Category Archives: Outdoors

The Heat

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sweaty richard simmonsThis is not a post about the Miami NBA team. No, this is a post dedicated to the recent summer weather I’ve been experiencing (for the first time) here in Charleston. The heat. In the words of Usher, “it’s getting hot in herrrrrr!”

Folks, I’m melting. With a heat index of 105F, who wouldn’t be? And this is not a dry, desert heat. Oh no, it’s moist. Wet. Dewy. Whatever you want to call it.

The other day, my HOBL implored me to walk to the local farmer’s market, here in downtown – Marion Square. As foodies, it’s one of our favorite haunts here in Charleston. But it’s about a mile each way, and when you’re melting, that’s far. We decided to brave it, and the moment we stepped outside, the foot bed of my sandals already felt wet. Every step felt longer and longer. You know how voice recordings get really low and creepy when slowed down? I’m pretty sure that’s how I sounded. It was way attractive.

We finally arrived and walked the perimeter. The Marion Square farmer’s market is great – tons of food stands in addition to normal produce vendors and craft merchants. As we perused the food options, I panted for liquid of any kind. We settled on a great one called The Messy Apron. She was selling chilled summer soups – borscht (beet soup) and gazpacho (tomato) – in addition to glorious, almost-frozen ice teas. Salvation!

chilled beet soupFolks, I don’t know if it was a psycho-heat fluke, or what, but that cold beet soup was the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Ever. So cold. So pink! I’ve since made two gallons of it, and it’s just not the same.

As we sat under an umbrella that brought no respite, I looked around. Everyone around us was soaked – sweaty backs, pits, yes… even butts and crotches. And we were no different. How awkward! How unglamorous!

Sweaty McSweatersonHere’s a secret – I kinda liked it. This oppressive heat, it brought us together. Everyone’s vanity uniformly squashed, all of us united in just trying to sweat and survive. Hundreds of Gilda Radners, with a “little, teeny, tiny ball of sweat right here, hanging off the tip of their nose.” If you don’t understand that reference, you should watch the old SNL video here (around 2:18).

Despite the unity, we had to get away… to the mountains! Stay tuned for the scoop on our trip to Asheville, NC!

Tales from the Butt (Lake)

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Gather round, boys and girls. I’m going to share some tales from the Butt. Lake, that is. As I mentioned the other day, my southern gentleman and I recently trekked to one of my all-time favorite spots and a vacation location that I’ve been visiting annually since I was… I can’t remember. 10? I started visiting Butt Lake (near Lake Almanor/Mt Lassen here) with my childhood BFF, Maren, when we were awkward pre-teens. Her family has been going en mass every year since her mom was a little girl. Over the years, the family brought friends, those friends grew up and brought more friends and children, whose children brought their children, etc. etc. Now there are about 60+ people who descend upon the lakeside campgrounds every year at the same time – last week of July, first week of August.

This year was special. This year was the first year that Matt (aka: Southern Gentleman, The Virginian, HOBL) visited the lake. Matt, meet Butt Lake, Butt Lake, meet Matt. As odd as it may sound, it was an emotional and cherished event. Ever since we were little, us Butt Lake girls would talk about bringing our prince charmings to Butt Lake eventually. “We have to find someone who fits in here perfectly,” we would agree solemnly. Well, boy did Matt fit. He was born for Butt Lake! It’s not hard to imagine when half of our house is taken up with fishing gear, guns, outdoor ensembles, and general REI gear. God knew.

Top 10 Commandments for Butt Lake:

  1. Thou shalt have no schedule
  2. Thou shalt laugh hourly
  3. Thou shalt consume donuts at least once a day
  4. Thou shalt acquire a red dirt tan
  5. Thou shalt never go down the Feather River in a 2-person kayak (important this last year)
  6. Thou shalt talk friendly trash during card and board games
  7. Thou shalt watch cheesy movies at nearby Susanville
  8. Thou shalt not lay thine sleeping bag over a wasp nest
  9. Thou shalt possess an anti-constipation remedy
  10. Thou shalt be nice to thine neighbors (especially on the Sinking Log)
Here are some shots (compliments of Maren’s camera):

Sign in nearby Chester

Said donuts

Butt Lake beauty

This is Maren

That handsome older gentleman is the original Butt Laker – Grandpa Hannibal!

Swedish pancakes… drool

Hunkiest Monopoly player I’ve ever seen, but I’m partial

Doh!

This is me behind the camera here. Master skill (cough). But beautiful model and Butt Lake fashion!

The motley crew ready to head down the Feather River

Butt art

Summer fun: Chucktown, Santa Barbara, SF, Butt Lake

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Phew, hi. It’s been a while. Summer struck and with it, some blog lackluster. You could say it’s the PG version of “good girls keep journals, the bad girls don’t have time” – I’ve been so busy living, I haven’t had time to blog about life! I’ve had a great summer time (cue the Gershwin music). Love, love, love. Filled with family visits, tasty meals on warm patios, vodka tonics, weekend getaways and a first anniversary celebration.

In May, we visited my husband’s family in Charleston, affectionately nicknamed “Chucktown”. It was a fabulous getaway.

After a few turbulent take-offs and landings, we arrived (somewhat nauseated) in Charleston, South Carolina. One interesting thing about Charleston is that when you land in the small airport, you feel… relaxed. It’s almost as if the laid back, low country living welcomes you at the doors. We played house with our niece and nephew, laughed with family, embarked on southern foodie adventures and even had a date night on one one of the nearby coastal islands. I LOVED it. Everything you could want is in Charleston – good food, rich history, quaint and beautiful surroundings, island flare, nice people, and… affordable housing. It’s a true story. We may move there some day. Stay tuned. Learn more about Charleston here.

