Two hikers fell to their deaths in separate events at different popular wilderness areas in late August. The tragedies prompted rescuers to reiterate the importance of practicing safety on both technical and non-technical hiking trails.

After motor vehicle deaths and drownings, falls鈥攗sually while hiking鈥攁re the in U.S. National Parks. Incidents like these highlight the importance of both hiking within one’s physical limits and staying on established trails.

On August 27, a 73-year-old woman fell from the Highline Trail in Montana鈥檚 Glacier National Park, according to the National Park Service. She was hiking with a large group between the Big Bend and Triple Arches formations when she stumbled and slipped off the side of the path, out of sight of her companions. Rescuers found her body 450 feet below the edge of the trail.

The accident marks the second major accident involving a fall in Glacier this year. In July, three hikers in the park were rescued after falling into a gorge while trying to take a selfie, two of whom were revived with CPR.

Two days after the tragedy in Glacier National Park,听a 24-year-old man fell 40 feet from the top of Whittleton Arch, a sandstone formation located in听Kentucky鈥檚 Red River Gorge.

鈥淲hile alert and oriented, it became readily apparent the patient鈥檚 condition was critical,鈥� the responding outfit, Powell County Search and Rescue, posted on . Though the hiker was successfully evacuated to a local hospital, he later died from his injuries. Officials did not release the man’s identity.

The same unit responded on September 1 to another hiker who had fallen 15 feet at the base of a large sandstone formation known as Gray鈥檚 Arch. The hiker was safely evacuated after being found with 鈥渁 laceration on his head, arm, and potentially a sprained ankle.鈥�

The incidents prompted Powell County Search and Rescue to post a warning to hikers on its Facebook page.

鈥淲hat may usually be a simple slip can be life-threatening when at height. Stay vigilant of the ground around you and be sure to always stay a safe distance from the edge!鈥� the SAR team wrote.

In addition to proper planning and packing, the NPS notes in its 鈥溾�� tips that it鈥檚 crucial for hikers not to overestimate their abilities and experience level when embarking on outdoor adventures. Elevation and climate are just two factors that can dramatically change a hiking experience. A five-mile hike at sea level, for instance, is quite different from a five-mile hike at 9,000 feet.

When considering whether to venture into an area, NPS hikers to ask themselves the following questions:

• What is my experience level with hiking? Do I go hiking often or is this my first time hitting the trails?
• How much equipment, food, and water (weight) can I comfortably carry in a backpack? How long can I carry a backpack with all the essentials?
• Am I physically fit for the hike I would like to do? Have I practiced hiking up and down steep hills or am I more comfortable on flat, paved paths?
• Have I ever hiked in this type of environment before? Environmental conditions such as temperature and humidity take time to get used to, especially if you live in a different environment from the park you are visiting.
• Am I able to go to higher elevations? More effort is required to hike at higher elevations due to the reduced amount of oxygen available in the air. Remember that at 8,000 feet you are at risk of altitude illness, a potentially life-threatening condition. If you don鈥檛 know, ask your healthcare provider.
• Am I hiking alone or do I plan to bring a friend? It is safer to hike with a companion, but if you prefer go solo, take extra measures to ensure that you are prepared since you will be traveling alone

The NPS also recommends setting a gentle pace to avoid exhaustion that could cause stumbles and falls. If you can鈥檛 talk to your companions while you鈥檙e hiking, you鈥檙e probably moving too fast.

The post In Separate Events, Two U.S. Hikers Fall to Their Deaths appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Happiness is best when it鈥檚 shared, and as any dog parent knows, outdoor exploration is exponentially enhanced when our furry best friend is along for the ride鈥攐r run, bike, hike, ski, any outdoor activity, really. that people with pets are more likely to spend more time outdoors, exercise more frequently, and generally feel happier than those without pets. In the spirit of International Dog Day, which is celebrated on August 26,听国产吃瓜黑料 team members share听their most incredible outdoor adventures alongside their canine companions.

