My Beef with Cooking

The impediment to action advances action.

What stands in the way becomes the way. 

— Marcus Aurelius

In my subconscious, I have been afraid of food making me its slave. My "Food Fare" posts show I love a good meal, but I have been loathe to cook it myself. I've only cooked on Sundays in batches; I couldn't stomach the idea of having to cook more than once a week! Sometimes I would skip the chore altogether in favor of easy-quick meals like protein shakes and mac 'n cheese, but these weren't filling. I never made enough, and was often hungry at work and downright starving by the time I arrived home again.

My grandmother was a slave to food; every single day she had to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the household. On holidays, she made every dish by herself. Her spine became bent from hunching over a blackened stove all her life. If she wasn't cooking for the house, she was cooking for the public schools as a lunch lady for extra money. There was no concept of "her own time." In the poisonous patriarchal system of the house, this was considered her "just role as a woman." This thought disgusts me! I became hostile to the entire idea of cooking, even when I needed to take care of my own body.

This week, I had a breakthrough. I was weary of feeling hungry when I hadn't made enough, and I felt annoyed for making Buck worry about me. I explained my fears, and he reminded me that he enjoys cooking for me; in the future, we would both have a role in the kitchen. We don't have to be 50/50 in all categories of life, but on the whole we are equal partners. I do not and will not have the entire load fall on my shoulders. I do have to sacrifice (willingly) some time to cooking and cleaning, but not all of my time and life and hopes and dreams. It's not going to swallow me up.

I became sick for New Years, and after three days my mind rose out of the fever-dreams as clear and fresh as new-come spring. I didn't know how to explain the change in me... it was like all that dark-gray-slush of winter had been flushed out. I felt like something had changed and it was exciting.

I choose to serve (my health, my body, my loved ones) with love instead of be a slave of fear.

I've been cooking up new recipes everyday since. Here is what I've made so far (you can click on the name for the original Paleo recipe):

Cabbage Soup

Flourless Banana Pancakes

Sausage & Egg Breakfast Casserole

The wound is the place where the Light enters you. — Rumi

When you get down to it, eating food is a sacred act. Life must eat life to live. A meal is a gift of the whole universe — the sun, the rain, the earth, the toil of the farmer or the animal, the efforts of the food preparation & distribution system, the grocer, and last of all your cooking. Then, when we really take our time to enjoy our meal as we eat, we can give thanks we have the wholesome and nutritious fuel to live another day and do good works.

I want to keep this in mind when I am cooking from now on. 🔆

~ ~ ~

Perfect Honeycombs

You know those internal struggles that have been around since time forgotten? What I've discovered is they don't go away; the best you can do is work on them diligently and improve yourself measure by measure. It's a process in phases, not a definite line to be reached and then crossed, leaving your issues behind you forever.

What does this have to do with honeycombs? Well, it's about the struggle for perfection. I battled it in school, in crafting Suzuyaki pottery in Japan, and I still face it in everyday life. Recently a memory has come to my aid... an insight that came to me from harvesting honey back in 2014:

Note the uncapping in the upper-left.

Laurén and I were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the small, humid honey hut on my uncle's property. On the counter, built on the front and back of each wooden frame pulled from the hive, was a honeycomb made of tiny perfect hexagons. Behind the pale wax was the oozing, golden honey we were after. To proceed, we had to cut the caps off so the honey could drain into a filter. My uncle demonstrated how to do this with a serrated uncapping knife: with a steady sawing motion, he slid the blade through the tops of the caps and the honeycomb fell in chunks into the bucket below. It looked easy enough, so I had a try. I watched the combs, anxious to see the honey pour out as I cut it free. It was hard to keep my hand steady; when I sawed at the caps I was also gashing the wooden frame with the end of the knife and splintering it.

My uncle was less than pleased. After a few more failed slashes, I was feeling useless and guilty for destroying chunks of the frame. That's when I was told the advice that changed the experience: my eyes should be on the knife, keeping the end flat along the opposite edge; I shouldn't be focusing on the center honeycomb at all. You need to focus on the work itself, not the results.