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My cute niece/shadow.

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My hip mother-in-law and sister-in-law in Lilly Pulitzer, a southern style staple.

Later in May, we packed our bags and headed south to Santa Barbara to celebrate the wedding of a long time friend (we went to 2nd grade together). Santa Barbara was beautiful, but windy. A highlight was a tasty visit to Bouchon, a delicious local-fare eatery.

Breakfast on the beach.

Oh, did I mention that we stopped at an Ostrich Farm? They are aggressive, large egg-ed birds, that’s about all I can say.

Next on our summer tour was an SF “staycation” to celebrate our 1st anniversary. Year one! Flew by so fast, yet feels jam packed with memories, lessons learned, etc. The plan was to surprise Matt with his long-awaited first ever trip to Alcatraz (you know, celebrate marriage with a trip to… prison…), however, the booking fell through and therefore we rented GoCars, small motorcycle-like pods that take you on a gps audio guided tour through the city. Let me tell you – if you’re looking to test your marriage, try driving one of those things around San Francisco for 4 hours. If one of you isn’t dead, then by default, you’ve succeeded. Har har har.

My lover and my bridge

At the end of July, the Virginian and I packed up our camping gear (that’s a lie. The Virginian packed and I watched and ate Sour Patch Kids) for our annual trip to Butt Lake. I hear your mind trying to reconcile that word. “B-ute” you think, “what an idiot, she’s misspelling butte.” But on my honor it is Butt. Rhymes with nut, or King Tut. Variation of rear, rump, derriere. And those of us who know and love the sacred place take pride in the grotesqueocity (yep I invented that) of the name. It’s one of God’s divine ironies, such an ugly name for such a beautifully breathtaking piece of creation. Now that I’ve piqued your interest, stay tuned for a full blog all about the Butt (Lake, that is). Tee hee.

What did you do this summer?

Turkey Season’s Over

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Well, I’ll just start this post out by saying that I still chuckle over the fact that I married someone who hunts turkeys. Or anything for that matter.

I was raised in the SF Bay Area, the heart of technology and innovation, by a scientist-actor father and an artist-homemaker-real-estate-agent mother. Needless to say, my childhood was filled with painting, design, theatre, singing, educational travel and looking at gross stuff under a microscope (try having lice at the age of 10 with a dad that loves his microscope…). My Dad tried to take me camping twice before I was 10 and once, his tent collapsed in a thunder storm and then I got sick the second time. So… you get the picture.

Then there’s my husband. He grew up in southern Virginia in a “country” town that had one stoplight. He grew up hunting with his grandfather at a tender age – deer, turkey, all sorts of… targets. My Southern Gentleman, while also interested in musical theatre and gourmet foods (I know, he is a fabulous mix), is and has always been into nature and outdoor, manly pursuits. Heck, the man majored in Urban Forestry (Bio with trees for those of  you who are like me).

See why I chuckled when my husband said that “turkey season” is over here? A foreign term to me. No more hunting those noble gobblers, for now. Also, this means no more random turkey calls from across the apartment (for an example, or a good laugh, click here). However, it does mean that his National Wild Turkey Federation meetings have recommenced, which is why I am alone this evening.

While many may wonder “how did this happen?” or “are you now a mullet-sporting huntress?” I have to admit that I relish these ways that my husband is different than me. It really does make things more interesting and exciting. But shhh, don’t tell my husband, because then I’ll lose all my ammo (pun intended).

Here he is with his NWTF buddies at their big turkey banquet (in uniform). I think he looks pretty hunky with the ripped jeans and all:

Matt at his National Wild Turkey Federation Banquet

He gets so excited before a day of hunting. Kid in a gun-err-candy shop. It’s really… really… fun.. for me..too…(twitch).

Here is a cayote that thought my man was a turkey the other day (while he was talking to the turkeys). It went to attack him and so he had to shoot it dead. How Man-vs-Wild is THAT?!? Scary.

One day this “season” my sister visited and got a free lesson. Lucky girl?

Multitasking is an important skill, especially when reading Cabela’s hunting catalog while secretly watching the Royal Wedding…

And now I must retire. I have some preparations to attend to, you see. My hunk-of-burning-love is having a birthday this week…

You might like this blog if…

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Ok, I’m getting back on the bandwagon. I have too many funny stories, interesting experiences and passionate convictions not to be blogging. Also, I’m in Social and Digital Marketing so I really need to be eating my own dog food here. As of now, I know two people who will be reading this: My sister and two fellow blogger friends who have encouraged me (read: kicked my butt) into gear.

If nothing else, I hope this blog serves as a welcome break from your work. A chance to laugh it up, learn something new (perhaps you’re not familiar with Jane Austen or guns?). Perhaps even be encouraged.

While simultaneously munching on some Sour Patch Kids, I’ve compiled a list of topics which, if you’re at all interested in, might lead you to enjoy this blog:

  • Jane Austen (or other Regency period anglo-lit)
  • Guns
  • Hunting (turkey, deer, etc… you name it, if it’s alive and it’s not human, my husband might be stalking it)
  • Marriage/Relationships
  • Marketing
  • Food
  • Embarrassing Stories
  • Creativity (crafts, design, exhibits, etc)
  • Singing
  • The Christian Life (ain’t so glamorous, but it’s good)
  • The Great Outdoors (and sometimes the Not So Great Outdoors)
  • Travel
  • Random Humorous Miscellany

As you can see, we cast a wide net here in the Rhoads Abode. Hopefully, there will be something for everyone. Happy weekending!