The Time My Good Boy Helped My Now-Husband Propose

We鈥檇 just hauled heavy backpacks up five miles of trail听to San Leonardo Lake in northern New Mexico. The birds were chirping, the alpine lake glittered beneath the setting sun, and I was hangry, tired, and generally grumpy as I fumbled to set up my backpacking stove.

鈥淏abe, I think Squeaker has something for you,鈥� my husband called from across the campsite. 鈥淗ang on,鈥� I snapped, laser-focused on getting dinner cooking. Then, I glanced down and saw a small box hanging from one of my dogs鈥� collars. I struggled to untie it, and when I looked up again, my now-husband was down on one knee.

Needless to say, I said yes, and now, after a wedding and two kids later, my husband knows never to leave the house without plenty of snacks to ward off my hangry side. 鈥擜bigail Wise, brand director

Brodie鈥� on The Bruce!

Dalmatians have incredible endurance鈥攖hey are the Arabian horse of dog breeds, known for their never-ending energy and stamina. The Bruce Trail, a roughly 558-mile trail on the Niagara Escarpment in Ontario, is literally in our backyard, and Brodie loved long hikes along this scenic trek. Limestone rocks, cedar roots, mud, and stream crossings were all part of the adventure.

During the COVID-19 pandemic in 2021, we signed Brodie up for the fundraising event Woof Walk, where he quickly completed his target of 310 miles. His favorite spot was a wooden bench where he鈥檇 stop and take in the scents of the forest and, of course, some well-earned snacks. Hiking was fun, but getting to the trailhead was just as enjoyable. He loved rides in our Volkswagen Westfalia Camper Van! Brodie has since gone to the Rainbow Bridge, but his presence continues to be with us when we head out on The Bruce and every International Dog Day. 鈥擫indsey Ryder, FinisherPix operations manager

The Best Campsite I鈥檝e Ever Had, According to My Dogs

It was the summer in which my second pup was finally old enough to keep up on real trail miles, and I headed for Sun Valley. By some miracle on the July 4th weekend, I found a lakeside campsite in the Sawtooth Mountains in central Idaho with no one else around. Wildflowers spilled across the meadows, the dogs bounded ahead on the trail and drank from streams, and we hiked until their tongues lolled and their paws dragged with that satisfying, bone-deep exhaustion only a good day outside can give.

Back at camp, we swam, built a fire, and watched the light drain off the peaks. With no cell service, my two spoiled house pets immediately rebranded themselves as wild animals鈥攕niffing, digging, howling at the moon, and rolling in whatever smelled the worst. At one point, they looked so wolfy that I half-expected them to take off and never return, but by nightfall, they were snoring in my sleeping bag like the well-groomed suburban pups they are. But honestly, I felt a little feral out there too: no screens, no people, just trails, a dirty body, and two tired dogs. 鈥擲ierra Shafer, lifestyle editorial director

Ruka and the Whale

Ruka Bleau was my soul dog, and over the course of our 17 years together, we summited peaks, visited dozens of national parks, rafted whitewater, and cast our fair share of flies. Though Ruka did everything in his power to keep me happy, his blue merle border collie brain had an affinity for rolling in anything dead, decaying, or otherwise putrid. In 2015, Ruka and I donned our overstuffed backpacks for a 25-mile trek along Northern California鈥檚 .

At one point, Ruka bolted ahead of our girl-team trio to bound headfirst into a small lagoon filled with a bloated whale carcass. We did our best to scrub away the stink, but it鈥檚 safe to say we smelled like a beached whale for days to come. Ruka crossed the Rainbow Bridge in 2023, but his spirit lives on in my two menacing Australian Shepherds, Cholla and Poppy. Ruka reminds us every year to celebrate International Dog Day to the fullest. 鈥擬adison Dapcevich, associate editor

That Time I Took My 60-Pound Dog to Europe

My family and friends thought I was more than a little crazy when I announced my husband and I were moving to Europe, with our 60-pound puppy in tow. Hazelnut, a Great Pyrenees and German Shepherd rescue, quickly realized that life across the Atlantic is a pup’s paradise. Welcome everywhere, from restaurants to museums, she pranced her way across six countries.