It's easy to get obsessed with the results we desire from perfection and beat ourselves up over our mistakes, but that's not where our focus should be at all. I remember in the book The War of Art, Steven Pressfield explained how the work belongs to us but the results belong to God. I can plant the seed, water it, weed the soil, etc., but God brings forth the fruit of that plant.

I tried again: with the next frame held upright before me, I kept my focus on the knife. I didn't watch the caps fall in one smooth sheet, but that's what they did; freed, the honey slowly poured out. I remember Laurén was impressed by how perfectly the caps had separated. A part of me was a little sad that I didn't get to see it, but if I had looked then it probably wouldn't have happened.

You could label my initial attempt as a "failure," but a failure can show you where a change needs to be made. Failure is a strong word that could be used to describe any gap, tiny or great, between our ideals and our performance. It doesn't diminish your value as a human being. Failure = where change is needed... could it be that simple? If we give ourselves permission to "fail" and figure things out as we go, perhaps the anxiety of perfection and the avoidance of any and all shortcomings wouldn't hold us back emotionally.

If things don't go as well as you'd wanted, you still know you did your best. And hopefully you did it for the goodness and love of it. In my case, for the love of honey. 🍯

~ ~ ~

Adulting

I’m going to talk about video games. Probably didn’t expect that from a post titled “Adulting,” did you? This generational term is defined by Oxford as, “The practice of behaving in a way characteristic of a responsible adult, especially the accomplishment of mundane but necessary tasks.” Doing your taxes or renewing your vehicle registration are classic examples, but it’s more likely you’ve heard it used in exasperation from 20-somethings, like “Adulting is so hard!” or “I just can’t adult today.”

Stardew Valley

I’ve had the opposite problem — every since I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up. I wanted an adult’s freedom of choice, independence, and the strength to stand up to other adults.

During the transition phase of teenagerhood, when you have growing freedom but little money, my time was dominated by Japanese manga, fantasy novels, horror movies, and RPG video games. But once in college, all these passions fell to the wayside — my ability to “adult” now meant the added responsibility of paying off my university tuition. My time went to working extra jobs to keep myself from drowning in the all-too-common student debt pool. I survived, but at the cost of time spent on things I actually love to do.

Then I moved to Japan! And traveled the world! Ultimate freedom, fueled by savings (worth it). And once I came back I followed the old pattern: work and save money. But for what? I was working long hours and taking 10/hr week commutes to "adult" –– pay my rent, cook enough food for myself, etc. In the late evenings, when my time was my own, I felt lost and tired. What was the purpose? I still hadn’t picked up the things I had enjoyed in years past, and now there was a sense of forbiddance to them: the things I did as a child/teen should stay there, lest I be perceived as “going backwards.” My generation has the nickname “boomerang” since many end up going back home because they can’t take care of themselves. I didn’t want to be perceived as a boomerang in any sense of the word. I had wanted to be an adult so long, how could I now turn around?

But I was miserable. Something was missing from my life and I knew it, and nothing was filling the space (certainly not food or mindless hours of Facebook).

Enter the greatest blessing of my life: my boyfriend. He is the man I most admire in all the world. And he plays video games; that didn’t make me think any less of him, I enjoyed how he still got excited and animated about the different series he was working his way through. It didn’t dominate his life, it was just a slice of it. He encouraged me to pick the hobby back up.

To my surprise, there was a lot of shame and guilt I faced inside myself, all wrapped up in how people may perceive me as an “adult” playing video games. Didn’t I have better things to do? Weren’t there major accomplishments in my life I wanted to work towards; wasn’t I wasting my time?

Then I considered these words from C.S. Lewis:

“Critics who treat 'adult' as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are, in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.”

I began playing again. I completed Portal 2, started the very enjoyable Stardew Valley, and am even having a laugh over the kooky Octodad: the Dadliest Catch. It has made me happier… just to enjoy a little time without worrying about how it will be perceived, how it doesn’t make me money, how it is “childish.”

I want to reconnect with more of the things that delighted and inspired me as a child and teenager. Because you know who created those things? Adults.

~ ~ ~

P.S. Buck and I are off to Poland next week! There'll be more adventures to share soon. Have a great summer, everyone!

