#((It was literally only a couple weekends ago that it was 65 degrees for one final nice day... and since then it's been all snow and cold;;

[abrushwithdeath]

((Today is my only day off until Thursday (I also have Friday off!) but I won’t be around a lot. I’ll be away from my laptop most of the day and when I get home I have to shower, eat dinner, and etc before I get to bed because I have to be up early tomorrow for work oTL

That said, as a reminder- I work retail and the worst part of the holiday season starts this weekend. Our hours change, so I’ll have some 6am shifts or pull late shifts, AND we have consistent snow already which is only gonna get worse from here so, ya know, coupled with work stress, my mood is gonna be off a lot more, too ^^;  So my activity is gonna be kind of all over the place until January when things calm back down a little. 

That said- I love you guys and I hope you’re all doing well! <3 I’ll try to be around a  little bit later tonight, but no promises ^^;))

[zookeep15]

So most people know I am leaving the zoo field.

I know.

It’s crazy.

And right now my life is a whirl of sad thoughts, what ifs, and an overall sense of “why am I doing this?” since my last day is Tuesday. It’s oh so easy to forget the dumpster fire that has led me here when I’ve had a good couple of weeks due to lack of fucks to give anymore.

Well sit tight kids as I drop a truth bomb on the nature of the zoological industry.

First. Let me say that up until about two years ago I LOVED my job. Like head over heels in love with the position. Had very few bad days, grew quickly as a trainer and keeper, and found myself surrounded by people who seemed to share the same enthusiasm I had.

Everything was great. I was living in my “dream job”. That’s right. My DREAM. JOB. The ultimate career. The top of the top. Starting at age 22.

(Hashtag blessed am I right?) *IM NOT RIGHT*

But I started to notice a trend. Over the last few years, I’ve watched person, after person, after person who I have loved and respected pick up their things, close the door and say goodbye (okay some were pushed out the door and some needed a swift kick in the ass out the door but I digress.)

I didn’t get it. How could someone leave this job? It’s a dream right? I was told I was LUCKY to have this job. So lucky that in fact there were twenty more people just like me that could replace me in the blink of an eye. I should be grateful for whatever they give me because I am LUCKY to have this job. There might not be some great things but if I work REALLY hard they’re bound to notice and make those problems and not great things go away right?

*pause for laughter at that naive notion*

I mean sure... the pay is literally the worst considering I’m required to have a four year science degree and two years paid experience to get a part time job at the zoo, and my work environment is a literal and figurative mine field that is exhausting to navigate daily, and my boss is a manipulative micro manager that refuses to listen to any of the staff members, and I spend my entire day manually laboring for 13$ an hour and come home emotionally and physically exhausted so much so that every relationship that I’ve been in has crumbled because I have nothing left to give, and I spend my weekends in a state of depression because I have to catch up on sleep but sleeping too long is bad but I’m so tired and I just cant catch up, and I can’t save money because I’m already living paycheck to paycheck with my parents helping me every month, and I work over a thousand programs a year and no one seems to want to reward that even when you go in and ask for a raise because ten cents IS NOT A FUCKING RAISE and you ask and get told “that’s not in the budget” but hiring two new worthless VPs (to bring that grand total up to 17) whose starting salary is 100 grand is, and you can never actually grow here because even if your supervisor left you’d only make two dollars more an hour and be expected to work ten times harder with more responsibility and have everything get blamed on you, and no one can help you with continuing education or professional development because “it’s not in the budget” but ordering 65$ worth of ceramic “stations” was because they felt like it, and sometimes questionable decisions get made regarding welfare and you can’t say anything at all because youre boss has no interest at all in your opinion if it doesn’t agree with theirs and if you voice that opinion they go talk about you behind your back to other coworkers, and you’re expected to do more, and more, and more, and more and....

Wait a second.

Why does all of that not align with what I want in life? Why is my dream suddenly not what I thought it’d be? Why did everyone tell me “do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life?” which is absolute bull shit because ITS STILL WORK AND WORK SUCKS SOMETIMES.

What do I love about zoo keeping you might ask? The animals. They’re incredible. Those training breakthroughs? I’d rank it somewhere between eating the best coconut cream pie you’ve had and a decent orgasm. And those programs I get to do? Occasionally there’s one that just reminds me how important it is for kids to see these kinds of things. And I will immediately be the most interesting person in almost any bar I walk into because I am a zookeeper.

But at the end of the day, I’m a 26 year old woman. Who is not making enough money to support herself. Who doesn’t have the time to do the things she loves outside of zookeeping. Who had an identity crisis when she finally decided this is not the dream she dreamed.

So Tuesday. My last day. I’m sad. Of course I’m sad those animals have a piece of my soul forever.

But man am I ready to be able to see my family. To have weekends. To have time off. To make a livable wage. To have a life outside of my job.

I won’t recommend zookeeping to the average person. Because the lifestyle that comes with it is borderline unhealthy if you don’t navigate it perfectly. And I know that might come as a surprise to some people but the zoo field has a serious problem that is not looking to be fixed anytime soon. And so I won’t tell other people to make that their life.

For those that follow me and are zookeepers I have nothing but the utmost respect for you. I would never want you to think that I am shitting all over your job that you continue to love and do. You’re circumstances are hopefully vastly different than mine! I hope your boss is wonderful and treats you with the respect you deserve. I hope your zoo offers livable wages and good cost of living raises. I hope your voice is heard and listened too. And I hope you’re dream stays true to what you thought it’d be! But just know that if the day comes that you find this post to be describing your situation? Don’t panic. You will be alright.

All those thoughts of “you quitter. You failure. You giver-upper of dreams and letdown to all those who say “you have the coolest job ever!”” ARE WRONG.

I’m going to say that again.

THOSE THOUGHTS. ARE. WRONG.

You magnificent human being who chased down their dream of a zookeeper. Who achieved the goal they set out on and grew and learned and prospered. You son of a bitch you did it.

You lived your dream. And hopefully it was a good dream for as long as it could be. And then. Once you achieved your goals. You found another dream. A new horizon. A bigger adventure. You successful, wonderful human being. Life is too short to stand still, afraid to run headfirst down a new path that could end in a cliff, and stay rooted knowing that if you stand still you can’t fall.

Because if you do that, you will never. EVER. fly.

Go fly my friends. Take flight and believe that your life is a wonderful adventure only defined by the limits you put there yourself. Take the leap of faith into the great unknown for what lies on the other side might define your life.

So. Tuesday. May 15th. I’ll see you in the skies.

Thanks for listening tumblr friends (if any of you ACTUALLY made it this far down kudos 🙌🏼🙌🏼🙌🏼)

*end emotional zoo rant that ended in philosophical motivational speaking*

[syrupeel6-blog]

marbled raspberry pound cake

This small, fearless wildling we literally just brought home from the hospital turned three a couple weeks ago, but despite my certainty that we just got her, I won’t lie, this feels like a gazillion years ago because when did she not have hair. Strangers on the street often ask us about her hair, and I get it, I do. She’s small, it is big, and also red and with spiral curls going in every direction and there are three other members of our family and none of us have spiral curls or red hair. This isn’t the only way she’s already her own fierce little person. I was definitely not into dolls or dresses growing up, so I watch with awe as she plays for hours with her very pink baby doll, the doll’s stroller, the doll’s purse, the doll’s crib and high chair; when she comes home after being out all day, she likes to sit quietly with her baby on her lap on the sofa for a while to catch up and it is, objectively (I am known for my objectivity when talking about my kids), one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

So when asked what kind of birthday cake she wanted, she said “PINK!” And I said, “But what flavor?” “Pink.” And also, “Not brown, Yacob likes brown.” (This is true.) And I thought about making the pink lady cake but we ended up not having a big party that required so much cake, just bringing cupcakes to camp* and then going out to dinner with family. Instead, I went in a simpler direction, loosely inspired by a marbled pink and white cake we saw in the pastry case at Starbucks (but didn’t try so no idea how the taste lines up), a few weeks before. Adding a spoonful of raspberry puree into the glaze turning it ferociously pink, much to her glee, and stretching it into this doughnut-shaped pan I bought earlier this summer on a whim made it look like a giant pink emoji of a doughnut, an unequivocal hit with three year-olds, eight year-olds, and everyone who saw the cake go by at the restaurant. [I resisted the urge to say “And the color is all natural! And that’s not plasticky fondant!” — for once — but it was hard.]

Of course, you do not need a cutesy cake pan to make this. You can make it as a single loaf or double it in a traditional tube or bundt. You also don’t need much time; I made this entire cake in under two hours and it goes even faster if you don’t have to cool it so the glaze stays in place. As a birthday cake after a big dinner, it was exactly right — not too heavy or sweet, but still cute as a button. It would be great for brunch or lunch this weekend or, you know, now. It’s Cake O’Clock somewhere, right?

* I used the berry buttercream and sheet cake from The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook to make pink frosting on vanilla cupcakes.

Previously

One year ago: German Chocolate Cake + A Wedding Cake Two years ago: Eggplant with Tomato and Yogurt Relish and Blueberry Bread and Butter Pudding Three years ago: Takeout-Style Sesame Noodles with Cucumber Four years ago: Summer Squash Gratin with Salsa Verde and Bourbon Slush Punch Five years ago: Mama Canales-Garcia’s Avocado Shrimp Salsa and Banana Nutella and Salted Pistachio Popsicles Six years ago: Zucchini Bread Pancakes and Zucchini Tomato and Rice Gratin Seven years ago: Corn Buttermilk and Chive Popovers and Sugar Plum Crepes with Ricotta and Honey Eight years ago: Scalloped Tomatoes with Croutons, Raspberry Brown Sugar Gratin and Summer Succotash with Bacon and Croutons Nine years ago: Watermelon Lemonade, Light Brioche Burger Buns, Blueberry Boy Bait, and Lemony Zucchini Goat Cheese Pizza Ten years ago: Nectarine Mascarpone and Gingersnap Tart and Herbed Summer Squash and Potato Torte Eleven years ago: Pearl Couscous with Olives and Tomatoes and Zucchini Bread

And for the other side of the world: Six Months Ago: Banana Oat Weekday Pancakes and Stromboli, Scaccia-Style 1.5 Years Ago: An Easier Way To Make Cookies and Guacamole 2.5 Years Ago: Cabbage and Sausage Casserole and Leek, Ham, Cheese and Egg Bake 3.5 Years Ago: Make Your Own Vanilla Extract and Fried Egg Salad 4.5 Years Ago: Homemade Dulce de Leche and Cheese Blintz

Marbled Raspberry Pound Cake

Servings: 8

Time: Less than 2 hours

Print

The cake, as written below, makes 1 standard loaf. To make it in the doughnut-looking pan I show, you’ll want to use 150% of the recipe (it bakes in 38 to 40 minutes). To make a bundt or tube cake, you’ll want to double the recipe (it will take anywhere from 45 to 60 minutes, as shapes range a lot). For the doughnut or bundt cake, I double the glaze. For the raspberries, fork-mashing is easier, but if you’re bothered by seeds or want the smooth appearance you see in the top photo, you’ll want to blend the berries and sieve out the seeds. For the glaze, you could make it with a spoonful of raspberry puree (for this, you’ll definitely want a seedless puree), you could make it with lemon juice, or a mix of both. Or you can skip it for a less sweet cake; it’s perfectly lovely with just a dusting of powdered sugar to finish. For a little more lemon flavor, you can squeeze that half lemon you use for zest and measure the juice (it should be 1 to 2 tablespoons), then use that much less sour cream in the white portion of the cake, adding them at the same time. Finally, a little shopping note: Around here, raspberries come from the grocery store in 6-ounce clamshells, which neatly provides the 1 cup (5 ounces) you’ll need for the pink portion of the cake and the last few you’ll need for a pink glaze.

Butter or cooking spray to coat pan

1 cup (200 grams) granulated sugar

1/4 teaspoon fine sea or table salt

Finely grated zest from half a lemon

1/2 cup (115 grams) unsalted butter

2 large eggs

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 cup (130 grams) all-purpose flour plus 1/2 cup (65 grams) all-purpose flour, divided

1/2 cup (125 grams) sour cream, creme fraiche, or full-fat plain yogurt

1 gently heaped cup (140 grams or 5 ounces) fresh raspberries

3/4 cup (90 grams) powdered sugar

1 tablespoon raspberry puree (for a pink glaze, from a few tablespoons or 1 ounce fresh raspberries), or lemon juice

1 to 2 tablespoons milk

Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Coat a standard loaf pan (either 8″x4″ or 9″x5″, or any size between, will work here) with nonstick baking spray or butter, making sure to get into the corners.

Place sugar and salt in a large bowl. Zest lemon into sugar and rub it together with your fingertips; this helps the lemon release the most flavor from it. Add butter and use an electric mixer to beat it with the sugar until fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well with each addition. Scrape down bowl. Sprinkle cake surface with baking powder and mix it until very well combined. Scrape down sides of bowl again. Add 1 cup (only) of the flour and beat just until it’s no longer visible.

Place raspberries in the bottom of a second medium-large bowl and mash with a fork until mostly broken down but still a little lumpy; you’ll have about 1/2 cup mashed. [If you really dislike raspberry seeds and/or want a smoother look, you can blend the berries until smooth and press them through a fine-mesh strainer — into this second bowl — to remove seeds.] Pour half of the cake batter on top of raspberries (if you have a scale, you can zero out the weight of the bowl and raspberries; half the batter weights 277 grams) but wait, don’t mix it yet.