While she loved eating calamari in Venice and checking out Christmas markets in Austria, her favorite memories鈥攍ike her mom’s鈥攚ere those that involved outdoor adventures. She did snow zoomies on the cross-country trails under the Matterhorn, hiked between the villages of Italy’s Cinque Terre, and learned to swim in the crystal clear waters of the Adriatic Sea. Now that we’re back in America, she’s wondering what’s up with all these “no dogs allowed” signs. 鈥擬ikaela Ruland, editor-in-chief of National Park Trips

Born to be a Power Hound

We brought Oakley home in mid-March, at eight weeks old, which, in听Colorado, still meant听snow season. He showed zero hesitation when we took him to play after a storm and immediately displayed a love for the white fluff. This got me excited to take him on a few light backcountry tours to share my favorite activity when he鈥檇 be old enough the following winter. After a full year of training, including a significant amount of recall work, it was time.

Oakley broke trail to the top like he鈥檇 done it before, and was a powder rocket on the way down, tongue out and tail wagging the whole way. Every few turns on the first run, I looked back to see unbridled puppy joy chasing me鈥攎y wife close behind, keeping an eye on him鈥攗ntil we got to the bottom. That first day out is still my favorite.

Oakley does most activities with us, but splitboarding seems to be his favorite. Conditions don鈥檛 matter to him; he鈥檚 just pumped there鈥檚 snow on the ground. We鈥檙e always careful with the areas and routes we choose when taking our dog into the backcountry, and keep him close by to our skin track when heading uphill.
鈥擜dam Trenkamp, lab test editor

Let Dogs Be Dogs

We adopted Cameron from a family who needed to give him up, but he had been a pound puppy before then. A bit shy, but sweet as could be, we noticed he didn鈥檛 participate in a lot of the 鈥渄og stuff鈥� other dogs do鈥攏o toys, hesitant to play chase, didn鈥檛 hang his head out the window in the car.

One weekend, we took him along on a hike to our favorite place: Crater Lakes here in Colorado. We went at his pace so he could take in all the new sights and smells as we wound along the path. We let him sniff around as we set up camp among the conifers and wildflowers.

Suddenly, he started barrelling through the blooming flowers, just running as fast as he could with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth! It was the first time we got to see him truly be a dog, and it brought us immense joy. At 12 years old now, Cam doesn鈥檛 barrel through the wildflowers anymore, but he still loves to snuggle up in the tent next to a lake. 鈥擩en Woodson, engineer

Built for Brunch

Hike a mountain or chill by the lake? Our French Bulldog doesn鈥檛 even pretend to struggle with that choice, especially on International Dog Day. He has a body built for brunch and the personality to match. This little guy is an excellent reminder for us that any time spent outside is time well spent, and it doesn’t always need to be an epic adventure for it to be memorable. 鈥擜lan Crisp, VP business development

The post Our Editors鈥� Favorite Outdoor Dog 国产吃瓜黑料 Tales appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

This year, experts predict 21 states across North America will experience the most vibrant fall foliage, making these the top stops for leaf peeping in the coming months.

Most states will begin to experience fall foliage around mid-September through early November. Those located in the northern and midwestern U.S. states can expect to see fall foliage by late September, according to . Areas in New England, the Pacific Northwest, and the Blue Ridge Mountains will see peak foliage by mid-October.

When tree leaves change color depends on the latitude in which they鈥檙e located. As the days get shorter and temperatures cooler, trees slow their growth and production of the green pigment chlorophyll, shifting foliage from shades of green to deep hues of red, orange and yellow.

September 22 marks this year鈥檚 Autumnal equinox, when the Earth鈥檚 equator is directly aligned with the sun鈥攐ne of just two days each year with roughly equal amounts of daylight and darkness.