Finances & Retirement

I remember bragging at 24 I was retiring: "Goodbye Corporate America! I'm off to see the world as a perpetual backpacker!" (Four years later, I'm recounting this as an accountant back in suburban Michigan.) At that time, I was leaving to be a teacher in Japan, so the sentiment wasn't that I was going to stop working, but that I was going to stop doing unfulfilling work. Did I fulfill that goal?

So far, yes — though I'm working in an office again, I like my job: I have a great boss and a sustainable work environment that have made a great difference in my quality of life. It's where I need to be now, but not for the next three decades. It would be a dream to make writing my focus and career without the panic-inducing terror of becoming a starving artist. I've been thinking, how can I accomplish this?

Minty Fresh Finances

For years, I've been using Mint to track my finances. The web-based application is made by the same team that created Quickbooks and Turbotax. Mint is like a window that allows you to view (without manipulating) all your accounts and investments in one place. I primarily use the program for tracking short-term savings goals and monthly budgets.

As you close in on a budget, the tracking bar changes
 from green to yellow, and ultimately red if you go over.

My expenses are fairly basic: rent, food, gifts, car insurance, gas, internet, cell phone, chiropractor, utilities, short trips, and miscellany. The perfectionist in me never wants a "red" mark, so when a budget creeps too close to the limit, I readjust the budget higher. That way, every month is green! Certainly looks prettier, but it means I'm spending more than I intend to.

In the past, I've saved for specific goals (i.e. graduate university debt-free, travel around-the-world) that kept my spending tight and controlled. Without one, I feel lax about how much I spend, especially when it comes to indulgences like eating out.

Retiring Early = Possible?

I recently read an article by a World Domination Summit speaker about retiring in your 30s. Like, actual retiring. It got me thinking about financial freedom in a refreshing way:

• It's time to trim the fat

I already adhere to the golden rule: spend less than you earn. I also avoid all debt like the plague. But I wouldn't get very far if I was constantly spending 90% of my earnings. I want to further reduce expenses and save all that I can.

I spent a full morning calculating my income and spending projections to discover a solid, real retirement amount to shoot for. Now with a specific goal in mind, I marched myself right into my Mint account and set my budgets back to 67% of my earnings.

I cringed as many of my budgets turned red, but that just means I'll have to give them extra focus next month. Saving 33% of my income is the best I can do for now, and will no doubt be challenging. For example, to keep my food budget from going over, I've got a lot more meal planning and cooking to do!

• Investing in stock index funds

Here is where my fear and paranoia speak out: while I've been investing in mutual funds for several years, the recent direction of this country (and the world) scares me, so I'm reluctant to put more money into the market. I'm going to do more research into investing in stock index funds and then raking in dividends before I take action, because I can't shake the feeling the whole shabang is going to come tumbling down.

• Focusing on what brings true happiness

I don't need that much money to be content. It comes down to how you use your time and resources. Enough of my laments that I don't have enough time! Too many frivolous hours have been sucked away by Facebook, YouTube, and mind-numbing drives to and from work while listening to crap on the radio. So I'm suspending my Facebook account indefinitely (third time's the charm), limiting my video surfing time, and downloading engaging Podcasts to listen to in the car.

The first wail of protest I hear is: "How will you keep in touch with anyone without Facebook?" I'm going old school with an address book, a stack of parchment paper, and a calligraphy pen. Writing letters is something that brings me a lot of happiness and feels more intimate. Besides, there's always LINE and texting for instant messages.

As for resources, there's a fantastic library in my city — it's about time I use it to dig into all those books I want to read. With high-speed internet at home, I can continue to Skype friends from around the world, too. Books and friends = real joy.


Let's see how this experiment goes, and how much of a difference it makes by year's end.

~ ~ ~

Rekindling

There's a lot of ground to cover between last post and this one; instead of reaching back into the past, I'm going to jump right into the present: my story, as it stands now, is one of a young woman living in a Michigan suburb home to a significant population of Japanese expats, working a great middle class job, and floating a few inches off the ground thanks to one very special reason: I'm sharing this story, this life, and all my love with the greatest man I know. I feel incredibly blessed everyday because we are together. Buck, you are truly the best.💗

~ ~ ~

Hidden inside the local hospital's cancer center is a yoga studio; circular glass walls surround an inner courtyard of air-cleansing plants, heated stone flooring that warms our bare feet, and suspended sculptures of colored glass that shine in the sunlight. At its center is a round pool with a floating lotus flower to remind us to be calm in both mind and body.