Instead, go back to the first bowl of batter, the one without raspberries, and add sour cream. Beat to combine. Add 1/4 cup flour, and beat just until smooth. (By beating the “white” batter first, you can reuse you beaters without washing them for the pink batter without muddying the look.)

Beat the raspberries and second half of the cake batter together until smooth. Add final 1/4 cup flour, and beat just until smooth.

Dollop batters in alternating spoonfuls into bottom of prepared loaf pan. Roughly “checkerboard” the rest in, meaning that you’ll drop a pink batter dollop and then a white one and vice-versa until both batters are used up. Drop your pan onto the counter a couple times from a few inches high, to help tap out air bubbles. Use a butter knife or small offset spatula to make a few figure-8s through the batters, marbling them together — but just a little, say, 4 to 5 figure-8s. Any more and the swirls may not look distinct when you cut the cake.

Bake loaf cake for 50 to 55 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out batter-free. Let cool for 15 minutes in pan, then run a knife around cake and gently remove. Let cake cool completely on rack (I hasten this along in the freezer) before glazing, if using a glaze.

To make your glaze, place powdered sugar in a medium bowl and add raspberry puree (for this, it’s best if you press the berries through a fine-mesh sieve to remove seeds, or it won’t have a smooth pink look) or lemon juice. Whisk to combine, but it will almost definitely be too thick. From here, add milk, a teaspoon at a time, until you can whisk the sugar into a thick but loose glaze. Spoon on top of cooled cake and nudge it to the edges with your spoon or an offset spatual so that it drips where you’d like it to. Cover with sprinkles, if using.

Cake keeps for 4 to 5 days in the fridge. If there’s no milk in your glaze, you can store it at room temperature.

Source: https://smittenkitchen.com/2018/08/marbled-raspberry-pound-cake/

[teamgate26-blog]

marbled raspberry pound cake

This small, fearless wildling we literally just brought home from the hospital turned three a couple weeks ago, but despite my certainty that we just got her, I won’t lie, this feels like a gazillion years ago because when did she not have hair. Strangers on the street often ask us about her hair, and I get it, I do. She’s small, it is big, and also red and with spiral curls going in every direction and there are three other members of our family and none of us have spiral curls or red hair. This isn’t the only way she’s already her own fierce little person. I was definitely not into dolls or dresses growing up, so I watch with awe as she plays for hours with her very pink baby doll, the doll’s stroller, the doll’s purse, the doll’s crib and high chair; when she comes home after being out all day, she likes to sit quietly with her baby on her lap on the sofa for a while to catch up and it is, objectively (I am known for my objectivity when talking about my kids), one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

So when asked what kind of birthday cake she wanted, she said “PINK!” And I said, “But what flavor?” “Pink.” And also, “Not brown, Yacob likes brown.” (This is true.) And I thought about making the pink lady cake but we ended up not having a big party that required so much cake, just bringing cupcakes to camp* and then going out to dinner with family. Instead, I went in a simpler direction, loosely inspired by a marbled pink and white cake we saw in the pastry case at Starbucks (but didn’t try so no idea how the taste lines up), a few weeks before. Adding a spoonful of raspberry puree into the glaze turning it ferociously pink, much to her glee, and stretching it into this doughnut-shaped pan I bought earlier this summer on a whim made it look like a giant pink emoji of a doughnut, an unequivocal hit with three year-olds, eight year-olds, and everyone who saw the cake go by at the restaurant. [I resisted the urge to say “And the color is all natural! And that’s not plasticky fondant!” — for once — but it was hard.]

Of course, you do not need a cutesy cake pan to make this. You can make it as a single loaf or double it in a traditional tube or bundt. You also don’t need much time; I made this entire cake in under two hours and it goes even faster if you don’t have to cool it so the glaze stays in place. As a birthday cake after a big dinner, it was exactly right — not too heavy or sweet, but still cute as a button. It would be great for brunch or lunch this weekend or, you know, now. It’s Cake O’Clock somewhere, right?

* I used the berry buttercream and sheet cake from The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook to make pink frosting on vanilla cupcakes.

Previously

One year ago: German Chocolate Cake + A Wedding Cake Two years ago: Eggplant with Tomato and Yogurt Relish and Blueberry Bread and Butter Pudding Three years ago: Takeout-Style Sesame Noodles with Cucumber Four years ago: Summer Squash Gratin with Salsa Verde and Bourbon Slush Punch Five years ago: Mama Canales-Garcia’s Avocado Shrimp Salsa and Banana Nutella and Salted Pistachio Popsicles Six years ago: Zucchini Bread Pancakes and Zucchini Tomato and Rice Gratin Seven years ago: Corn Buttermilk and Chive Popovers and Sugar Plum Crepes with Ricotta and Honey Eight years ago: Scalloped Tomatoes with Croutons, Raspberry Brown Sugar Gratin and Summer Succotash with Bacon and Croutons Nine years ago: Watermelon Lemonade, Light Brioche Burger Buns, Blueberry Boy Bait, and Lemony Zucchini Goat Cheese Pizza Ten years ago: Nectarine Mascarpone and Gingersnap Tart and Herbed Summer Squash and Potato Torte Eleven years ago: Pearl Couscous with Olives and Tomatoes and Zucchini Bread

And for the other side of the world: Six Months Ago: Banana Oat Weekday Pancakes and Stromboli, Scaccia-Style 1.5 Years Ago: An Easier Way To Make Cookies and Guacamole 2.5 Years Ago: Cabbage and Sausage Casserole and Leek, Ham, Cheese and Egg Bake 3.5 Years Ago: Make Your Own Vanilla Extract and Fried Egg Salad 4.5 Years Ago: Homemade Dulce de Leche and Cheese Blintz

Marbled Raspberry Pound Cake

Servings: 8

Time: Less than 2 hours

Print

The cake, as written below, makes 1 standard loaf. To make it in the doughnut-looking pan I show, you’ll want to use 150% of the recipe (it bakes in 38 to 40 minutes). To make a bundt or tube cake, you’ll want to double the recipe (it will take anywhere from 45 to 60 minutes, as shapes range a lot). For the doughnut or bundt cake, I double the glaze. For the raspberries, fork-mashing is easier, but if you’re bothered by seeds or want the smooth appearance you see in the top photo, you’ll want to blend the berries and sieve out the seeds. For the glaze, you could make it with a spoonful of raspberry puree (for this, you’ll definitely want a seedless puree), you could make it with lemon juice, or a mix of both. Or you can skip it for a less sweet cake; it’s perfectly lovely with just a dusting of powdered sugar to finish. For a little more lemon flavor, you can squeeze that half lemon you use for zest and measure the juice (it should be 1 to 2 tablespoons), then use that much less sour cream in the white portion of the cake, adding them at the same time. Finally, a little shopping note: Around here, raspberries come from the grocery store in 6-ounce clamshells, which neatly provides the 1 cup (5 ounces) you’ll need for the pink portion of the cake and the last few you’ll need for a pink glaze.

Butter or cooking spray to coat pan

1 cup (200 grams) granulated sugar

1/4 teaspoon fine sea or table salt

Finely grated zest from half a lemon

1/2 cup (115 grams) unsalted butter

2 large eggs

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 cup (130 grams) all-purpose flour plus 1/2 cup (65 grams) all-purpose flour, divided

1/2 cup (125 grams) sour cream, creme fraiche, or full-fat plain yogurt

1 gently heaped cup (140 grams or 5 ounces) fresh raspberries

3/4 cup (90 grams) powdered sugar

1 tablespoon raspberry puree (for a pink glaze, from a few tablespoons or 1 ounce fresh raspberries), or lemon juice

1 to 2 tablespoons milk

Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Coat a standard loaf pan (either 8″x4″ or 9″x5″, or any size between, will work here) with nonstick baking spray or butter, making sure to get into the corners.

Place sugar and salt in a large bowl. Zest lemon into sugar and rub it together with your fingertips; this helps the lemon release the most flavor from it. Add butter and use an electric mixer to beat it with the sugar until fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well with each addition. Scrape down bowl. Sprinkle cake surface with baking powder and mix it until very well combined. Scrape down sides of bowl again. Add 1 cup (only) of the flour and beat just until it’s no longer visible.

Place raspberries in the bottom of a second medium-large bowl and mash with a fork until mostly broken down but still a little lumpy; you’ll have about 1/2 cup mashed. [If you really dislike raspberry seeds and/or want a smoother look, you can blend the berries until smooth and press them through a fine-mesh strainer — into this second bowl — to remove seeds.] Pour half of the cake batter on top of raspberries (if you have a scale, you can zero out the weight of the bowl and raspberries; half the batter weights 277 grams) but wait, don’t mix it yet.

Instead, go back to the first bowl of batter, the one without raspberries, and add sour cream. Beat to combine. Add 1/4 cup flour, and beat just until smooth. (By beating the “white” batter first, you can reuse you beaters without washing them for the pink batter without muddying the look.)

Beat the raspberries and second half of the cake batter together until smooth. Add final 1/4 cup flour, and beat just until smooth.

Dollop batters in alternating spoonfuls into bottom of prepared loaf pan. Roughly “checkerboard” the rest in, meaning that you’ll drop a pink batter dollop and then a white one and vice-versa until both batters are used up. Drop your pan onto the counter a couple times from a few inches high, to help tap out air bubbles. Use a butter knife or small offset spatula to make a few figure-8s through the batters, marbling them together — but just a little, say, 4 to 5 figure-8s. Any more and the swirls may not look distinct when you cut the cake.

Bake loaf cake for 50 to 55 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out batter-free. Let cool for 15 minutes in pan, then run a knife around cake and gently remove. Let cake cool completely on rack (I hasten this along in the freezer) before glazing, if using a glaze.

To make your glaze, place powdered sugar in a medium bowl and add raspberry puree (for this, it’s best if you press the berries through a fine-mesh sieve to remove seeds, or it won’t have a smooth pink look) or lemon juice. Whisk to combine, but it will almost definitely be too thick. From here, add milk, a teaspoon at a time, until you can whisk the sugar into a thick but loose glaze. Spoon on top of cooled cake and nudge it to the edges with your spoon or an offset spatual so that it drips where you’d like it to. Cover with sprinkles, if using.

Cake keeps for 4 to 5 days in the fridge. If there’s no milk in your glaze, you can store it at room temperature.

Source: https://smittenkitchen.com/2018/08/marbled-raspberry-pound-cake/

[cessanderson]

A Girl and her Tent http://bit.ly/2SrRopk

Well, technically, it’s really a girl, her tent, and another 30 lbs of gear strapped to her back (while she hikes up a mountain) but who’s counting, really?

(Uh. I am, you guys. I am counting Every. Single. Ounce. in that pack, because those are big fucking mountains sometimes.)

Up until a couple of years ago, my most amazing life experiences– the things that really taught me to dig deep and take a hard look at who I am when shit gets tough— those experiences all happened on the farm. Or when I lived in a garage for 18 months and built a house in my spare time. Or, you know, during any one of the numerous “what the fuck were you thinking?” projects I’ve taken on over the last two decades.

I’ve documented most of those things on this website, so trust me when I say that I find it as strange as anyone that in the last year or so those amazing life experiences–the ones that have taught me to dig deep, and take a hard look at myself when shit gets tough– well, they’ve mostly happened when I leave the farm entirely. When I hike out into the wilderness where there are no projects, or power tools, or big responsibilities.

When I’m just a girl with her tent.

And I guess maybe it isn’t that surprising that after 15 years of finding bigger and crazier ways to challenge myself through house projects, that eventually I’d be so comfortable in this space that I’d start challenging myself elsewhere.

But I never would have guessed it would be camping.

I mean, previously in my life, when people suggested I might like “camping”,  they were met with, at best, polite incredulity. After all, I have all of the benefits of camping in my backyard (wide open spaces, bonfires, a beautiful view) along with a king-sized mattress and indoor plumbing just a few steps away. Sooo… camping? Hard pass. Thanks though.

You guys, I also once said, definitively, that I would never own a house because it was too much work. So, I mean, when I’m wrong, I am wrong.

But, to be fair, all of my previous experiences with tents had been in “car camping” settings, and there’s a big difference between car camping and backpacking.

For the uninitiated:

Car camping typically means sleeping in a tent at a drive-up campground that, more often than not, has tiny, cramped campsites, and at least one annoying group of kids that stays up way too late drinking beer and talking VERY LOUDLY (because I am a cranky old lady who has wicked insomnia at home, but also has a very strict bedtime when I’m in a tent. Obviously.) To be fair, I’ve actually done quite a bit of car camping in the last two years when I go outdoor climbing–enough that I have a designated car camping tent– and I’ll tolerate it (with earplugs), but I don’t love it the way I love backpacking.

Backpacking, on the other hand, means hiking out to places you cannot reach by car– which also means you have to carry, on your back, everything you need to survive— and either “dispersed camping” (i.e. pitching a tent in places where there are no designated campsites) or staying at rustic campsites that tend to be private and have basically no amenities (other than maybe a bear locker to store your food in so an actual bear doesn’t mistake your tent for a human-sized snicker bar one night.) And this, it turns out, is one of my very favorite activities.

Here’s why:

For me, there’s typically months of prepping that lead up to a hike. Prepping for the travel (finding a good trail, figuring out the best time to hike it, planning for flights or drive-time there, and figuring out how to best get to the trailhead and back.)