The Best Places to Leaf-Peep This Fall

According to the Almanac, these are the top 21 places you can see fall foliage this year:

1. Acadia National Park, Maine
2. Ozark Mountains, Arkansas
3. Adirondack and Catskill Mountains, New York
4. Traverse City, Michigan
5. Black Hills, South Dakota
6. Blue Ridge Parkway, Virginia and North Carolina
7. Kancamagus Highway, White Mountains, New Hampshire
8. Pere Marquette State Park, Illinois
9. Blue Ridge Parkway, Virginia
10. Jackson, Wyoming
11. Connecticut River Valley, Connecticut
12. Logan Canyon Scenic Byway, Utah
13. Cuyahoga Valley National Park, Ohio
14. Buckhorn Lake State Park, Kentucky
15. Vogel State Park and Chattahoochee National Forest, Georgia
16. Door County, Wisconsin
17. Poconos, Pennsylvania
18. Green Mountain Byway, Vermont
19. Gatlinburg & Smoky Mountains, Tennessee
20. The Berkshires, Massachusetts
21. Taos, New Mexico

A time-lapse map showing predicted peak foliage of these areas and more can be viewed .

Since 1792, The Old Farmer鈥檚 Almanac has predicted weather forecasts, calculated tides, and compiled sunrise and sunset times. Forecasters at the Almanac听compile their fall foliage predictions based on reports by readers. Though the publication claims 80 percent accuracy, others suggest they are only .

Regardless, foliage peepers say it鈥檚 best to visit these places when the weather is calm, as rain can make trees look soggy and wind can cause trees to prematurely lose their brightly hued leaves. Not all trees change color, so be sure to visit areas rich in broad-leaf deciduous trees, or those that shed their leaves annually, such as oak, birch and beech trees.

If you want to scout out the fall foliage ahead of visiting in person, the webcam site has dozens of livestream views of fall foliage across North America, from Sitka, Alaska, to Rising Fawn, Georgia.

The post Expect Peak Leaf Peeping This Fall in These 21 States, According to the Farmer鈥檚 Almanac appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I鈥檝e slept on glaciers, mountains, beaches, and鈥攎ore than once鈥攗nder roadside bushes mid-hitchhike to a trailhead. But few camps have required more preparation than my latest: one night in a backyard in a bougie Chicago suburb.

Let me explain.

In normal times I live deep in the Wisconsin Northwoods with a team of sled dogs. But for the past few months, due to a combo of family illness and my husband running the Iditarod, I鈥檝e been staying in the city with my in-laws鈥攁nd I鈥檓 starting to lose my mind. The place is completely jarring to me. You鈥檝e never seen such perfect grass. There are no bugs (how?!). And while my in-laws are as kind, warm, loving, and funny as people can get (if they weren鈥檛 my family, I鈥檇 be plotting secret ways to make them my family) they鈥檙e also the kind of people who, when I wonder aloud if it鈥檚 stopped raining, turn away from the window to pull out their phones and check an app. Needless to say, I soon started feeling awfully disconnected from the natural world.

Luckily, someone I know well has spent years giving advice on how to connect with nature from the suburbs鈥攁nd that person is me. Yup: over almost a decade of writing an outdoors advice column, I鈥檝e counseled many a letter-writer about accessible ways to get outdoors, and one of my go-to pieces of advice has been to sleep in the backyard. Have I tried it? Well鈥o, actually. Not since childhood. But it鈥檚 not like sleeping outside is hard, right? You just grab some blankets and lay out under the stars. A night like that was exactly what I needed, and anyway I had access to a great yard, shaded with maple and pine. It abutted four other backyards, separated only by a low picket fence, but surely the neighbors wouldn鈥檛 care.

鈥淛ust wait,鈥� said my cousin-in-law, with something like relish in his voice. 鈥淭hey will call the HOA on you.鈥�

鈥淔or sleeping in your own yard?鈥�

鈥淭his is the suburbs,鈥� he said. 鈥淚t is almost certainly against the rules to sleep in the yard.鈥�

Challenge accepted. I dove into planning the mission like any good adventurer with bad cabin fever. First, I consulted the HOA bylaws, which were 28 pages single-spaced, and felt encouraged by what I found. They mentioned nothing about sleeping outdoors, but I could legally pitch a tent or canopy for 72 hours, after which I鈥檇 receive a written warning and have 14 days to correct the violation. By my calculations, this meant I could actually camp for 17 days before incurring my first $50 fine. That would bring my total cost to $2.94/night鈥攃onsiderably less than the expense of campsite rental at a national park! After the fine, I鈥檇 be invited to attend a violation hearing, which would presumably involve a light chat over free snacks. If the neighbors did call the HOA on me, at least now I was prepared.