But I've discovered I'm not calm here. The usual objections don't apply — the cost is reasonable, the teacher knowledgable, the location just 4 miles from home, and the yoga-style easy to follow; yet a growing feeling of being unwelcome has taken root...

The evening class consists of half a dozen middle-aged women struggling with their weight. Their eyes skip over me as they enter class and they talk amongst themselves before we begin. At the last practice I tried to start an upbeat conversation with the woman beside me by talking about the coming of spring. She agreed in a few words, and left it there. I tried again several minutes later, commenting on how nice the courtyard looked with the raised pool. This time, she didn't reply at all. I felt rejection in her silence.

The teacher, a distant woman in her 60s, usually exchanges pleasantries with me, however during practice she consistently makes off-hand comments such as:

Move into this twist. It's difficult... well, for some of us.
This becomes harder when you get old, but you wouldn't know.
Who's in their 20s in this class again? Raise your hand? Oh yes, that's right.

During yoga, I noticed the woman next to me had a limited range of movement during certain bends. Despite my neck/spinal pain and post-work exhaustion, I was doing my best to follow my breath into the move myself when the teacher once again interrupted the flow of class to comment, "You're a 'bendy' so it's no problem for you, but we're older." I felt frustrated as the class's unwanted attention focused in on me.

At the end of the session, my neighbor finally acknowledged me with a half-joking, half-disgusted: "I try not to look at you during class. You're too bendy."

It clicked for me then... my youth is unwelcome here. When the teacher brings the class's attention towards me instead of the practice, I'm being separated from the others while they are being given an open invitation to envy me. Perhaps without being conscious of it, they see me as a youthful "everything comes easy to you" straw woman to size up their limitations to and feel jealous of. This feelings seeps into the very air, and has poisoned my experience.

I considered giving the message to namaste outta my way and continue practicing there, but have since changed my mind. It's not me, but my practice, that makes them feel this way... everyone wants to feel accepted just as they are, especially when their own inner critic keeps putting them down. It's not the right place for me, so I'm moving my practice to a more welcoming (and younger, more expensive, farther away) yoga sala. I understand their feelings of insecurity — I feel sheepish about practicing somewhere with experienced yogis who can do so much more than I can. But I want to watch them, to learn from them, and accept my limitations while at the same time striving to do better.

If courage is being brave despite fear, maybe contentment is being confident despite envy/insecurity. We're human, so fear and insecurity come up naturally within us, but if you dig into your deeper resources you don't have to give in to it.

~ ~ ~

A Girl’s Long-Term RTW Packing List (UPDATED)

AND SO IT BEGINS: one girl, one backpack, one round-the-world trip. Tonight a transpacific flight will carry me to Fiji, and the beginning of this grand adventure.

People I talk to tend to be amazed I can fit everything I need into a single backpack. How is that possible? To answer that, here's a slimmed down update of my long term travel packing list.

OLIVER, my 37 L backpack

#1 Priority

- passport, carried in money belt
- driver’s license
- international driver’s license
- spare visa photos
- wallet: cash, credit card, debit card
- postcard purse: foreign currencies, USD cash, coin purses
- compass

Containers

- packable tote
- packable daypack
- purse
- dry sack, 4L
- compression sack, 10L

Clothing

Accessories
- sunhat
- pashmina
- bandana
- beanie
- swimsuit
- watch [not pictured]

Cold Weather
- jacket
- rain shell jacket
- cardigan
- LS shirt
- leggings

Pants & Shirts
- jeans
- yoga pants
- hiking pants
- short-sleeve shirts (3)
- blouse
- tank top

Socks/Underwear
- sports bra
- bra (2)
- underwear (4)
- socks (4)
- Keeper [not pictured]

Shoes
- sports sandals
- walking shoes
- flats

Electronics

- Macbook Air, sleeve, cord
- iPhone, plug
- iPod nano, earbuds, cord
(Can you guess my favorite color?)