Then there’s the physical prep. Studying elevation maps of the trail, and making sure I’m both strong enough and have the endurance to hike 12-20 miles a day, sometimes straight up, or, worse, down hill, always carrying a ~35lb pack, occasionally with not as much oxygen as I’m used to at sea level.

I spend a lot of lunch breaks on a stairmaster with a weight vest on…

It also means prepping my gear, which entails a lot of studying the terrain, understanding the weather, putting together meals with the minimum amount of weight and maximum amount of calories, making adjustments to my gear list based on lessons learned in previous hikes, and always, always trying drop the weight in my pack. (Trust me, on your 20th mile of the day, every ounce counts.)

And then, the adventure.

So, so many late night or early morning flights. I don’t think I’ve ever started a hike well-rested.

You can’t fly with fuel canisters, so there’s always a “where the hell can I get a fuel canister” panic when I get to my destination. (Legit walked 7 miles to 3 different stores in Reykjavik the night before a hike to find fuel once.)

Then, getting to the trailhead.

I’ve rented cars at the airport, dropped them off at the closest rental to the trailhead, and walked the last few miles (a pre-hike, hike.) I’ve rented a van with strangers, who after 4 hours in the car became friends, and spent the weekend hiking with them. I’ve taken busses, and, once, a ferry (sea-sick is a fun way to start a hike, let me tell you.)

There’s always some confusion as to where the hell the trail actual starts, and then, after all that…

The hike.

This is the moment, every single time, where all the chaos of travel and over-thinking falls away. This is the point where you pick up your pack– everything you need for 3-5 days right there on your back– and start walking.

I love every part of this. I love the minute the uncertainty fades away, when the map and compass and trail all line up, and I know I’m headed in the right direction. I love feeling the physical training kicking in after just a few miles on the trail, when my body responds to the hard work of carrying a pack uphill and falls into a rhythm of “hell yeah, we’ve got this.” I love when civilization and day-hikers fade away, and I’m the only person as far as the eye can see. I love that moment, when it really sets in that I’m out there, on my own, and everything I do counts. Every decision I make is vitally important to survival.

There are no takebacks on the trail. No “oops I forgot” and running to the store. But (as I learned on my first solo hike) you can’t be the nervous nelly who packs 50 pounds of gear “just in case” and expect to get anywhere either.

I’m not a person who has ever been able to relax on a beach for more than a few hours, or “shut off” from work for more than a day or two, so being out on the trail is the only time in my life when I’ve been truly able to unplug. Not because I don’t have service (I mean, that too) but because my immediate needs become paramount. Do I have enough water? Where’s the next good place to refill? Am I still on the trail? Have I consumed enough calories? Am I feeling steady on this sketchy path with a 2000 ft drop off both sides? Do I need a rest? How many miles before dark?

Have I said I love every minute of it? Because, guys, I love every minute of it. Even the minutes when I want to quit. When I realize I didn’t bring the right blister-pads for my feet and that shit is going to hurt for the next 30 miles. When my water runs low because I didn’t fill up at the last stream. When I literally fall asleep on my feet, while walking, in the middle of the day. When I’m counting every step of the last mile down a treacherous hill, swearing under my breath every time I lose my footing.

When it goes from a humid 65 degrees at sea level, to freezing rain at 4000 ft, all inside of a couple of hours.

And also when I find myself in the most beautiful places.

Because I’ll tell you this, I’ve structured my life on the farm in a way that tests me. That very often asks me to do hard things and be the best version of myself. But it doesn’t quite compare to this. Adventuring this way, out in the wilderness on my own, it isn’t just that I’m asking myself to be smart, and strong, and capable in general. It’s the immediacy of it. There is no choice but to be smart and strong and capable in this moment.

And that is an incredible feeling.

When I reflected on my life on the farm in 2018, it made me stronger, but in a way that felt disconnected from the things I love about the farm. This part of 2018 though? This made me stronger in a way that grounded me, right to the core.

Kit

[lunarfoxgirl]

100 questions thing

I was tagged by @uniquelykaydt! I’m not gonna tag a bunch of other people though, do it if you want to and tag me back so I can see but no pressure.

1: Is there a boy/girl in your life?

Ye

2: Think of the last person who hurt you; do you forgive them?

Yeah, mostly because I believe in forgiveness. Doesn't mean everything is fine, but I'm not one to hold grudges.

3: What do you think of when you hear the word “meow?”

'right meow' jokes tbh

4: What’s something you really want right now?

Financial stability, a sense of purpose or direction, to not have to shave my face ever again, grapes/blackberries

5: Are you afraid of falling in love?

Honestly, yes. It happens easily for me, but my marriage kind of fucked up my perception of and desire for relationships, and so I worry a lot about how I handle them and how they will or won't work out, and it's just really stressful for me

6: Do you like the beach?

Nah. I like being near the ocean cause the sound and sight are calming to me, but I don't like the sand and I don't like the water and I don't like swimming and I don't like the smell and just no lol

7: Have you ever slept on a couch with someone else?

Probably but I don't specifically remember it

8: What’s the background on your cell?

9: Name the last four beds you were sat on?

Mine, Derrick's, Rena's, and probably Rusty's

10: Do you like your phone?

Yeah, it's good. Want a freaking pixel but I'm broke as heck lol

11: Honestly, are things going the way you planned?

Not even remotely my dude

12: Who was the last person whose phone number you added to your contacts?

I think Lou

13: Would you rather have a poodle or a Rottweiler?

probably a poodle cause at least then I could get a little one lol, I'm not a fan of real big dogs, I want something I can pick up and cuddle

14: Which hurts the most, physical or emotional pain?

Emotional pain can definitely last a very long time in a very excrutiating state, but I don't think I've ever literally blacked out from emotional pain, so...

15: Would you rather visit a zoo or an art museum?

zoo generally, but art museums are cool

16: Are you tired?

I am tired at the moment, but generally speaking, I am less tired today than I have been in a while, really caught up on sleep this past weekend

17: How long have you known your 1st phone contact?

First as in top of my contact's list? Uh... like a year and a half?

18: Are they a relative?

Nope, friend of a friend

19: Would you ever consider getting back together with any of your exes?

Nah

20: When did you last talk to the last person you shared a kiss with?

Like, a little over an hour ago, text messages. Talk with voices? probably about a week? 10 days? we've watched shows on rabbit a couple times but she was on her phone for it so no video/audio just shows and typing

21: If you knew you had the right person, would you marry them today?

Today ends in 1 hour, but tomorrow... probably not. Life situation way too messy at the moment, and at this period in my life I'm really big on stability, which I have some semblance of at the moment. If everything lined up right, I wouldn't be opposed to it, but eh.

22: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

Yeah, will next time I see her I'm sure

23: How many bracelets do you have on your wrists right now?

None, though I have 4 on the post of my headboard right next to me

24: Is there a certain quote you live by?

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" is probably the closest that I'm specifically aware of and remember at the moment.

25: What’s on your mind?

Housing applications, work, rwby fics, puzzle and dragons, sleep

26: Do you have any tattoos?

No, but I want to get the classic Raava back tattoo, I'm just chicken and broke. Only tattoo I really strongly want right now

27: What is your favorite color?

Pink and Blue in a couple of very particular varieties that I don't have good names for at the moment

28: Next time you will kiss someone on the lips?

March 31st

29: Who are you texting?

Ash mostly, Rena's asleep at the moment, I texted stephanie but wasn't really expecting a response tonight

30: Think to the last person you kissed, have you ever kissed them on a couch?

ye

31: Have you ever had the feeling something bad was going to happen and you were right?

I don't get that feeling very often, but when I do, it's usually right

32: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?

Derrick! and others to lesser degree, but yeah, Derrick's great

33: Do you think anyone has feelings for you?

I am literally dating another girl right now

34: Has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes?

Yeah, tbh I should get contacts cause everybody loves my eyes and my glasses hide them

35: Say the last person you kissed was kissing someone right in front of you?

Right now, I would be very confused. But if I knew about the situation then I'd probably be chill. Polyamory is a thing and relationships are complicated and I'm not opposed to abnormal arrangements.

36: Were you single on Valentines Day?

Nah

37: Are you friends with the last person you kissed?

Currently dating

38: What do your friends call you?

Megan, Meg, Light, Beautiful (yes, really)... there used to be a couple others that would be super awkward to explain out of context so I'll just skip them lol

39: Has anyone upset you in the last week?

A bit, but not majorly

40: Have you ever cried over a text?

Yeah. Several occasions, actually.

41: Where’s your last bruise located?

Dude, at any given time, I have like 5+ bruises on my arms and legs. Welcome to retail

42: What is it from?

Retail in some form, probably a cart handle or the edge of a shelf or balancing something heavy in the wrong spot or some shit

43: Last time you wanted to be away from somewhere really bad?

approximately 7pm tonight when work was being a dick and I wanted to just go to sleep

44: Who was the last person you were on the phone with?

Walgreens pharmacy asking whether I was going to come pick up my damn prescription already XD

45: Do you have a favourite pair of shoes?

Yes, this one pair of boots I have, fave easy

46: Do you wear hats if your having a bad hair day?

I own like three hats that I never wear. Bad hair day = ponytail just like every other day lol

47: Would you ever go bald if it was the style?

Nah, I've done near that before but I like my longer hair better, style can fuck itself

48: Do you make supper for your family?

Once in a GREAT while, I will make dinner for me and Derrick and Lily. I think it has happened twice since we moved in together. So basically no. I cook for myself most of the time though, even if it is just shitty little stuff.

49: Does your bedroom have a door?

Yes? All bedrooms should have doors imo

50: Top 3 web-pages?

Tumblr Rabbit PADX >.<

51: Do you know anyone who hates shopping?

Rena pretends to hate shopping but she only hates shopping for things she's not specifically interested in, if you take her shopping for like UnderArmor or something she'll be there for ages and enjoy it.

52: Does anything on your body hurt?

My lower back and my feet most days, my head at the moment a bit

53: Are goodbyes hard for you?

Not usually, but sometimes

54: What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?

Probably a soda, maybe water, I don't remember

55: How is your hair?

Kinda oily and in bad need of a wash, but otherwise okay

56: What do you usually do first in the morning?

Lay in bed for two hours lmao but once I finally get up it's usually bathroom and then food

57: Do you think two people can last forever?

I think two people can last a lifetime. I'm not convinced about forever.

58: Think back to January 2007, were you single?

Nope, I had been dating my ex-wife for almost a year at that point

59: Green or purple grapes?

Green

60: When’s the next time you will give someone a BIG hug?

Probably march 31st

61: Do you wish you were somewhere else right now?

nah I'm good now

62: When will be the next time you text someone?

literally in like 15 minutes

63: Where will you be 5 hours from now?

Sleeping

64: What were you doing at 8 this morning.

sleeping

65: This time last year, can you remember who you liked?

the person I'm dating

66: Is there one person in your life that can always make you smile?

Yeah, a few people, I try to stick with people like that

67: Did you kiss or hug anyone today?

Nope, at least not physically

68: What was your last thought before you went to bed last night?

I honestly do not remember, I've slept since then

69: Have you ever tried your hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?

Yeah, a few times

70: How many windows are open on your computer?

uh 2 at the moment, chrome for tumblr and this text document that I'm writing this in so tumblr doesn't fuck it up

71: How many fingers do you have?

10, like most (but not all) people

72: What is your ringtone?

some default thing that I can't be arsed to look up specifically

73: How old will you be in 5 months?

I will be a few days shy of turning 29

74: Where is your Mum right now?

At the house she is currently staying at, most likely.

75: Why aren’t you with the person you were first in love with or almost in love?

She broke up with me. For reasons I still do not understand. Which is also the case for the second person. Hmm.

76: Have you held hands with somebody in the past three days?

Nah

77: Are you friends with the people you were friends with two years ago?

Pretty much all of them, yeah

78: Do you remember who you had a crush on in year 7?

That was 2010 years ago so I don't think I was crushing on anyone. If you mean when I was in 7th grade, I actually do, her name was Melissa and she was one of the few crushes I have ever had (and it is not the same Melissa who is my sister).

79: Is there anyone you know with the name Mike?

My grandfather

80: Have you ever fallen asleep in someones arms?

ye

81: How many people have you liked in the past three months?

Probably like 4 but I fall in like with strangers almost constantly it's ridiculous

82: Has anyone seen you in your underwear in the last 3 days?

I have, there's a mirror in my room

83: Will you talk to the person you like tonight?

Ye

84: You’re drunk and yelling at hot guys/girls out of your car window, you’re with?

Probably like Obama and Laverne Cox cause this is clearly a strange dream I'm having considering I almost never drink, I almost never find someone hot (asexual), I have literally never harrassed someone on the street

85: If your BF/GF was into drugs would you care?

Depends on the drugs. If she was into like pot or something then whatever, but if she was into like crack then yeah I'd fucking care lol

86: What was the most eventful thing that happened last time you went to see a movie?

I think the last time I went to see a movie, we failed to see the movie XD

87: Who was your last received call from?

Walgreens, about that prescription

88: If someone gave you $1,000 to burn a butterfly over a candle, would you?

Can I kill the butterfly a different way first? Cause that sounds really unnecessarily cruel, but $1000 would be a big fucking deal at the moment

89: What is something you wish you had more of?

Time and motivation

90: Have you ever trusted someone too much?

Yeah, thought they were worth it but they proved me wrong. Still do probably, but to lesser degrees.

91: Do you sleep with your window open?

Nope, damn noises keep me up

92: Do you get along with girls?