As for the actual sleeping arrangements, I didn鈥檛 have overnight gear with me and wanted to keep things cheap, so I had to get creative. It was supposed to rain all week, so I bought an ($11.37) and four ($0.98 each), figuring I鈥檇 lie out on the grass. Temps would drop to the low 50s, so I鈥檇 be fine with household blankets and my fleece pajamas. Just as I was gathering supplies, I looked out the window and saw a plague doctor staring back at me鈥攐r, upon double-take, a green-uniformed man in PPE, spraying pale mist around the house from a stiff hose. The pieces came together: This was why the yard had no bugs.

I went outside and asked which pesticides he used; he didn鈥檛 know. So I called the company and spent almost an hour switching from one customer-service agent to another, all of whom seemed completely baffled as to why I鈥檇 care. I treat my own gear with permethrin鈥擨鈥檓 not completely opposed to insect repellents鈥攂ut I wasn鈥檛 loving the idea of sleeping on grass glistening with fresh toxicants. So, I bought a . I鈥檇 been wanting a hammock anyway, and at least this way I鈥檇 be off the ground.

By then it was early evening, and I was feeling decidedly cranky about the whole endeavor. Even with a ton of outdoors confidence and relatively low standards for comfort, I鈥檇 still put in a few hours鈥� effort and over 60 bucks for my supposedly free and easy campout. Plus, the weather was gray, the kind of endless drizzle that seems to come from nowhere and seep into everything all at once. Sleeping in storms is one thing in an expedition, but leaving a plush guest bed for a damp suburban yard felt entirely less enticing. Anticipating a stiff and soggy night, I trudged to the far corner of the yard to hang the hammock and pitch a quick rain fly. The tarp鈥檚 tie-downs would be at a better angle if I tied them to the shared picket fence, but that seemed like a provocation.

Every campsite has its wildlife, and this one was no exception. No sooner had I wedged myself into the hammock than the neighbors鈥攁 man and woman, mid-50s鈥攃ame out and stood on their deck, just 20 feet away. I popped my head up and said 鈥淗i!鈥� but they didn鈥檛 respond. Abashed, I retreated, pulling the edges of the hammock over myself, peering through the crack with one eye. Were they calling the HOA on me? The man looked at his phone, then dropped it back into his pocket.

鈥淭he woman鈥檚 wearing a long dress that disappears against the beige siding of her house, perfectly camouflaged to her environment,鈥� I texted my cousin-in-law.

鈥淲hy are you like this?鈥� he texted back.

The neighbors seemed to be pointedly gazing at everything except me. They pushed a deck chair several feet to the right, considered, then returned it to its original position. They knew I was there. I knew they knew. They knew I knew. None of us acknowledged it. After a few minutes of angsty silence, they went back inside.

That鈥檚 the thing about most wildlife. They鈥檙e more scared of you than you are of them.

The hammock swayed, and despite my wariness, I felt relaxed. I heard a sound like flapping; it was, I guessed, a kid on a snare drum a few houses down. Nearby, something crackled. Was it insects dying? No, just leaves, blowing gently around me, and the porch lights flickering on next door. The dark sky, peeking through roofs and branches, was the most familiar thing I鈥檇 seen in a long time.

I slept lightly in the hammock, swaying in and out of dreams. There was that snare drum sound again. Maybe it was a bird; maybe it was both. The squirrels, the shifting branches, the windows opening and closing, all melded into one layered sound, and the abutting yards鈥攚hich had struck me at first as structurally enabled nosiness鈥攂egan to seem more like a communal watering hole, the exact kind of shared space I鈥檇 been missing. When the sun rose, through mist, another neighbor came out and stood silently on the grass.

Backyard camping wasn鈥檛 quite as easy or cheap as I鈥檇 preached. And I didn鈥檛 feel connected to wilderness. But I felt like part of a place again, and maybe that mattered even more.