- external hard drive, plug
- dual-SIM phone, plug
- plug adapter, mini plug adapter
- Kindle, sleeve, cord
- digital camera, SD card, cord [not pictured]

First Aid Kit

- prescriptions: ciprofloxacin (for diarrhea/infections), azithromycin (for bronchitis)
- sunburn balm
- band-aids, bug bite q-tips
- antibacterial ointment
- charcoal tablets
- electrolyte tablets (for dehydration)

One Quart-Sized Bag of Liquids

- Dr Bronner’s soap
- insect spray (citronella oil)
- contacts solution
- moisturizer, in silicon tube
- sunscreen

Eyecare

- 1 year contacts supply
- contacts holder
- eye drops
- sunglasses
- eyeglasses [not pictured]

Health & Hygiene

- deodorant
- handkercheif (2)
- comb
- toothbrush, paste, floss
- Q-tips
- tweezers
- nail clipper
- Kleenex
- lip balm
- razor, spare blade
- spare ziploc bags
- antibacterial hand wipes
- toilet paper roll [not pictured]
- LUSH shampoo & tin [not pictured]

In Transit / Tools

- snacks: tea bags, nuts, dried fruit
- flight bag: ear plugs, eye mask, whistle, sleeping pills
- headlamp + batteries
- mini flashlight
- sewing kit
- clothesline
- combination lock
- cable lock [not pictured]

Paper Goods

- photo album
- magic spells notebook
- cahier notebooks
- pens

One More Thing…

- microfiber towel
- eyeglasses case
- umbrella
- packable waterbottle



That’s it, ladies and gentleman - enough to fit in my bag and live off for a year, in addition to whatever I pick up as I need it along the way. It's been four years in the making, and my round-the-world trip is finally here — let’s go!!!!!!!!

~ ~ ~

MEMENTOS: Final Days in the USA

I'm writing to you from the palm trees of Florida. A week ago, I was in Michigan. Two weeks ago, New York. A week from now, I'll be in Fiji, beginning my world tour. I can hardly believe it! The days have been filled with adventures great and small, all leading up to the moment when I finally step on the plane that will open up the world to me. Here's a glimpse of those recent Stateside adventures:

Walking along the coast of Lake Huron at sunset. The sky looks like a Native American sand painting, 

Harvesting honey from my uncle's bees. Laurén and I cut the caps on the honeycombs, spun the honey out of them, and filtered out the wax, all in a honey hut kept at 100ºF to keep the honey oozing smoothly.

Enjoying a sugar sprinkles ice cream, the first one since I was a kid, and my first RenFair "turkey" leg (they're actually emu - turkey doesn't have the thick cartilage usually found in this RenFair staple).

My first visit to the Renaissance Festival in Holly, Michigan. It was a world of its own! A group of us watched an owl and hawk fly around us in a show, admired the costumes of both entertainers and visitors, listened to a "holy" bagpipe rock band, and unintentionally ended up looking after the infamous pickle man's cart. I'm glad I could finally visit this famous wonderland.

~ ~ ~

FOOD FARE: Because Vacation Calories Don't Count

(at least, that's what we tell ourselves.)

The many landscapes of upper Michigan.

Did you know tourists who visit Mackinac Island to buy their famous Mackinac Island Fudge are called "fudgies?" The fact that there is a name for people who travel just to get their hands on the rich, melt-in-your-mouth indulgment is a testament to their popularity. I personally think it's the most delicious sweet in the world. How can a piece of chocolate be hard enough you need to cut it with a plastic knife, but so soft it seems to coat your mouth like peanut butter?

How could you make it better? Add it to ice cream. Here in Michigan you can buy Mackinac Island Fudge Ice Cream at the grocery store, but the taste is fresh at the source. I couldn't guarantee these treats would make it home, so I picked up a bag of saltwater taffy to bring back for family and friends.

Mackinac Island Fudge, Mackinac Island Fudge Ice Cream, and saltwater taffy.