Like 95% of girls and like 85% of boys tbh, I'm easy to get along with

93: Are you keeping a secret from someone who needs to know the truth?

Probably somewhat but nothing specific comes to mind

94: Does sex mean love?

Nope

95: You’re locked in a room with the last person you kissed, is that a problem?

Being locked in a room is usually a problem, regardless of company

96: Have you ever kissed anyone with a lip ring?

Nope, though she had a fake one that she pranked me with, jerk

97: Did you sleep alone this week?

Girlfriend is 700 miles away so yeah

98: Everybody has somebody that makes them happy, do you?

If I didn't then I wouldn't be part of everybody?

99: Do you believe in love at first sight?

Nah. Like, sure, love? No.

100: Who was the last person that you pinky promised?

Rena. The dork

[sureyhny]

A Girl and her Tent

Well, technically, it’s really a girl, her tent, and another 30 lbs of gear strapped to her back (while she hikes up a mountain) but who’s counting, really?

(Uh. I am, you guys. I am counting Every. Single. Ounce. in that pack, because those are big fucking mountains sometimes.)

Up until a couple of years ago, my most amazing life experiences– the things that really taught me to dig deep and take a hard look at who I am when shit gets tough— those experiences all happened on the farm. Or when I lived in a garage for 18 months and built a house in my spare time. Or, you know, during any one of the numerous “what the fuck were you thinking?” projects I’ve taken on over the last two decades.

I’ve documented most of those things on this website, so trust me when I say that I find it as strange as anyone that in the last year or so those amazing life experiences–the ones that have taught me to dig deep, and take a hard look at myself when shit gets tough– well, they’ve mostly happened when I leave the farm entirely. When I hike out into the wilderness where there are no projects, or power tools, or big responsibilities.

When I’m just a girl with her tent.

And I guess maybe it isn’t that surprising that after 15 years of finding bigger and crazier ways to challenge myself through house projects, that eventually I’d be so comfortable in this space that I’d start challenging myself elsewhere.

But I never would have guessed it would be camping.

I mean, previously in my life, when people suggested I might like “camping”,  they were met with, at best, polite incredulity. After all, I have all of the benefits of camping in my backyard (wide open spaces, bonfires, a beautiful view) along with a king-sized mattress and indoor plumbing just a few steps away. Sooo… camping? Hard pass. Thanks though.

You guys, I also once said, definitively, that I would never own a house because it was too much work. So, I mean, when I’m wrong, I am wrong.

But, to be fair, all of my previous experiences with tents had been in “car camping” settings, and there’s a big difference between car camping and backpacking.

For the uninitiated:

Car camping typically means sleeping in a tent at a drive-up campground that, more often than not, has tiny, cramped campsites, and at least one annoying group of kids that stays up way too late drinking beer and talking VERY LOUDLY (because I am a cranky old lady who has wicked insomnia at home, but also has a very strict bedtime when I’m in a tent. Obviously.) To be fair, I’ve actually done quite a bit of car camping in the last two years when I go outdoor climbing–enough that I have a designated car camping tent– and I’ll tolerate it (with earplugs), but I don’t love it the way I love backpacking.

Backpacking, on the other hand, means hiking out to places you cannot reach by car– which also means you have to carry, on your back, everything you need to survive— and either “dispersed camping” (i.e. pitching a tent in places where there are no designated campsites) or staying at rustic campsites that tend to be private and have basically no amenities (other than maybe a bear locker to store your food in so an actual bear doesn’t mistake your tent for a human-sized snicker bar one night.) And this, it turns out, is one of my very favorite activities.

Here’s why:

For me, there’s typically months of prepping that lead up to a hike. Prepping for the travel (finding a good trail, figuring out the best time to hike it, planning for flights or drive-time there, and figuring out how to best get to the trailhead and back.)

Then there’s the physical prep. Studying elevation maps of the trail, and making sure I’m both strong enough and have the endurance to hike 12-20 miles a day, sometimes straight up, or, worse, down hill, always carrying a ~35lb pack, occasionally with not as much oxygen as I’m used to at sea level.

I spend a lot of lunch breaks on a stairmaster with a weight vest on…

It also means prepping my gear, which entails a lot of studying the terrain, understanding the weather, putting together meals with the minimum amount of weight and maximum amount of calories, making adjustments to my gear list based on lessons learned in previous hikes, and always, always trying drop the weight in my pack. (Trust me, on your 20th mile of the day, every ounce counts.)

And then, the adventure.

So, so many late night or early morning flights. I don’t think I’ve ever started a hike well-rested.

You can’t fly with fuel canisters, so there’s always a “where the hell can I get a fuel canister” panic when I get to my destination. (Legit walked 7 miles to 3 different stores in Reykjavik the night before a hike to find fuel once.)

Then, getting to the trailhead.

I’ve rented cars at the airport, dropped them off at the closest rental to the trailhead, and walked the last few miles (a pre-hike, hike.) I’ve rented a van with strangers, who after 4 hours in the car became friends, and spent the weekend hiking with them. I’ve taken busses, and, once, a ferry (sea-sick is a fun way to start a hike, let me tell you.)

There’s always some confusion as to where the hell the trail actual starts, and then, after all that…

The hike.

This is the moment, every single time, where all the chaos of travel and over-thinking falls away. This is the point where you pick up your pack– everything you need for 3-5 days right there on your back– and start walking.

I love every part of this. I love the minute the uncertainty fades away, when the map and compass and trail all line up, and I know I’m headed in the right direction. I love feeling the physical training kicking in after just a few miles on the trail, when my body responds to the hard work of carrying a pack uphill and falls into a rhythm of “hell yeah, we’ve got this.” I love when civilization and day-hikers fade away, and I’m the only person as far as the eye can see. I love that moment, when it really sets in that I’m out there, on my own, and everything I do counts. Every decision I make is vitally important to survival.

There are no takebacks on the trail. No “oops I forgot” and running to the store. But (as I learned on my first solo hike) you can’t be the nervous nelly who packs 50 pounds of gear “just in case” and expect to get anywhere either.

I’m not a person who has ever been able to relax on a beach for more than a few hours, or “shut off” from work for more than a day or two, so being out on the trail is the only time in my life when I’ve been truly able to unplug. Not because I don’t have service (I mean, that too) but because my immediate needs become paramount. Do I have enough water? Where’s the next good place to refill? Am I still on the trail? Have I consumed enough calories? Am I feeling steady on this sketchy path with a 2000 ft drop off both sides? Do I need a rest? How many miles before dark?

Have I said I love every minute of it? Because, guys, I love every minute of it. Even the minutes when I want to quit. When I realize I didn’t bring the right blister-pads for my feet and that shit is going to hurt for the next 30 miles. When my water runs low because I didn’t fill up at the last stream. When I literally fall asleep on my feet, while walking, in the middle of the day. When I’m counting every step of the last mile down a treacherous hill, swearing under my breath every time I lose my footing.

When it goes from a humid 65 degrees at sea level, to freezing rain at 4000 ft, all inside of a couple of hours.

And also when I find myself in the most beautiful places.

Because I’ll tell you this, I’ve structured my life on the farm in a way that tests me. That very often asks me to do hard things and be the best version of myself. But it doesn’t quite compare to this. Adventuring this way, out in the wilderness on my own, it isn’t just that I’m asking myself to be smart, and strong, and capable in general. It’s the immediacy of it. There is no choice but to be smart and strong and capable in this moment.

And that is an incredible feeling.

When I reflected on my life on the farm in 2018, it made me stronger, but in a way that felt disconnected from the things I love about the farm. This part of 2018 though? This made me stronger in a way that grounded me, right to the core.

from Home Improvement http://diydiva.net/2019/02/a-girl-and-her-tent/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[andrewysanders]

A Girl and her Tent

Well, technically, it’s really a girl, her tent, and another 30 lbs of gear strapped to her back (while she hikes up a mountain) but who’s counting, really?

(Uh. I am, you guys. I am counting Every. Single. Ounce. in that pack, because those are big fucking mountains sometimes.)

Up until a couple of years ago, my most amazing life experiences– the things that really taught me to dig deep and take a hard look at who I am when shit gets tough— those experiences all happened on the farm. Or when I lived in a garage for 18 months and built a house in my spare time. Or, you know, during any one of the numerous “what the fuck were you thinking?” projects I’ve taken on over the last two decades.

I’ve documented most of those things on this website, so trust me when I say that I find it as strange as anyone that in the last year or so those amazing life experiences–the ones that have taught me to dig deep, and take a hard look at myself when shit gets tough– well, they’ve mostly happened when I leave the farm entirely. When I hike out into the wilderness where there are no projects, or power tools, or big responsibilities.

When I’m just a girl with her tent.

And I guess maybe it isn’t that surprising that after 15 years of finding bigger and crazier ways to challenge myself through house projects, that eventually I’d be so comfortable in this space that I’d start challenging myself elsewhere.

But I never would have guessed it would be camping.

I mean, previously in my life, when people suggested I might like “camping”,  they were met with, at best, polite incredulity. After all, I have all of the benefits of camping in my backyard (wide open spaces, bonfires, a beautiful view) along with a king-sized mattress and indoor plumbing just a few steps away. Sooo… camping? Hard pass. Thanks though.

You guys, I also once said, definitively, that I would never own a house because it was too much work. So, I mean, when I’m wrong, I am wrong.

But, to be fair, all of my previous experiences with tents had been in “car camping” settings, and there’s a big difference between car camping and backpacking.

For the uninitiated:

Car camping typically means sleeping in a tent at a drive-up campground that, more often than not, has tiny, cramped campsites, and at least one annoying group of kids that stays up way too late drinking beer and talking VERY LOUDLY (because I am a cranky old lady who has wicked insomnia at home, but also has a very strict bedtime when I’m in a tent. Obviously.) To be fair, I’ve actually done quite a bit of car camping in the last two years when I go outdoor climbing–enough that I have a designated car camping tent– and I’ll tolerate it (with earplugs), but I don’t love it the way I love backpacking.

Backpacking, on the other hand, means hiking out to places you cannot reach by car– which also means you have to carry, on your back, everything you need to survive— and either “dispersed camping” (i.e. pitching a tent in places where there are no designated campsites) or staying at rustic campsites that tend to be private and have basically no amenities (other than maybe a bear locker to store your food in so an actual bear doesn’t mistake your tent for a human-sized snicker bar one night.) And this, it turns out, is one of my very favorite activities.

Here’s why:

For me, there’s typically months of prepping that lead up to a hike. Prepping for the travel (finding a good trail, figuring out the best time to hike it, planning for flights or drive-time there, and figuring out how to best get to the trailhead and back.)

Then there’s the physical prep. Studying elevation maps of the trail, and making sure I’m both strong enough and have the endurance to hike 12-20 miles a day, sometimes straight up, or, worse, down hill, always carrying a ~35lb pack, occasionally with not as much oxygen as I’m used to at sea level.

I spend a lot of lunch breaks on a stairmaster with a weight vest on…

It also means prepping my gear, which entails a lot of studying the terrain, understanding the weather, putting together meals with the minimum amount of weight and maximum amount of calories, making adjustments to my gear list based on lessons learned in previous hikes, and always, always trying drop the weight in my pack. (Trust me, on your 20th mile of the day, every ounce counts.)

And then, the adventure.

So, so many late night or early morning flights. I don’t think I’ve ever started a hike well-rested.

You can’t fly with fuel canisters, so there’s always a “where the hell can I get a fuel canister” panic when I get to my destination. (Legit walked 7 miles to 3 different stores in Reykjavik the night before a hike to find fuel once.)

Then, getting to the trailhead.

I’ve rented cars at the airport, dropped them off at the closest rental to the trailhead, and walked the last few miles (a pre-hike, hike.) I’ve rented a van with strangers, who after 4 hours in the car became friends, and spent the weekend hiking with them. I’ve taken busses, and, once, a ferry (sea-sick is a fun way to start a hike, let me tell you.)

There’s always some confusion as to where the hell the trail actual starts, and then, after all that…

The hike.

This is the moment, every single time, where all the chaos of travel and over-thinking falls away. This is the point where you pick up your pack– everything you need for 3-5 days right there on your back– and start walking.

I love every part of this. I love the minute the uncertainty fades away, when the map and compass and trail all line up, and I know I’m headed in the right direction. I love feeling the physical training kicking in after just a few miles on the trail, when my body responds to the hard work of carrying a pack uphill and falls into a rhythm of “hell yeah, we’ve got this.” I love when civilization and day-hikers fade away, and I’m the only person as far as the eye can see. I love that moment, when it really sets in that I’m out there, on my own, and everything I do counts. Every decision I make is vitally important to survival.

There are no takebacks on the trail. No “oops I forgot” and running to the store. But (as I learned on my first solo hike) you can’t be the nervous nelly who packs 50 pounds of gear “just in case” and expect to get anywhere either.

I’m not a person who has ever been able to relax on a beach for more than a few hours, or “shut off” from work for more than a day or two, so being out on the trail is the only time in my life when I’ve been truly able to unplug. Not because I don’t have service (I mean, that too) but because my immediate needs become paramount. Do I have enough water? Where’s the next good place to refill? Am I still on the trail? Have I consumed enough calories? Am I feeling steady on this sketchy path with a 2000 ft drop off both sides? Do I need a rest? How many miles before dark?