The post I Tried Camping in My Own Backyard. It Was Way Harder Than I Thought. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I have run and bicycled a certain one-mile section of the paved riverfront multi-use path in my hometown probably at least 200 or 300 times. A handful of times, I have thought to myself, 鈥淚 should really stop and read some of these historical plaques along the trail.鈥� I believed there to be two or three of them, and in four years, I never made the minuscule effort to pull off the trail even once for the 60 to 90 seconds required to read them.

A few weeks ago, though, I finished reading what I think is now one of my favorite adventure books, and I got inspired. Because books can do that.

Dean Karnazes鈥檚 Ultramarathon Man inspired hundreds or thousands of people to try ultrarunning, Colin Fletcher鈥檚 books inspired probably thousands of people to take up backpacking, and Cheryl Strayed鈥檚 Wild inspired a generation of thru-hikers. My friend Alastair Humphreys鈥� new-ish book was the catalyst for one of the least epic, but most satisfying adventures of my recent life.

The book is called Local: A Search for Nearby Nature and Wildness, and the concept is this: A guy who lives in the suburbs of London looks for adventure on the 400-square-kilometer map with his house in the center. This particular guy has bicycled 46,000 miles around the world for four years, rowed a boat across the Atlantic Ocean, and walked across the Empty Quarter Desert towing a giant homemade cart. It鈥檚 no Into Thin Air, or story of survival in Antarctica, or tale of the first human forays into some unexplored corner of Earth. But Al got this map, decided to spend a year essentially 鈥渟taying home,鈥� exploring one randomly-selected square kilometer per week, whether or not it looked interesting on the map.

Here is one of my favorite paragraphs in the book, on page nine:

鈥淲hat if where I live, this bog-standard corner of England, which had held no surprises for me, was actually full of them, if I only bothered to go out and find them? Not known, because not looked for. This was an opportunity to get to know my place for the first time and to search closer to home than ever before for things I鈥檝e chased around the globe: adventure, nature, wildness, surprises, silence and perspective.鈥�

I imagine having to write a book about the experience pushed Al to try to dig up interesting things about each grid square he explored鈥攚hich, in my reading, often resulted in me looking up from the book and saying to Hilary, 鈥淒id you know 鈥︹�� And it reminded me of some of the best tour guides I鈥檝e met on trips, who remain enthusiastic after repeating the same facts and figures hundreds of times鈥攐r my sister-in-law鈥檚 father, John, who has lived in the same town in Wisconsin for almost his entire life and seems to have a million pieces of local trivia ready at all times. And how last year I traveled to a spot very close to my hometown鈥檚 , but still hadn鈥檛 read the goddamn signs on the riverfront path I鈥檓 on five times a week.

So Tuesday morning, after riding my bike to drop off our little guy at daycare, I pedaled down the section of path I鈥檝e traversed so many times on foot and on skinny tires, and I stopped at every single plaque. There are 10 of them in the span of that one mile, detailing the human and geologic history of the valley here dating back 16,000 years: the lumber baron who built a mansion near the mouth of the creek (and whose widow, more notably, donated the land for the city鈥檚 first park), the bridges that washed away in floods, the glacial lake that flooded and carved out the valley several times in 鈥渙ne of the most significant geological events in the history of the world,鈥� and did you know we used to have a streetcar here? I mean, I guess not really 鈥渨e,鈥� but the people who lived here a century ago.

Several years ago, at an American adventure film festival, I saw a film of an expedition to climb a mountain in a country halfway around the world. In one scene, as the team of climbers slogged onward and upward through the jungle under ridiculously heavy backpacks, they passed through a village and a few local children and adults watched them. The characters in the film were of course far from home, very 鈥渙ut there鈥� in many ways, and struggling against great odds for a goal and a story about trying to reach that goal. But to the people who lived in the village, it was just Wednesday. Maybe a notable Wednesday, since these weird people with colorful clothing and backpacks were passing through, and that didn鈥檛 happen every Wednesday. But I found myself thinking more of the contrast: Eight people having a capital-A adventure within ten feet of other people sitting in their front yards. Which is something that never happens in my neighborhood, because people don鈥檛 fly halfway around the world to climb the mountains near my house.