While having dinner in Suttons Bay, Laurén and I spotted a local red wine on the menu. I ordered it, and it's like I was blown backwards out of my chair! It was so incredibly good. I'm not a wine expert, but I've had enough red wine to tell if a bottle was picked it up at the drugstore for $10. This "Red House Red" was smooth with no bitter aftertaste. And since the winery was local, why not check it out? The next day we traveled just seven minutes up the road to Black Star Farms.

Black Star Farms & Winery

The road leading into Black Star Farms had rows and rows of grape vines going up the side of a hill. Around the curve, there were horses, goats, ducks, and pigs in roomy pens across from a colonial style inn. In a large red wine tasting building, we ordered their "five wines for five dollars" and got our pick of an expansive list. I spotted "Red House Red" with a sticker price of $10. I was shocked. If that wine is so cheap, imagine how good the expensive ones are, I thought.

We were lucky to have a hostess who was very generous with us, and let us try four additional wines for free, at her insistence. My favorites were cherry wine, a dessert wine infused with maple syrup, and a merlot with hints of blackberry. We walked out with a half-full box of bottles.

Just across the street Black Star Farms have their own restaurant with fresh flowers on every outdoor patio table. We split a thin-crust potato pizza that would have gone great with more wine, but we still had driving to do!

As a final hurrah for our road trip (before the calories started to count again), Laurén surprised me and took us to the Traverse City Pie Co. I had Old Mission Cherry pie, and she had the ABC (apple-blueberry-cherry). One word: heavenly. Then again, you could describe the entire trip that way. :)

Black Star Farms Wine Tasting, Potato Pizza, and Old Mission Cherry Pie.

~ ~ ~

MEMENTOS: Mackinac Island

Mackinac Island is located in Lake Huron between Michigan's upper and lower peninsulas. It's one of the few places in Michigan you can't point to with your hand as a map. The name "Mackinac" (pronouced mak-in-aw) is a shortening of the Menominee Native American word for "big turtle," which they likened to the island's shape. Instead of turtles though, the island is known for cycling, fudge, and gorgeous views of the lake.

$25 round-trip ticket takes you to and from the island
 from Mackinaw City (lower peninsula) or St. Ignace (upper peninsula).

Mackinac Island's Main Street

Sailboats out on a windy day.

Mackinac Bridge, connecting the upper and lower peninsulas.

Lake Huron, in every shade of blue.

Cycling the perimeter of the island. It took about an hour and a half,
amounting to $10.50 for the bike rental.

Stacking rocks are found all along the shore of Mackinac Island. Meditative? Tourist tradition?

Arch Rock, a natural limestone formation.

A cannon at Fort Mackinac.

The view from Fort Mackinac - not bad, right?

That blue is not a photo filter, it really is that beautiful.

Mackinac Bridge - the boat took us under it on the way back to St. Ignace, around sunset.
When you're cruising in the water underneath its huge steel supports, you realize how magnificent it is.

~ ~ ~

People Ask How I'm Adjusting

Before I left Japan, I bought a candle at Nanao's traditional candle shop; a special one, black with three painted sunflowers. It was a little larger than the skinny yellow prayer candles I'd picked up a box of for meditation.

I told myself, I will give myself time to grieve. When I miss Japan and my friends, my incredible students and the quirks of everyday life, I'll light it.

When I checked out, the shop owner warned that it would be too big for my candle holder. I assured her it would be all right. When we hold grief, it always seems too much for us to bear, and yet we do.

When I feel sad or lonely, I burn the candle and let the sadness burn with it. Instead of pushing it away, I sit with it. If I have to cry, then I cry. If I have to hurt, then I hurt, and next time it hurts less. And when I'm done, I blow out the candle, and it's a little shorter. When the candle has completely burned away, I'll have let go.

One month since saying goodbye to Japan, that candle is now a stub. The three vividly painted sunflowers have long blown away in smoke. When I light it, which is less frequently now, the flame burns much higher than the candle itself.

In no time, the last of the wax will be spent, and like all hand-crafted candles from that special little shop in Nanao, it will leave no trace of it having ever been there; wax, paint, and wick all turned to wafting smoke.