Have I said I love every minute of it? Because, guys, I love every minute of it. Even the minutes when I want to quit. When I realize I didn’t bring the right blister-pads for my feet and that shit is going to hurt for the next 30 miles. When my water runs low because I didn’t fill up at the last stream. When I literally fall asleep on my feet, while walking, in the middle of the day. When I’m counting every step of the last mile down a treacherous hill, swearing under my breath every time I lose my footing.

When it goes from a humid 65 degrees at sea level, to freezing rain at 4000 ft, all inside of a couple of hours.

And also when I find myself in the most beautiful places.

Because I’ll tell you this, I’ve structured my life on the farm in a way that tests me. That very often asks me to do hard things and be the best version of myself. But it doesn’t quite compare to this. Adventuring this way, out in the wilderness on my own, it isn’t just that I’m asking myself to be smart, and strong, and capable in general. It’s the immediacy of it. There is no choice but to be smart and strong and capable in this moment.

And that is an incredible feeling.

When I reflected on my life on the farm in 2018, it made me stronger, but in a way that felt disconnected from the things I love about the farm. This part of 2018 though? This made me stronger in a way that grounded me, right to the core.

from Home http://diydiva.net/2019/02/a-girl-and-her-tent/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[prouxvaire]

A Girl and her Tent

Well, technically, it’s really a girl, her tent, and another 30 lbs of gear strapped to her back (while she hikes up a mountain) but who’s counting, really?

(Uh. I am, you guys. I am counting Every. Single. Ounce. in that pack, because those are big fucking mountains sometimes.)

Up until a couple of years ago, my most amazing life experiences– the things that really taught me to dig deep and take a hard look at who I am when shit gets tough— those experiences all happened on the farm. Or when I lived in a garage for 18 months and built a house in my spare time. Or, you know, during any one of the numerous “what the fuck were you thinking?” projects I’ve taken on over the last two decades.

I’ve documented most of those things on this website, so trust me when I say that I find it as strange as anyone that in the last year or so those amazing life experiences–the ones that have taught me to dig deep, and take a hard look at myself when shit gets tough– well, they’ve mostly happened when I leave the farm entirely. When I hike out into the wilderness where there are no projects, or power tools, or big responsibilities.

When I’m just a girl with her tent.

And I guess maybe it isn’t that surprising that after 15 years of finding bigger and crazier ways to challenge myself through house projects, that eventually I’d be so comfortable in this space that I’d start challenging myself elsewhere.

But I never would have guessed it would be camping.

I mean, previously in my life, when people suggested I might like “camping”,  they were met with, at best, polite incredulity. After all, I have all of the benefits of camping in my backyard (wide open spaces, bonfires, a beautiful view) along with a king-sized mattress and indoor plumbing just a few steps away. Sooo… camping? Hard pass. Thanks though.

You guys, I also once said, definitively, that I would never own a house because it was too much work. So, I mean, when I’m wrong, I am wrong.

But, to be fair, all of my previous experiences with tents had been in “car camping” settings, and there’s a big difference between car camping and backpacking.

For the uninitiated:

Car camping typically means sleeping in a tent at a drive-up campground that, more often than not, has tiny, cramped campsites, and at least one annoying group of kids that stays up way too late drinking beer and talking VERY LOUDLY (because I am a cranky old lady who has wicked insomnia at home, but also has a very strict bedtime when I’m in a tent. Obviously.) To be fair, I’ve actually done quite a bit of car camping in the last two years when I go outdoor climbing–enough that I have a designated car camping tent– and I’ll tolerate it (with earplugs), but I don’t love it the way I love backpacking.

Backpacking, on the other hand, means hiking out to places you cannot reach by car– which also means you have to carry, on your back, everything you need to survive— and either “dispersed camping” (i.e. pitching a tent in places where there are no designated campsites) or staying at rustic campsites that tend to be private and have basically no amenities (other than maybe a bear locker to store your food in so an actual bear doesn’t mistake your tent for a human-sized snicker bar one night.) And this, it turns out, is one of my very favorite activities.

Here’s why:

For me, there’s typically months of prepping that lead up to a hike. Prepping for the travel (finding a good trail, figuring out the best time to hike it, planning for flights or drive-time there, and figuring out how to best get to the trailhead and back.)

Then there’s the physical prep. Studying elevation maps of the trail, and making sure I’m both strong enough and have the endurance to hike 12-20 miles a day, sometimes straight up, or, worse, down hill, always carrying a ~35lb pack, occasionally with not as much oxygen as I’m used to at sea level.

I spend a lot of lunch breaks on a stairmaster with a weight vest on…

It also means prepping my gear, which entails a lot of studying the terrain, understanding the weather, putting together meals with the minimum amount of weight and maximum amount of calories, making adjustments to my gear list based on lessons learned in previous hikes, and always, always trying drop the weight in my pack. (Trust me, on your 20th mile of the day, every ounce counts.)

And then, the adventure.

So, so many late night or early morning flights. I don’t think I’ve ever started a hike well-rested.

You can’t fly with fuel canisters, so there’s always a “where the hell can I get a fuel canister” panic when I get to my destination. (Legit walked 7 miles to 3 different stores in Reykjavik the night before a hike to find fuel once.)

Then, getting to the trailhead.

I’ve rented cars at the airport, dropped them off at the closest rental to the trailhead, and walked the last few miles (a pre-hike, hike.) I’ve rented a van with strangers, who after 4 hours in the car became friends, and spent the weekend hiking with them. I’ve taken busses, and, once, a ferry (sea-sick is a fun way to start a hike, let me tell you.)

There’s always some confusion as to where the hell the trail actual starts, and then, after all that…

The hike.

This is the moment, every single time, where all the chaos of travel and over-thinking falls away. This is the point where you pick up your pack– everything you need for 3-5 days right there on your back– and start walking.

I love every part of this. I love the minute the uncertainty fades away, when the map and compass and trail all line up, and I know I’m headed in the right direction. I love feeling the physical training kicking in after just a few miles on the trail, when my body responds to the hard work of carrying a pack uphill and falls into a rhythm of “hell yeah, we’ve got this.” I love when civilization and day-hikers fade away, and I’m the only person as far as the eye can see. I love that moment, when it really sets in that I’m out there, on my own, and everything I do counts. Every decision I make is vitally important to survival.

There are no takebacks on the trail. No “oops I forgot” and running to the store. But (as I learned on my first solo hike) you can’t be the nervous nelly who packs 50 pounds of gear “just in case” and expect to get anywhere either.

I’m not a person who has ever been able to relax on a beach for more than a few hours, or “shut off” from work for more than a day or two, so being out on the trail is the only time in my life when I’ve been truly able to unplug. Not because I don’t have service (I mean, that too) but because my immediate needs become paramount. Do I have enough water? Where’s the next good place to refill? Am I still on the trail? Have I consumed enough calories? Am I feeling steady on this sketchy path with a 2000 ft drop off both sides? Do I need a rest? How many miles before dark?

Have I said I love every minute of it? Because, guys, I love every minute of it. Even the minutes when I want to quit. When I realize I didn’t bring the right blister-pads for my feet and that shit is going to hurt for the next 30 miles. When my water runs low because I didn’t fill up at the last stream. When I literally fall asleep on my feet, while walking, in the middle of the day. When I’m counting every step of the last mile down a treacherous hill, swearing under my breath every time I lose my footing.

When it goes from a humid 65 degrees at sea level, to freezing rain at 4000 ft, all inside of a couple of hours.

And also when I find myself in the most beautiful places.

Because I’ll tell you this, I’ve structured my life on the farm in a way that tests me. That very often asks me to do hard things and be the best version of myself. But it doesn’t quite compare to this. Adventuring this way, out in the wilderness on my own, it isn’t just that I’m asking myself to be smart, and strong, and capable in general. It’s the immediacy of it. There is no choice but to be smart and strong and capable in this moment.

And that is an incredible feeling.

When I reflected on my life on the farm in 2018, it made me stronger, but in a way that felt disconnected from the things I love about the farm. This part of 2018 though? This made me stronger in a way that grounded me, right to the core.

from http://bit.ly/2SrRopk

[thomasrush851]

A Girl and her Tent

Well, technically, it’s really a girl, her tent, and another 30 lbs of gear strapped to her back (while she hikes up a mountain) but who’s counting, really?

(Uh. I am, you guys. I am counting Every. Single. Ounce. in that pack, because those are big fucking mountains sometimes.)

Up until a couple of years ago, my most amazing life experiences– the things that really taught me to dig deep and take a hard look at who I am when shit gets tough— those experiences all happened on the farm. Or when I lived in a garage for 18 months and built a house in my spare time. Or, you know, during any one of the numerous “what the fuck were you thinking?” projects I’ve taken on over the last two decades.

I’ve documented most of those things on this website, so trust me when I say that I find it as strange as anyone that in the last year or so those amazing life experiences–the ones that have taught me to dig deep, and take a hard look at myself when shit gets tough– well, they’ve mostly happened when I leave the farm entirely. When I hike out into the wilderness where there are no projects, or power tools, or big responsibilities.

When I’m just a girl with her tent.

And I guess maybe it isn’t that surprising that after 15 years of finding bigger and crazier ways to challenge myself through house projects, that eventually I’d be so comfortable in this space that I’d start challenging myself elsewhere.

But I never would have guessed it would be camping.

I mean, previously in my life, when people suggested I might like “camping”,  they were met with, at best, polite incredulity. After all, I have all of the benefits of camping in my backyard (wide open spaces, bonfires, a beautiful view) along with a king-sized mattress and indoor plumbing just a few steps away. Sooo… camping? Hard pass. Thanks though.

You guys, I also once said, definitively, that I would never own a house because it was too much work. So, I mean, when I’m wrong, I am wrong.

But, to be fair, all of my previous experiences with tents had been in “car camping” settings, and there’s a big difference between car camping and backpacking.

For the uninitiated:

Car camping typically means sleeping in a tent at a drive-up campground that, more often than not, has tiny, cramped campsites, and at least one annoying group of kids that stays up way too late drinking beer and talking VERY LOUDLY (because I am a cranky old lady who has wicked insomnia at home, but also has a very strict bedtime when I’m in a tent. Obviously.) To be fair, I’ve actually done quite a bit of car camping in the last two years when I go outdoor climbing–enough that I have a designated car camping tent– and I’ll tolerate it (with earplugs), but I don’t love it the way I love backpacking.

Backpacking, on the other hand, means hiking out to places you cannot reach by car– which also means you have to carry, on your back, everything you need to survive— and either “dispersed camping” (i.e. pitching a tent in places where there are no designated campsites) or staying at rustic campsites that tend to be private and have basically no amenities (other than maybe a bear locker to store your food in so an actual bear doesn’t mistake your tent for a human-sized snicker bar one night.) And this, it turns out, is one of my very favorite activities.

Here’s why:

For me, there’s typically months of prepping that lead up to a hike. Prepping for the travel (finding a good trail, figuring out the best time to hike it, planning for flights or drive-time there, and figuring out how to best get to the trailhead and back.)

Then there’s the physical prep. Studying elevation maps of the trail, and making sure I’m both strong enough and have the endurance to hike 12-20 miles a day, sometimes straight up, or, worse, down hill, always carrying a ~35lb pack, occasionally with not as much oxygen as I’m used to at sea level.

I spend a lot of lunch breaks on a stairmaster with a weight vest on…

It also means prepping my gear, which entails a lot of studying the terrain, understanding the weather, putting together meals with the minimum amount of weight and maximum amount of calories, making adjustments to my gear list based on lessons learned in previous hikes, and always, always trying drop the weight in my pack. (Trust me, on your 20th mile of the day, every ounce counts.)

And then, the adventure.

So, so many late night or early morning flights. I don’t think I’ve ever started a hike well-rested.

You can’t fly with fuel canisters, so there’s always a “where the hell can I get a fuel canister” panic when I get to my destination. (Legit walked 7 miles to 3 different stores in Reykjavik the night before a hike to find fuel once.)

Then, getting to the trailhead.

I’ve rented cars at the airport, dropped them off at the closest rental to the trailhead, and walked the last few miles (a pre-hike, hike.) I’ve rented a van with strangers, who after 4 hours in the car became friends, and spent the weekend hiking with them. I’ve taken busses, and, once, a ferry (sea-sick is a fun way to start a hike, let me tell you.)

There’s always some confusion as to where the hell the trail actual starts, and then, after all that…

The hike.

This is the moment, every single time, where all the chaos of travel and over-thinking falls away. This is the point where you pick up your pack– everything you need for 3-5 days right there on your back– and start walking.

I love every part of this. I love the minute the uncertainty fades away, when the map and compass and trail all line up, and I know I’m headed in the right direction. I love feeling the physical training kicking in after just a few miles on the trail, when my body responds to the hard work of carrying a pack uphill and falls into a rhythm of “hell yeah, we’ve got this.” I love when civilization and day-hikers fade away, and I’m the only person as far as the eye can see. I love that moment, when it really sets in that I’m out there, on my own, and everything I do counts. Every decision I make is vitally important to survival.

There are no takebacks on the trail. No “oops I forgot” and running to the store. But (as I learned on my first solo hike) you can’t be the nervous nelly who packs 50 pounds of gear “just in case” and expect to get anywhere either.

I’m not a person who has ever been able to relax on a beach for more than a few hours, or “shut off” from work for more than a day or two, so being out on the trail is the only time in my life when I’ve been truly able to unplug. Not because I don’t have service (I mean, that too) but because my immediate needs become paramount. Do I have enough water? Where’s the next good place to refill? Am I still on the trail? Have I consumed enough calories? Am I feeling steady on this sketchy path with a 2000 ft drop off both sides? Do I need a rest? How many miles before dark?

