Guys, it’s getting really bad. I’m drinking all the time. Licorice root tea, green tea, orange peel with ginger root and eucalyptus, red rooiboos, rosehips, honeybush, nettle, raspberry leaf, lemongrass, peppermint, spearmint, dandelion, jasmine, chamomile, saffron. I’ve started hoarding cute little bags of organic green tea, petting them with shameful delight when nobody’s looking, keeping an assorted stash in my bag while I’m at work. I’ve got a cold-steep bottle with me wherever I go. I must constantly pee. My friends may not have fully seen it yet, but my skin is looking alarmingly sexy, increasingly free of blemishes, and I’m menstruating normally like a female in full moon. This could be bad. I can stop anytime, but maybe I’m too far gone. Next I’ll be foraging and brewing my own from the wild. My friend said I’m on the risky road to herbalism, and there’s no turning back. I’m so thirsty I can’t go a few hours without sneaking a sip. I fear I shall never recover.
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Favorite summer camp moment: the kids in my group at St. Ed’s Art of Nature find a tiny dead vole (a meadow mouse), and after examining it’s feet for tracking curiosities, we decide it needs a proper funeral. I plant the idea of a Viking funeral at sea and tell them to fetch a piece of bark for a boat. They then spend an hour cooperatively decorating this elaborate little boat of curled bark the size of my forearm. They gingerly cover the vole with Hemlock needles and a yellow leaf, and surround the corpse with blue pebbles, cones and “blackberries to feed it’s spirit in the next life” (!) with a great golden Big Leaf Maple leaf as a rudder and sail. The “pyre” is set. We ship it out to sea on Lake Washington: it floats a stone’s throw from us, and slowly sinks. I say, “Oh, look, he’s going to the Underworld!” and we all sing the Canoe Song in unison. Which was so cute I could hardly bear it. Made my week.
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