise you got flowing out of them thar speakers!

All kidding aside, seeing as two out of every three radio stations in this part of the U.S. play some version of  country, it's kind of hard to avoid it.* I've tuned into those radio stations more often than I prefer to admit. All that time between patches of cell service has given me plenty of room to consider the few but legitimate redeeming aspects of this under-appreciated-by-most-Americans-except-for-those-folks-in-the-flyover-states genre. It's also given me time to consider the very specific conditions under which country music must operate in order not to suck.

Let's discuss.**

Things that country music has going for it:

1. The art of storytelling -- I've never heard a country song that doesn't include a plot of some sort. Most of them have to do with life events such as marriage, births, heartbreak, and the like. Many are artfully crafted, and their lyrics fall into rhyme seamlessly. 
2. Real, bonafide instruments -- None of that dub-step crap going on here. If anyone can prove to me that there's a better modern use for an autoharp, I'm all ears.
3. Real, bonafide talent -- Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, Randy Travis, Alan Jackson, Linda Ronstadt, Dwight Yoakam, Garth Brooks, Gillian Welch, Willie Nelson, the Dixie Chicks, Waylon Jennings, Patsy Cline, Woody Guthrie, and my favorite Lyle Lovett, to name a few. 
4. Many sub-genres to choose from -- Seriously, this list is looooong. 
5. Two words: Josh Turner. WHY, OH WHY DID THIS DREAMBOAT OF A MAN HAVE TO GET MARRIED AT THE TENDER AGE OF 25? I definitely lost out on that one. Where was I when he was signing away his freedom and beginning to sow the seeds of fatherhood? Oh yeah...somewhere in Northern California, hanging out with dirty hippies and easily eating my weight in Ben and Jerry's ice cream. That explains it. 

Things that it does not:

1. LOTS of white people. (Although Darius Rucker is breaking that mold quite well...not bad stuff I'll admit.)
2. Covert, and not-so-covert, references to Christianity -- Save that for another genre like Gospel please. And yes, Josh Turner is guilty of this but he's perfect no matter what in my eyes, so I'll let it slide.
3. Waaaaaay too many double negatives -- Did anyone go to school and learn anything about how to form a proper sentence?
4. Oversimplifications galore -- Where do I start? Just like hip hop, the majority of the fans in this genre are not actually members of the demographic that created it. How many of us really have actually stacked a bale of hay in our lives? Didn't think so. So stop acting like you know about the plight of the country boy.
5. Repeated reflections on life's milestones and what makes us "us" -- Just a short list of what is regularly referenced in country songs: first love, first car, making out in the dark***/moonlight, how things are done "round here," cars, trucks, tractors, dancing, how it's 5 o'clock somewhere, what it's like to be a little bit of country and little bit of city, etc. etc. etc. Ugh, gag me with a spoon!
6. Lack of subtlety -- I concur, Natalie Maines. Everything is blatant, and not much is subtle. Where's the art these days?

Now mind you, the comments above pretty much only apply to mainstream "rock with a fiddle," as Neil Young coined it, and classic country (= country music before the 80s). I have yet to indulge on the many quirks of a particular subset of country that I find absolutely abhorrent/fascinating. I call it "bum country," my boyfriend lovingly calls it his kind of music.

Think I'll save that for the next post.

*Yes, that's a statistic I've only heard anecdotally but it's my blog so I get to cite it if I want.
**I realize that this post may be a bit inflammatory to some of my friends who are more serious country fans than me. That's ok! We're all entitled to our opinions. And I'm entitled to generalize because this is really a topic you could write a whole thesis on, not just a blog post. We'll keep it to 700 words or less this time around.
***I actually love this song. 

Like a Rhinestone Cowgirl

The quiet solitude of summer took a major turn the third week of July. I don't mean that there was another tornado warning (which we actually had) or that my boyfriend came to visit (he did), or that there was a shortage of Bud Light at the drive-through liquor store (which may/may not have happened). Oh no. It was bigger than that.