Have I said I love every minute of it? Because, guys, I love every minute of it. Even the minutes when I want to quit. When I realize I didn’t bring the right blister-pads for my feet and that shit is going to hurt for the next 30 miles. When my water runs low because I didn’t fill up at the last stream. When I literally fall asleep on my feet, while walking, in the middle of the day. When I’m counting every step of the last mile down a treacherous hill, swearing under my breath every time I lose my footing.

When it goes from a humid 65 degrees at sea level, to freezing rain at 4000 ft, all inside of a couple of hours.

And also when I find myself in the most beautiful places.

Because I’ll tell you this, I’ve structured my life on the farm in a way that tests me. That very often asks me to do hard things and be the best version of myself. But it doesn’t quite compare to this. Adventuring this way, out in the wilderness on my own, it isn’t just that I’m asking myself to be smart, and strong, and capable in general. It’s the immediacy of it. There is no choice but to be smart and strong and capable in this moment.

And that is an incredible feeling.

When I reflected on my life on the farm in 2018, it made me stronger, but in a way that felt disconnected from the things I love about the farm. This part of 2018 though? This made me stronger in a way that grounded me, right to the core.

from Bathroom & Home http://diydiva.net/2019/02/a-girl-and-her-tent/

from A Girl and her Tent

[mrstevenbushus]

A Girl and her Tent

Well, technically, it’s really a girl, her tent, and another 30 lbs of gear strapped to her back (while she hikes up a mountain) but who’s counting, really?

(Uh. I am, you guys. I am counting Every. Single. Ounce. in that pack, because those are big fucking mountains sometimes.)

Up until a couple of years ago, my most amazing life experiences– the things that really taught me to dig deep and take a hard look at who I am when shit gets tough— those experiences all happened on the farm. Or when I lived in a garage for 18 months and built a house in my spare time. Or, you know, during any one of the numerous “what the fuck were you thinking?” projects I’ve taken on over the last two decades.

I’ve documented most of those things on this website, so trust me when I say that I find it as strange as anyone that in the last year or so those amazing life experiences–the ones that have taught me to dig deep, and take a hard look at myself when shit gets tough– well, they’ve mostly happened when I leave the farm entirely. When I hike out into the wilderness where there are no projects, or power tools, or big responsibilities.

When I’m just a girl with her tent.

And I guess maybe it isn’t that surprising that after 15 years of finding bigger and crazier ways to challenge myself through house projects, that eventually I’d be so comfortable in this space that I’d start challenging myself elsewhere.

But I never would have guessed it would be camping.

I mean, previously in my life, when people suggested I might like “camping”,  they were met with, at best, polite incredulity. After all, I have all of the benefits of camping in my backyard (wide open spaces, bonfires, a beautiful view) along with a king-sized mattress and indoor plumbing just a few steps away. Sooo… camping? Hard pass. Thanks though.

You guys, I also once said, definitively, that I would never own a house because it was too much work. So, I mean, when I’m wrong, I am wrong.

But, to be fair, all of my previous experiences with tents had been in “car camping” settings, and there’s a big difference between car camping and backpacking.

For the uninitiated:

Car camping typically means sleeping in a tent at a drive-up campground that, more often than not, has tiny, cramped campsites, and at least one annoying group of kids that stays up way too late drinking beer and talking VERY LOUDLY (because I am a cranky old lady who has wicked insomnia at home, but also has a very strict bedtime when I’m in a tent. Obviously.) To be fair, I’ve actually done quite a bit of car camping in the last two years when I go outdoor climbing–enough that I have a designated car camping tent– and I’ll tolerate it (with earplugs), but I don’t love it the way I love backpacking.

Backpacking, on the other hand, means hiking out to places you cannot reach by car– which also means you have to carry, on your back, everything you need to survive— and either “dispersed camping” (i.e. pitching a tent in places where there are no designated campsites) or staying at rustic campsites that tend to be private and have basically no amenities (other than maybe a bear locker to store your food in so an actual bear doesn’t mistake your tent for a human-sized snicker bar one night.) And this, it turns out, is one of my very favorite activities.

Here’s why:

For me, there’s typically months of prepping that lead up to a hike. Prepping for the travel (finding a good trail, figuring out the best time to hike it, planning for flights or drive-time there, and figuring out how to best get to the trailhead and back.)

Then there’s the physical prep. Studying elevation maps of the trail, and making sure I’m both strong enough and have the endurance to hike 12-20 miles a day, sometimes straight up, or, worse, down hill, always carrying a ~35lb pack, occasionally with not as much oxygen as I’m used to at sea level.

I spend a lot of lunch breaks on a stairmaster with a weight vest on…

It also means prepping my gear, which entails a lot of studying the terrain, understanding the weather, putting together meals with the minimum amount of weight and maximum amount of calories, making adjustments to my gear list based on lessons learned in previous hikes, and always, always trying drop the weight in my pack. (Trust me, on your 20th mile of the day, every ounce counts.)

And then, the adventure.

So, so many late night or early morning flights. I don’t think I’ve ever started a hike well-rested.

You can’t fly with fuel canisters, so there’s always a “where the hell can I get a fuel canister” panic when I get to my destination. (Legit walked 7 miles to 3 different stores in Reykjavik the night before a hike to find fuel once.)

Then, getting to the trailhead.

I’ve rented cars at the airport, dropped them off at the closest rental to the trailhead, and walked the last few miles (a pre-hike, hike.) I’ve rented a van with strangers, who after 4 hours in the car became friends, and spent the weekend hiking with them. I’ve taken busses, and, once, a ferry (sea-sick is a fun way to start a hike, let me tell you.)

There’s always some confusion as to where the hell the trail actual starts, and then, after all that…

The hike.

This is the moment, every single time, where all the chaos of travel and over-thinking falls away. This is the point where you pick up your pack– everything you need for 3-5 days right there on your back– and start walking.

I love every part of this. I love the minute the uncertainty fades away, when the map and compass and trail all line up, and I know I’m headed in the right direction. I love feeling the physical training kicking in after just a few miles on the trail, when my body responds to the hard work of carrying a pack uphill and falls into a rhythm of “hell yeah, we’ve got this.” I love when civilization and day-hikers fade away, and I’m the only person as far as the eye can see. I love that moment, when it really sets in that I’m out there, on my own, and everything I do counts. Every decision I make is vitally important to survival.

There are no takebacks on the trail. No “oops I forgot” and running to the store. But (as I learned on my first solo hike) you can’t be the nervous nelly who packs 50 pounds of gear “just in case” and expect to get anywhere either.

I’m not a person who has ever been able to relax on a beach for more than a few hours, or “shut off” from work for more than a day or two, so being out on the trail is the only time in my life when I’ve been truly able to unplug. Not because I don’t have service (I mean, that too) but because my immediate needs become paramount. Do I have enough water? Where’s the next good place to refill? Am I still on the trail? Have I consumed enough calories? Am I feeling steady on this sketchy path with a 2000 ft drop off both sides? Do I need a rest? How many miles before dark?

Have I said I love every minute of it? Because, guys, I love every minute of it. Even the minutes when I want to quit. When I realize I didn’t bring the right blister-pads for my feet and that shit is going to hurt for the next 30 miles. When my water runs low because I didn’t fill up at the last stream. When I literally fall asleep on my feet, while walking, in the middle of the day. When I’m counting every step of the last mile down a treacherous hill, swearing under my breath every time I lose my footing.

When it goes from a humid 65 degrees at sea level, to freezing rain at 4000 ft, all inside of a couple of hours.

And also when I find myself in the most beautiful places.

Because I’ll tell you this, I’ve structured my life on the farm in a way that tests me. That very often asks me to do hard things and be the best version of myself. But it doesn’t quite compare to this. Adventuring this way, out in the wilderness on my own, it isn’t just that I’m asking myself to be smart, and strong, and capable in general. It’s the immediacy of it. There is no choice but to be smart and strong and capable in this moment.

And that is an incredible feeling.

When I reflected on my life on the farm in 2018, it made me stronger, but in a way that felt disconnected from the things I love about the farm. This part of 2018 though? This made me stronger in a way that grounded me, right to the core.

Article reference A Girl and her Tent

[darensmurray]

A Girl and her Tent

Well, technically, it’s really a girl, her tent, and another 30 lbs of gear strapped to her back (while she hikes up a mountain) but who’s counting, really?

(Uh. I am, you guys. I am counting Every. Single. Ounce. in that pack, because those are big fucking mountains sometimes.)

Up until a couple of years ago, my most amazing life experiences– the things that really taught me to dig deep and take a hard look at who I am when shit gets tough— those experiences all happened on the farm. Or when I lived in a garage for 18 months and built a house in my spare time. Or, you know, during any one of the numerous “what the fuck were you thinking?” projects I’ve taken on over the last two decades.

I’ve documented most of those things on this website, so trust me when I say that I find it as strange as anyone that in the last year or so those amazing life experiences–the ones that have taught me to dig deep, and take a hard look at myself when shit gets tough– well, they’ve mostly happened when I leave the farm entirely. When I hike out into the wilderness where there are no projects, or power tools, or big responsibilities.

When I’m just a girl with her tent.

And I guess maybe it isn’t that surprising that after 15 years of finding bigger and crazier ways to challenge myself through house projects, that eventually I’d be so comfortable in this space that I’d start challenging myself elsewhere.

But I never would have guessed it would be camping.

I mean, previously in my life, when people suggested I might like “camping”,  they were met with, at best, polite incredulity. After all, I have all of the benefits of camping in my backyard (wide open spaces, bonfires, a beautiful view) along with a king-sized mattress and indoor plumbing just a few steps away. Sooo… camping? Hard pass. Thanks though.

You guys, I also once said, definitively, that I would never own a house because it was too much work. So, I mean, when I’m wrong, I am wrong.

But, to be fair, all of my previous experiences with tents had been in “car camping” settings, and there’s a big difference between car camping and backpacking.

For the uninitiated:

Car camping typically means sleeping in a tent at a drive-up campground that, more often than not, has tiny, cramped campsites, and at least one annoying group of kids that stays up way too late drinking beer and talking VERY LOUDLY (because I am a cranky old lady who has wicked insomnia at home, but also has a very strict bedtime when I’m in a tent. Obviously.) To be fair, I’ve actually done quite a bit of car camping in the last two years when I go outdoor climbing–enough that I have a designated car camping tent– and I’ll tolerate it (with earplugs), but I don’t love it the way I love backpacking.

Backpacking, on the other hand, means hiking out to places you cannot reach by car– which also means you have to carry, on your back, everything you need to survive— and either “dispersed camping” (i.e. pitching a tent in places where there are no designated campsites) or staying at rustic campsites that tend to be private and have basically no amenities (other than maybe a bear locker to store your food in so an actual bear doesn’t mistake your tent for a human-sized snicker bar one night.) And this, it turns out, is one of my very favorite activities.

Here’s why:

For me, there’s typically months of prepping that lead up to a hike. Prepping for the travel (finding a good trail, figuring out the best time to hike it, planning for flights or drive-time there, and figuring out how to best get to the trailhead and back.)

Then there’s the physical prep. Studying elevation maps of the trail, and making sure I’m both strong enough and have the endurance to hike 12-20 miles a day, sometimes straight up, or, worse, down hill, always carrying a ~35lb pack, occasionally with not as much oxygen as I’m used to at sea level.

I spend a lot of lunch breaks on a stairmaster with a weight vest on…

It also means prepping my gear, which entails a lot of studying the terrain, understanding the weather, putting together meals with the minimum amount of weight and maximum amount of calories, making adjustments to my gear list based on lessons learned in previous hikes, and always, always trying drop the weight in my pack. (Trust me, on your 20th mile of the day, every ounce counts.)

And then, the adventure.

So, so many late night or early morning flights. I don’t think I’ve ever started a hike well-rested.

You can’t fly with fuel canisters, so there’s always a “where the hell can I get a fuel canister” panic when I get to my destination. (Legit walked 7 miles to 3 different stores in Reykjavik the night before a hike to find fuel once.)

Then, getting to the trailhead.

I’ve rented cars at the airport, dropped them off at the closest rental to the trailhead, and walked the last few miles (a pre-hike, hike.) I’ve rented a van with strangers, who after 4 hours in the car became friends, and spent the weekend hiking with them. I’ve taken busses, and, once, a ferry (sea-sick is a fun way to start a hike, let me tell you.)

There’s always some confusion as to where the hell the trail actual starts, and then, after all that…

The hike.

This is the moment, every single time, where all the chaos of travel and over-thinking falls away. This is the point where you pick up your pack– everything you need for 3-5 days right there on your back– and start walking.

I love every part of this. I love the minute the uncertainty fades away, when the map and compass and trail all line up, and I know I’m headed in the right direction. I love feeling the physical training kicking in after just a few miles on the trail, when my body responds to the hard work of carrying a pack uphill and falls into a rhythm of “hell yeah, we’ve got this.” I love when civilization and day-hikers fade away, and I’m the only person as far as the eye can see. I love that moment, when it really sets in that I’m out there, on my own, and everything I do counts. Every decision I make is vitally important to survival.

There are no takebacks on the trail. No “oops I forgot” and running to the store. But (as I learned on my first solo hike) you can’t be the nervous nelly who packs 50 pounds of gear “just in case” and expect to get anywhere either.