And when that happens, the holder is free again, and you can place a new candle in its stead. I think the next one will be for joy.

~ ~ ~

Beekeeping 101

What I learned from an afternoon beekeeping.

I look like the ghost from The Library of Dr. Who.

[Lesson 1] Bee suits are white because honey bees are colorblind to it. To them, their entire white hive box is invisible. They can still see you, however, because they can detect movement (just like the T-Rex in Jurassic Park). I came up to them in slow, nervous steps, and watched with baited breath as my uncle wedged the hive box open to reveal stacks of honeycombs.

[Lesson 2] The guards at the front of the hive will bee-line (as it were) right for your face. If they feel that the hive is threatened, they will try to sting you at your most vulnerable spot. Even in a bee suit, they can see the movement of your eyes, and will fly towards them stinger-first. They get caught in the netting of the bee suit's mask and you have to blow a big puff of air pffffft! to send them away again.

[Lesson 3] Smoking bees isn't what slows them down. They think it's a fire, so they scarf down all the honey in the combs to save it in their stomachs. As soon as they gorge themselves, they're stoned and unable to fly. It'll take a few days for them to recover and regurgitate the honey back into the combs. It's an effective way to immobilize the bees, but if you're after their honey, you're "stinging" yourself in the foot.

[Lesson 4] After extracting the combs, cutting the beeswax caps, and draining the honey, all the hard work is worth it when you're enjoying a hot cup of your own honey-sweetened tea.

Making honey

~ ~ ~

Above Michigan in a 4-Seater Plane

According to my uncle, my 145-pound bum in the backseat would keep the plane counterbalanced, so why don't I go up for a ride? "I am afraid," I said. But I could only put him off for so long.

My uncle's plane is from the 1960s, and has this brown-suede-Mad Men interior going on. The engineers who made her must have been so proud, so excited for a future where personal air travel is the standard.... A future that didn't come to pass how they had hoped.

1965 Cherokee Piper

I'm consumed by thoughts of nose-diving into the nearby cornfield. My uncle, I think, is fearless - he'll be piloting today. I climb into the backseat and put on my radio headset. It looks like an Xbox headphone, but this isn't a game. This is real. And I am afraid.

Today is very windy, and sunny. The wind blasts through the door and I'm freezing. It's far too chilly for a mid-August day. My uncle takes the pilot's seat.

"It feels like I'm in a James Bond movie," I said.

"So you're a Bond girl now, eh?" he says. Keith, his pilot's license instructor, comes in after him and takes co-pilot. My heart is pounding as I buckle my seatbelt. I think I'd die before I hit the ground from a heart attack. I am afraid.

Keith reminds me of a well-groomed Gandalf. Wise, full of logical advice to counter my fearful squeaks of concern. He recounts dangerous experiences he's navigated through, and suddenly this breezy, sunny day doesn't seem half as worry worthy; but I can still feel my heart beating through my throat.

The cockpit

The door is shut and air-sealed. The inside goes from being chilly to a sauna. We cruise over to the runway... and take off!

The winds are upwards of 25 mph, and the plane is lifted up into the air before the intended take off. My uncle tries to steer, but the winds carry him off to the west. The runway we were just on is suddenly east of us and we're slanted towards it. We're lopsided and my uncle is trying to straighten us plus gain altitude. The winds whip at us and my suppressed scream turns into a loud squeak -- Gandalf takes the controls, and with one fluid turn sets us straight. We bump and rock and jitter our way to 3,000 feet, my eyes shut tight and a death-grip on the seat cushions. I am afraid!

Gandalf talks to me in a smooth, conversational tone. I open my eyes and fight my fear back down into my stomach. He continues to tell stories and at last I release my grip on the seats. I look around and take in the view. It's still bumpy from rising heat pockets, but my uncle is flying into the wind and keeping us level. Every single time the plane jerks I have to fight myself to keep calm.

Michigan and Lake Huron from above

An hour or so later, we come down with a smooth landing, and cruise right back into the airport hanger. I exit the plane last, jumping from the wing down onto solid ground. My uncle nudges me and says I'll have to pilot it myself next time. I take deep breath.

I am afraid... but that won't stop me.

~ ~ ~