Question: What's the one-time event of the year that transforms Cheyenne into the biggest white trash tourist attraction this side of Carhenge?

Answer: None other than the "Daddy of 'Em All," Cheyenne Frontier Days!

Let me introduce you to the greatest thing to happen to Wyoming since Yellowstone.*

Front row seats with a helluva view for bronc riding!

The gist:
CFD, as we'll call it, is a 116-year old "western celebration" that is coined as the largest outdoor rodeo in the world. This tiny town of 60,000 people more than triples in size to welcome hundreds of thousands of tourists during the 10-day event each year. Within 24 hours of the rodeo's start, you're guaranteed to see this town bustling with city slickers. If you didn't know better, you'd think you fell asleep last night only to wake up and find yourself in a mini version of Midnight Cowboy. Seriously, CFD turns this sleepy town upside dowwwwwn.

The goal of CFD is to keep Western traditions alive by luring outsiders within its borders in order to get them to pay top dollar with the promise of seeing "how it's really done" here in Wyoming and The West. There is a daily PRCA/PBR rodeo (including bull and bronc riding, steer wrestling, barrel racing, and my favorite: wild horse races), an Old West-themed town with Wyoming souvenirs, a carnival, big name country music concerts, as well as daily parades and free pancake breakfasts. Not to mention a Native American village, complete with tipis.

CFD amazingness part 1: THE PARADE

The full moon half of the Hell's Half Acre float

If you ever want to remind yourself of what's quirky and endearing about Small Town, USA, try to attend a local parade. The CFD parade was a mishmash of heartfelt nostalgia and unintentional hilarity: alongside random tidbits of CFD history there were horses. Lots of 'em. And tractors...and beauty queens...and marching bands...and the military...and random roller skaters...and old people in wheelchairs. Good times were had by all.

CFD amazingness part 2: THE RODEO

My take-home from seeing the rodeo over two days at CFD is this: cowboys are badasses! The first day that I got to see it put us in the front row right behind the chutes. We could literally hear the conversations on the field as the cowboys rallied to rope the broncs. It was incredible -- I'll never feel that jazzed to sit near a 3,000 pound pissed off animal as I did that day. The second day was up in the nosebleeds, but luckily we still had a good vantage point of the events, and not to mention an even better one of the cheapo cowboy getups worn by a family of French tourists. You could still smell the horse crap way up there. Or as they say in France, the "merde de cheval."

CFD amazingness part 3: THE MUSIC

Yeah, I'm a broke grad student, and yeah, I'm a burgeoning country music fan (see an upcoming post for more on that topic). So why not spend $58 of my summer stipend to see Alan Jackson? Next to Brooks and Dunn a decade ago, it was hands down the best country concert I've ever been to. We also got to explore the wide array of talents from an '80s cover band in the Depot Plaza one night. 

Please, go back to the '80s where you belong

CFD amazingness part 4: THE CARNIVAL
Last but not least, the carnival was a wonderful way to cap off what my mom would call a whirling dervish of a week at CFD. My friend Kendra and I did well not to dole out our hard-earned money to the carnival. Bret and I, however, lost more than I'll admit on booze and carnival games (luckily my honey rescued a stuffed bumblebee from the clutches of an evil carnie!). The coup de grâce of the whole experience was the ride at the end: for some godawful reason Bret let me choose which ride to waste our money on, so I chose that nasty spin-around, up-and-down piece of machinery from Hell called "The Hurricane." Yes, the one just like the ride in The Sandlot where everybody pukes only a few minutes after getting on it. And yes, I came thiiiiiiiiiiis close to spewing my lunch all over Bret. Thank the Lord I didn't, but I'm sure he would have held my hair back if I did. Guess I'm getting too old for carnival rides.