I’m not a person who has ever been able to relax on a beach for more than a few hours, or “shut off” from work for more than a day or two, so being out on the trail is the only time in my life when I’ve been truly able to unplug. Not because I don’t have service (I mean, that too) but because my immediate needs become paramount. Do I have enough water? Where’s the next good place to refill? Am I still on the trail? Have I consumed enough calories? Am I feeling steady on this sketchy path with a 2000 ft drop off both sides? Do I need a rest? How many miles before dark?

Have I said I love every minute of it? Because, guys, I love every minute of it. Even the minutes when I want to quit. When I realize I didn’t bring the right blister-pads for my feet and that shit is going to hurt for the next 30 miles. When my water runs low because I didn’t fill up at the last stream. When I literally fall asleep on my feet, while walking, in the middle of the day. When I’m counting every step of the last mile down a treacherous hill, swearing under my breath every time I lose my footing.

When it goes from a humid 65 degrees at sea level, to freezing rain at 4000 ft, all inside of a couple of hours.

And also when I find myself in the most beautiful places.

Because I’ll tell you this, I’ve structured my life on the farm in a way that tests me. That very often asks me to do hard things and be the best version of myself. But it doesn’t quite compare to this. Adventuring this way, out in the wilderness on my own, it isn’t just that I’m asking myself to be smart, and strong, and capable in general. It’s the immediacy of it. There is no choice but to be smart and strong and capable in this moment.

And that is an incredible feeling.

When I reflected on my life on the farm in 2018, it made me stronger, but in a way that felt disconnected from the things I love about the farm. This part of 2018 though? This made me stronger in a way that grounded me, right to the core.

[debraleedebra]

marbled raspberry pound cake

This small, fearless wildling we literally just brought home from the hospital turned three a couple weeks ago, but despite my certainty that we just got her, I won’t lie, this feels like a gazillion years ago because when did she not have hair. Strangers on the street often ask us about her hair, and I get it, I do. She’s small, it is big, and also red and with spiral curls going in every direction and there are three other members of our family and none of us have spiral curls or red hair. This isn’t the only way she’s already her own fierce little person. I was definitely not into dolls or dresses growing up, so I watch with awe as she plays for hours with her very pink baby doll, the doll’s stroller, the doll’s purse, the doll’s crib and high chair; when she comes home after being out all day, she likes to sit quietly with her baby on her lap on the sofa for a while to catch up and it is, objectively (I am known for my objectivity when talking about my kids), one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

So when asked what kind of birthday cake she wanted, she said “PINK!” And I said, “But what flavor?” “Pink.” And also, “Not brown, Yacob likes brown.” (This is true.) And I thought about making the pink lady cake but we ended up not having a big party that required so much cake, just bringing cupcakes to camp* and then going out to dinner with family. Instead, I went in a simpler direction, loosely inspired by a marbled pink and white cake we saw in the pastry case at Starbucks (but didn’t try so no idea how the taste lines up), a few weeks before. Adding a spoonful of raspberry puree into the glaze turning it ferociously pink, much to her glee, and stretching it into this doughnut-shaped pan I bought earlier this summer on a whim made it look like a giant pink emoji of a doughnut, an unequivocal hit with three year-olds, eight year-olds, and everyone who saw the cake go by at the restaurant. [I resisted the urge to say “And the color is all natural! And that’s not plasticky fondant!” — for once — but it was hard.]

Of course, you do not need a cutesy cake pan to make this. You can make it as a single loaf or double it in a traditional tube or bundt. You also don’t need much time; I made this entire cake in under two hours and it goes even faster if you don’t have to cool it so the glaze stays in place. As a birthday cake after a big dinner, it was exactly right — not too heavy or sweet, but still cute as a button. It would be great for brunch or lunch this weekend or, you know, now. It’s Cake O’Clock somewhere, right?

* I used the berry buttercream and sheet cake from The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook to make pink frosting on vanilla cupcakes.

Previously

One year ago: German Chocolate Cake + A Wedding Cake Two years ago: Eggplant with Tomato and Yogurt Relish and Blueberry Bread and Butter Pudding Three years ago: Takeout-Style Sesame Noodles with Cucumber Four years ago: Summer Squash Gratin with Salsa Verde and Bourbon Slush Punch Five years ago: Mama Canales-Garcia’s Avocado Shrimp Salsa and Banana Nutella and Salted Pistachio Popsicles Six years ago: Zucchini Bread Pancakes and Zucchini Tomato and Rice Gratin Seven years ago: Corn Buttermilk and Chive Popovers and Sugar Plum Crepes with Ricotta and Honey Eight years ago: Scalloped Tomatoes with Croutons, Raspberry Brown Sugar Gratin and Summer Succotash with Bacon and Croutons Nine years ago: Watermelon Lemonade, Light Brioche Burger Buns, Blueberry Boy Bait, and Lemony Zucchini Goat Cheese Pizza Ten years ago: Nectarine Mascarpone and Gingersnap Tart and Herbed Summer Squash and Potato Torte Eleven years ago: Pearl Couscous with Olives and Tomatoes and Zucchini Bread

And for the other side of the world: Six Months Ago: Banana Oat Weekday Pancakes and Stromboli, Scaccia-Style 1.5 Years Ago: An Easier Way To Make Cookies and Guacamole 2.5 Years Ago: Cabbage and Sausage Casserole and Leek, Ham, Cheese and Egg Bake 3.5 Years Ago: Make Your Own Vanilla Extract and Fried Egg Salad 4.5 Years Ago: Homemade Dulce de Leche and Cheese Blintz

Marbled Raspberry Pound Cake

The cake, as written below, makes 1 standard loaf. To make it in the doughnut-looking pan I show, you’ll want to use 150% of the recipe (it bakes in 38 to 40 minutes). To make a bundt or tube cake, you’ll want to double the recipe (it will take anywhere from 45 to 60 minutes, as shapes range a lot). For the doughnut or bundt cake, I double the glaze. For the raspberries, fork-mashing is easier, but if you’re bothered by seeds or want the smooth appearance you see in the top photo, you’ll want to blend the berries and sieve out the seeds. For the glaze, you could make it with a spoonful of raspberry puree (for this, you’ll definitely want a seedless puree), you could make it with lemon juice, or a mix of both. Or you can skip it for a less sweet cake; it’s perfectly lovely with just a dusting of powdered sugar to finish. For a little more lemon flavor, you can squeeze that half lemon you use for zest and measure the juice (it should be 1 to 2 tablespoons), then use that much less sour cream in the white portion of the cake, adding them at the same time. Finally, a little shopping note: Around here, raspberries come from the grocery store in 6-ounce clamshells, which neatly provides the 1 cup (5 ounces) you’ll need for the pink portion of the cake and the last few you’ll need for a pink glaze.

Butter or cooking spray to coat pan

1 cup (200 grams) granulated sugar

1/4 teaspoon fine sea or table salt

Finely grated zest from half a lemon

1/2 cup (115 grams) unsalted butter

2 large eggs

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 cup (130 grams) all-purpose flour plus 1/2 cup (65 grams) all-purpose flour, divided

1/2 cup (125 grams) sour cream, reme fraiche, or full-fat plain yogurt

1 gently heaped cup (140 grams or 5 ounces) fresh raspberries

3/4 cup (90 grams) powdered sugar

1 tablespoon raspberry puree (for a pink glaze, from a few tablespoons or 1 ounce fresh raspberries), or lemon juice

1 to 2 tablespoons milk

Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Coat a standard loaf pan (either 8″x4″ or 9″x5″, or any size between, will work here) with nonstick baking spray or butter, making sure to get into the corners.

Place sugar and salt in a large bowl. Zest lemon into sugar and rub it together with your fingertips; this helps the lemon release the most flavor from it. Add butter and use an electric mixer to beat it with the sugar until fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well with each addition. Scrape down bowl. Sprinkle cake surface with baking powder and mix it until very well combined. Scrape down sides of bowl again. Add 1 cup (only) of the flour and beat just until it’s no longer visible.

Place raspberries in the bottom of a second medium-large bowl and mash with a fork until mostly broken down but still a little lumpy; you’ll have about 1/2 cup mashed. [If you really dislike raspberry seeds and/or want a smoother look, you can blend the berries until smooth and press them through a fine-mesh strainer — into this second bowl — to remove seeds.] Pour half of the cake batter on top of raspberries (if you have a scale, you can zero out the weight of the bowl and raspberries; half the batter weights 277 grams) but wait, don’t mix it yet.

Instead, go back to the first bowl of batter, the one without raspberries, and add sour cream. Beat to combine. Add 1/4 cup flour, and beat just until smooth. (By beating the “white” batter first, you can reuse you beaters without washing them for the pink batter without muddying the look.)

Beat the raspberries and second half of the cake batter together until smooth. the raspberry sauce into the other half of the batter until combined. Add final 1/4 cup flour, and beat just until smooth.

Dollop batters in alternating spoonfuls into bottom of prepared loaf pan. Roughly “checkerboard” the rest in, meaning that you’ll drop a pink batter dollop and then a white one and vice-versa until both batters are used up. Drop your pan onto the counter a couple times from a few inches high, to help tap out air bubbles. Use a butter knife or small offset spatula to make a few figure-8s through the batters, marbling them together — but just a little, say, 4 to 5 figure-8s. Any more and the swirls may not look distinct when you cut the cake.

Bake loaf cake for 50 to 55 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out batter-free. Let cool for 15 minutes in pan, then run a knife around cake and gently remove. Let cake cool completely on rack (I hasten this along in the freezer) before glazing, if using a glaze.

To make your glaze, place powdered sugar in a medium bowl and add raspberry puree (for this, it’s best if you press the berries through a fine-mesh sieve to remove seeds, or it won’t have a smooth pink look) or lemon juice. Whisk to combine, but it will almost definitely be too thick. From here, add milk, a teaspoon at a time, until you can whisk the sugar into a thick but loose glaze. Spoon on top of cooled cake and nudge it to the edges with your spoon or an offset spatual so that it drips where you’d like it to. Cover with sprinkles, if using.

Rate this:

Nice recipe article from smittenkitchen

[debraleedebra]

marbled raspberry pound cake

This small, fearless wildling we literally just brought home from the hospital turned three a couple weeks ago, but despite my certainty that we just got her, I won’t lie, this feels like a gazillion years ago because when did she not have hair. Strangers on the street often ask us about her hair, and I get it, I do. She’s small, it is big, and also red and with spiral curls going in every direction and there are three other members of our family and none of us have spiral curls or red hair. This isn’t the only way she’s already her own fierce little person. I was definitely not into dolls or dresses growing up, so I watch with awe as she plays for hours with her very pink baby doll, the doll’s stroller, the doll’s purse, the doll’s crib and high chair; when she comes home after being out all day, she likes to sit quietly with her baby on her lap on the sofa for a while to catch up and it is, objectively (I am known for my objectivity when talking about my kids), one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

So when asked what kind of birthday cake she wanted, she said “PINK!” And I said, “But what flavor?” “Pink.” And also, “Not brown, Yacob likes brown.” (This is true.) And I thought about making the pink lady cake but we ended up not having a big party that required so much cake, just bringing cupcakes to camp* and then going out to dinner with family. Instead, I went in a simpler direction, loosely inspired by a marbled pink and white cake we saw in the pastry case at Starbucks (but didn’t try so no idea how the taste lines up), a few weeks before. Adding a spoonful of raspberry puree into the glaze turning it ferociously pink, much to her glee, and stretching it into this doughnut-shaped pan I bought earlier this summer on a whim made it look like a giant pink emoji of a doughnut, an unequivocal hit with three year-olds, eight year-olds, and everyone who saw the cake go by at the restaurant. [I resisted the urge to say “And the color is all natural! And that’s not plasticky fondant!” — for once — but it was hard.]

Of course, you do not need a cutesy cake pan to make this. You can make it as a single loaf or double it in a traditional tube or bundt. You also don’t need much time; I made this entire cake in under two hours and it goes even faster if you don’t have to cool it so the glaze stays in place. As a birthday cake after a big dinner, it was exactly right — not too heavy or sweet, but still cute as a button. It would be great for brunch or lunch this weekend or, you know, now. It’s Cake O’Clock somewhere, right?

* I used the berry buttercream and sheet cake from The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook to make pink frosting on vanilla cupcakes.

Previously

One year ago: German Chocolate Cake + A Wedding Cake Two years ago: Eggplant with Tomato and Yogurt Relish and Blueberry Bread and Butter Pudding Three years ago: Takeout-Style Sesame Noodles with Cucumber Four years ago: Summer Squash Gratin with Salsa Verde and Bourbon Slush Punch Five years ago: Mama Canales-Garcia’s Avocado Shrimp Salsa and Banana Nutella and Salted Pistachio Popsicles Six years ago: Zucchini Bread Pancakes and Zucchini Tomato and Rice Gratin Seven years ago: Corn Buttermilk and Chive Popovers and Sugar Plum Crepes with Ricotta and Honey Eight years ago: Scalloped Tomatoes with Croutons, Raspberry Brown Sugar Gratin and Summer Succotash with Bacon and Croutons Nine years ago: Watermelon Lemonade, Light Brioche Burger Buns, Blueberry Boy Bait, and Lemony Zucchini Goat Cheese Pizza Ten years ago: Nectarine Mascarpone and Gingersnap Tart and Herbed Summer Squash and Potato Torte Eleven years ago: Pearl Couscous with Olives and Tomatoes and Zucchini Bread

And for the other side of the world: Six Months Ago: Banana Oat Weekday Pancakes and Stromboli, Scaccia-Style 1.5 Years Ago: An Easier Way To Make Cookies and Guacamole 2.5 Years Ago: Cabbage and Sausage Casserole and Leek, Ham, Cheese and Egg Bake 3.5 Years Ago: Make Your Own Vanilla Extract and Fried Egg Salad 4.5 Years Ago: Homemade Dulce de Leche and Cheese Blintz

Marbled Raspberry Pound Cake

The cake, as written below, makes 1 standard loaf. To make it in the doughnut-looking pan I show, you’ll want to use 150% of the recipe (it bakes in 38 to 40 minutes). To make a bundt or tube cake, you’ll want to double the recipe (it will take anywhere from 45 to 60 minutes, as shapes range a lot). For the doughnut or bundt cake, I double the glaze. For the raspberries, fork-mashing is easier, but if you’re bothered by seeds or want the smooth appearance you see in the top photo, you’ll want to blend the berries and sieve out the seeds. For the glaze, you could make it with a spoonful of raspberry puree (for this, you’ll definitely want a seedless puree), you could make it with lemon juice, or a mix of both. Or you can skip it for a less sweet cake; it’s perfectly lovely with just a dusting of powdered sugar to finish. For a little more lemon flavor, you can squeeze that half lemon you use for zest and measure the juice (it should be 1 to 2 tablespoons), then use that much less sour cream in the white portion of the cake, adding them at the same time. Finally, a little shopping note: Around here, raspberries come from the grocery store in 6-ounce clamshells, which neatly provides the 1 cup (5 ounces) you’ll need for the pink portion of the cake and the last few you’ll need for a pink glaze.

Butter or cooking spray to coat pan

1 cup (200 grams) granulated sugar

1/4 teaspoon fine sea or table salt

Finely grated zest from half a lemon

1/2 cup (115 grams) unsalted butter

2 large eggs

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 cup (130 grams) all-purpose flour plus 1/2 cup (65 grams) all-purpose flour, divided

1/2 cup (125 grams) sour cream, reme fraiche, or full-fat plain yogurt

1 gently heaped cup (140 grams or 5 ounces) fresh raspberries

3/4 cup (90 grams) powdered sugar

1 tablespoon raspberry puree (for a pink glaze, from a few tablespoons or 1 ounce fresh raspberries), or lemon juice

1 to 2 tablespoons milk

Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Coat a standard loaf pan (either 8″x4″ or 9″x5″, or any size between, will work here) with nonstick baking spray or butter, making sure to get into the corners.

Place sugar and salt in a large bowl. Zest lemon into sugar and rub it together with your fingertips; this helps the lemon release the most flavor from it. Add butter and use an electric mixer to beat it with the sugar until fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well with each addition. Scrape down bowl. Sprinkle cake surface with baking powder and mix it until very well combined. Scrape down sides of bowl again. Add 1 cup (only) of the flour and beat just until it’s no longer visible.

Place raspberries in the bottom of a second medium-large bowl and mash with a fork until mostly broken down but still a little lumpy; you’ll have about 1/2 cup mashed. [If you really dislike raspberry seeds and/or want a smoother look, you can blend the berries until smooth and press them through a fine-mesh strainer — into this second bowl — to remove seeds.] Pour half of the cake batter on top of raspberries (if you have a scale, you can zero out the weight of the bowl and raspberries; half the batter weights 277 grams) but wait, don’t mix it yet.

Instead, go back to the first bowl of batter, the one without raspberries, and add sour cream. Beat to combine. Add 1/4 cup flour, and beat just until smooth. (By beating the “white” batter first, you can reuse you beaters without washing them for the pink batter without muddying the look.)

Beat the raspberries and second half of the cake batter together until smooth. the raspberry sauce into the other half of the batter until combined. Add final 1/4 cup flour, and beat just until smooth.

Dollop batters in alternating spoonfuls into bottom of prepared loaf pan. Roughly “checkerboard” the rest in, meaning that you’ll drop a pink batter dollop and then a white one and vice-versa until both batters are used up. Drop your pan onto the counter a couple times from a few inches high, to help tap out air bubbles. Use a butter knife or small offset spatula to make a few figure-8s through the batters, marbling them together — but just a little, say, 4 to 5 figure-8s. Any more and the swirls may not look distinct when you cut the cake.

Bake loaf cake for 50 to 55 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out batter-free. Let cool for 15 minutes in pan, then run a knife around cake and gently remove. Let cake cool completely on rack (I hasten this along in the freezer) before glazing, if using a glaze.

To make your glaze, place powdered sugar in a medium bowl and add raspberry puree (for this, it’s best if you press the berries through a fine-mesh sieve to remove seeds, or it won’t have a smooth pink look) or lemon juice. Whisk to combine, but it will almost definitely be too thick. From here, add milk, a teaspoon at a time, until you can whisk the sugar into a thick but loose glaze. Spoon on top of cooled cake and nudge it to the edges with your spoon or an offset spatual so that it drips where you’d like it to. Cover with sprinkles, if using.

Rate this:

Nice recipe article from smittenkitchen

[debraleedebra]

marbled raspberry pound cake

This small, fearless wildling we literally just brought home from the hospital turned three a couple weeks ago, but despite my certainty that we just got her, I won’t lie, this feels like a gazillion years ago because when did she not have hair. Strangers on the street often ask us about her hair, and I get it, I do. She’s small, it is big, and also red and with spiral curls going in every direction and there are three other members of our family and none of us have spiral curls or red hair. This isn’t the only way she’s already her own fierce little person. I was definitely not into dolls or dresses growing up, so I watch with awe as she plays for hours with her very pink baby doll, the doll’s stroller, the doll’s purse, the doll’s crib and high chair; when she comes home after being out all day, she likes to sit quietly with her baby on her lap on the sofa for a while to catch up and it is, objectively (I am known for my objectivity when talking about my kids), one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

So when asked what kind of birthday cake she wanted, she said “PINK!” And I said, “But what flavor?” “Pink.” And also, “Not brown, Yacob likes brown.” (This is true.) And I thought about making the pink lady cake but we ended up not having a big party that required so much cake, just bringing cupcakes to camp* and then going out to dinner with family. Instead, I went in a simpler direction, loosely inspired by a marbled pink and white cake we saw in the pastry case at Starbucks (but didn’t try so no idea how the taste lines up), a few weeks before. Adding a spoonful of raspberry puree into the glaze turning it ferociously pink, much to her glee, and stretching it into this doughnut-shaped pan I bought earlier this summer on a whim made it look like a giant pink emoji of a doughnut, an unequivocal hit with three year-olds, eight year-olds, and everyone who saw the cake go by at the restaurant. [I resisted the urge to say “And the color is all natural! And that’s not plasticky fondant!” — for once — but it was hard.]

Of course, you do not need a cutesy cake pan to make this. You can make it as a single loaf or double it in a traditional tube or bundt. You also don’t need much time; I made this entire cake in under two hours and it goes even faster if you don’t have to cool it so the glaze stays in place. As a birthday cake after a big dinner, it was exactly right — not too heavy or sweet, but still cute as a button. It would be great for brunch or lunch this weekend or, you know, now. It’s Cake O’Clock somewhere, right?

* I used the berry buttercream and sheet cake from The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook to make pink frosting on vanilla cupcakes.

Previously

One year ago: German Chocolate Cake + A Wedding Cake Two years ago: Eggplant with Tomato and Yogurt Relish and Blueberry Bread and Butter Pudding Three years ago: Takeout-Style Sesame Noodles with Cucumber Four years ago: Summer Squash Gratin with Salsa Verde and Bourbon Slush Punch Five years ago: Mama Canales-Garcia’s Avocado Shrimp Salsa and Banana Nutella and Salted Pistachio Popsicles Six years ago: Zucchini Bread Pancakes and Zucchini Tomato and Rice Gratin Seven years ago: Corn Buttermilk and Chive Popovers and Sugar Plum Crepes with Ricotta and Honey Eight years ago: Scalloped Tomatoes with Croutons, Raspberry Brown Sugar Gratin and Summer Succotash with Bacon and Croutons Nine years ago: Watermelon Lemonade, Light Brioche Burger Buns, Blueberry Boy Bait, and Lemony Zucchini Goat Cheese Pizza Ten years ago: Nectarine Mascarpone and Gingersnap Tart and Herbed Summer Squash and Potato Torte Eleven years ago: Pearl Couscous with Olives and Tomatoes and Zucchini Bread

And for the other side of the world: Six Months Ago: Banana Oat Weekday Pancakes and Stromboli, Scaccia-Style 1.5 Years Ago: An Easier Way To Make Cookies and Guacamole 2.5 Years Ago: Cabbage and Sausage Casserole and Leek, Ham, Cheese and Egg Bake 3.5 Years Ago: Make Your Own Vanilla Extract and Fried Egg Salad 4.5 Years Ago: Homemade Dulce de Leche and Cheese Blintz

Marbled Raspberry Pound Cake

The cake, as written below, makes 1 standard loaf. To make it in the doughnut-looking pan I show, you’ll want to use 150% of the recipe (it bakes in 38 to 40 minutes). To make a bundt or tube cake, you’ll want to double the recipe (it will take anywhere from 45 to 60 minutes, as shapes range a lot). For the doughnut or bundt cake, I double the glaze. For the raspberries, fork-mashing is easier, but if you’re bothered by seeds or want the smooth appearance you see in the top photo, you’ll want to blend the berries and sieve out the seeds. For the glaze, you could make it with a spoonful of raspberry puree (for this, you’ll definitely want a seedless puree), you could make it with lemon juice, or a mix of both. Or you can skip it for a less sweet cake; it’s perfectly lovely with just a dusting of powdered sugar to finish. For a little more lemon flavor, you can squeeze that half lemon you use for zest and measure the juice (it should be 1 to 2 tablespoons), then use that much less sour cream in the white portion of the cake, adding them at the same time. Finally, a little shopping note: Around here, raspberries come from the grocery store in 6-ounce clamshells, which neatly provides the 1 cup (5 ounces) you’ll need for the pink portion of the cake and the last few you’ll need for a pink glaze.

Butter or cooking spray to coat pan

1 cup (200 grams) granulated sugar

1/4 teaspoon fine sea or table salt

Finely grated zest from half a lemon

1/2 cup (115 grams) unsalted butter

2 large eggs

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 cup (130 grams) all-purpose flour plus 1/2 cup (65 grams) all-purpose flour, divided

1/2 cup (125 grams) sour cream, reme fraiche, or full-fat plain yogurt

1 gently heaped cup (140 grams or 5 ounces) fresh raspberries

3/4 cup (90 grams) powdered sugar

1 tablespoon raspberry puree (for a pink glaze, from a few tablespoons or 1 ounce fresh raspberries), or lemon juice

1 to 2 tablespoons milk

Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Coat a standard loaf pan (either 8″x4″ or 9″x5″, or any size between, will work here) with nonstick baking spray or butter, making sure to get into the corners.

Place sugar and salt in a large bowl. Zest lemon into sugar and rub it together with your fingertips; this helps the lemon release the most flavor from it. Add butter and use an electric mixer to beat it with the sugar until fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well with each addition. Scrape down bowl. Sprinkle cake surface with baking powder and mix it until very well combined. Scrape down sides of bowl again. Add 1 cup (only) of the flour and beat just until it’s no longer visible.

Place raspberries in the bottom of a second medium-large bowl and mash with a fork until mostly broken down but still a little lumpy; you’ll have about 1/2 cup mashed. [If you really dislike raspberry seeds and/or want a smoother look, you can blend the berries until smooth and press them through a fine-mesh strainer — into this second bowl — to remove seeds.] Pour half of the cake batter on top of raspberries (if you have a scale, you can zero out the weight of the bowl and raspberries; half the batter weights 277 grams) but wait, don’t mix it yet.

Instead, go back to the first bowl of batter, the one without raspberries, and add sour cream. Beat to combine. Add 1/4 cup flour, and beat just until smooth. (By beating the “white” batter first, you can reuse you beaters without washing them for the pink batter without muddying the look.)

Beat the raspberries and second half of the cake batter together until smooth. the raspberry sauce into the other half of the batter until combined. Add final 1/4 cup flour, and beat just until smooth.

Dollop batters in alternating spoonfuls into bottom of prepared loaf pan. Roughly “checkerboard” the rest in, meaning that you’ll drop a pink batter dollop and then a white one and vice-versa until both batters are used up. Drop your pan onto the counter a couple times from a few inches high, to help tap out air bubbles. Use a butter knife or small offset spatula to make a few figure-8s through the batters, marbling them together — but just a little, say, 4 to 5 figure-8s. Any more and the swirls may not look distinct when you cut the cake.

Bake loaf cake for 50 to 55 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out batter-free. Let cool for 15 minutes in pan, then run a knife around cake and gently remove. Let cake cool completely on rack (I hasten this along in the freezer) before glazing, if using a glaze.

To make your glaze, place powdered sugar in a medium bowl and add raspberry puree (for this, it’s best if you press the berries through a fine-mesh sieve to remove seeds, or it won’t have a smooth pink look) or lemon juice. Whisk to combine, but it will almost definitely be too thick. From here, add milk, a teaspoon at a time, until you can whisk the sugar into a thick but loose glaze. Spoon on top of cooled cake and nudge it to the edges with your spoon or an offset spatual so that it drips where you’d like it to. Cover with sprinkles, if using.

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