My take on CFD:
I spent the whole summer looking forward to CFD. Sure, I was lonely and couldn't wait to have visitors. Moreover, up until now I never had the chance to explore it as an adult and partake in the more entertaining aspects of the spectacle (like, you know, the beer and mechanical bull riding). This time around I really, really enjoyed myself. I loved watching the tourists, counting the anachronisms, and reveling in the strength of the people who still practice old ways in a modern world. Most of all, I loved playing tourist on my home turf. It's a nice way to rediscover the things that make a place unique!



*And my mother's birth in Cody, WY.

A gaggle of bums and gravel roads to nowhere

Just like what they warn you about, yes, I can verify first-hand that your metabolism slows down the minute you turn 25. Or, in my case, it's a result of a dangerous cocktail consisting of work-induced lethargy, not enough exercise, and too much drinking...all of which can spell metabolic catastrophe.

Which is why I bought myself a fancypants road bike when I started the downward slide toward 30. My goal then was to have an excuse to get outside and mooooove (read: I sure as hell am not getting any fitter by sitting on my duff and blogging about it). As luck of would have it, two years after that fateful purchase I have had an epiphany.

Cycling is more than exercise -- it gives you an amazing sense of place. Zipping around town on a bike exposes you to sights and sounds in a much more intimate way than you'd get by driving. You also learn to navigate the streets more quickly than you would by running them or using GPS. All of this combined creates a richer awareness of the present moment.

Many of my cycling moments in San Francisco were both chaotic and somewhere on the periphery of peaceful. Surprisingly, I've come to find those moments here in Wyoming are a different version of the same. Here's why:

I'm not a morning person. Plain and simple. The four-mile morning commute to work in San Francisco was my way of waking up and easing into the day (albeit begrudgingly). I can distinctly remember the fog on my face as I skid past the gaggle of bums every morning on McAllister and Market (all before a single cup of coffee, mind you!). The buildings were pink in the morning sun, and there was usually the smell of jasmine lingering in the air that was followed by the smell of farts emanating from the sewer. I also distinctly remember the instant regret after I groggily tried to beat a bus around a corner and my tires got stuck in the Muni tracks. Nothing beats flipping ass-over-tea kettle in front of an entire busload of morning commuters.

The morning bike ride to work here in Cheyenne is my wake up routine too. Only now the most formidable opponents aren't bums or Muni buses; they're giant trucks and semis with no regard for puny cyclists like me. They rage past and blow nasty exhaust directly into my face. But as soon as they are gone I can smell the willow in the breeze and watch the clouds follow overhead as I make my way down the road to the Herschler Building. It's glorious. Sometimes I don't even need the coffee after rides like this <gasp!>.

Similarly, longer bike rides prove to be an intimate sensory experience. Northern California is sensory overload actually, with its sights, sounds, smells, cars, people, other cyclists, and constantly changing viewscapes. The freezing trek across the Golden Gate is worth it in and of itself.

All I could think in this moment was, "Weee!"

Wyoming, on the other hand, stretches infinitely into the horizon. The wind blows at exactly the angle that goes against your trajectory so that you have to exert all of your strength just to avoid screeching to a halt. But when you stop to catch your breath there is always the magic song of a solitary bird or the hush of nothing but silence and grass and road that goes on for miles and miles. If it weren't for the altitude I'd continue riding forever.

That is, except for when the bike route on Google Maps sends you down a gravel road and you end up walking your bike for 3 miles to get to the next stretch of pavement. Not cool, Google. Not cool.

Looking back on that gravel road to nowhere

At any rate, if it weren't already taken by surfing and motorcycle maintenance I'd rename this blog post as "Zen and the art of cycling." I'm having a blast exploring Cheyenne and its surrounding parts, and Denver too when I go visit my parents. All of this has made a mediocre summer into a peaceful, mindful and calorie-burning experience that my buns of steel will thank me for.


PS- True to my last post, I'm already a quarter of the way through reading that hunting memoir "Call of the Mild." You may be talking to a future huntress...we shall see.