But should you have to spend several days and thousands of dollars traveling to have an interesting experience? Seems a little elitist, doesn鈥檛 it?

My friend Forest and I have spent time together in many beautiful places, usually as photographer (him) and writer (me). I have picked up a handful of camera tricks from him over the years, but have no illusions about switching careers to photography. I asked him one time to tell me how I could improve my photography, based on what he鈥檇 seen, and he gently suggested that I should try to get closer. Of course he was right鈥擨 always default to the 鈥渢iny person in huge landscape鈥� shot, which is easy for me to see and feel (we鈥檙e so small out there!), but hard to replicate without a long lens. Being able to look closer, to zoom in, is something I still struggle with, literally in photography and metaphorically in life. Isn鈥檛 it harder to experience wonder the closer you are to where you live and work and get stuck in traffic and take out the trash, or is that just me? I aspire to be someone who can find wonder anywhere.

I鈥檓 not saying that reading a handful of plaques has now made me some sort of expert. But it did send me to the library, and to Google some things鈥攚hich I wouldn鈥檛 have Googled without having my interest piqued by what was on those plaques (the environmental disaster behind the old dam) and what was not on those plaques. (Okay, but what about the history of indigenous people in this area?) Which is something we are lucky to have the ability to do nowadays, to follow up on our interest(s) .

Another paragraph from the introduction of Local:

鈥淚鈥檇 imagined this would be a year of poking around rabbit holes in the countryside, but it became a year of falling down internet rabbit holes about hundreds of obscure topics, as well as reading dozens of books about history, nature, farming, and the climate emergency. Anything clever you read in the following pages, and almost every fact and figure, was new to me when I began this book. Do not make the mistake of thinking I鈥檓 a clever person who can stand in an empty field and see biology, geology, and every other 鈥檕logy, while you merely see a field. I, too, saw only the fields before I started, but paying close attention unveiled so much.鈥�

Of course I love to travel, and some of my favorite places in the world are special because the first time I visited, a friend who lived there showed me around. And tour guides are great, but nothing beats someone who is enthusiastic about where they live, because they鈥檝e paid attention to it and don鈥檛 mind sharing it with someone else. Now if you鈥檒l excuse me, I have to do some research on this streetcar we used to have here in the early 1900s, so I can tell visiting friends about it for the next decade.

If you鈥檇 like to read Local (which has been longlisted for the Wainwright Prize!), here鈥檚 where you can find it:

听础尘补锄辞苍听听

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In the summer of 1991, Mical Garcia was 19 years old, taking classes at a cosmetology school in the farm town of Manteca, California, when she got an alarming call from her stepdad in Las Vegas. Her mother had run off. He came home from work to find her possessions gone, and a note explaining that she鈥檇 been leading a double life and did not want to be contacted.

Mical, who helps people pronounce her name by saying 鈥渓ike 鈥榤e call you,鈥欌�� was surprised but not overly concerned at the time. Her mother, Linda Sue Anderson, was carefree and a bit wild. 鈥淲e鈥檇 play that song 鈥楧elta Dawn鈥� really loud, sing at the top of our lungs even though we didn鈥檛 have great voices, and dance,鈥� Mical told me recently. Her mom once took her to see the Vegas crooner Engelbert Humperdinck in concert. Linda was beautiful, always had her long blond hair done, her nails and makeup just so. 鈥淪he was never a Betty Crocker stay-at-home mom.鈥�

The flip side was mood swings, which Mical, who is now a nurse, thinks could have been diagnosed as bipolar disorder. Linda would lock herself in her room, leaving Mical to babysit her sister, Dulcenea, and her brother, Ethan, who everyone called Petey. 鈥淚 was in first or second grade, and I was cooking for them. My dad was traveling. She wouldn鈥檛 open the door.鈥� Other times Linda, who worked as a travel agent, would disappear for days.

The family moved around a lot. When their parents divorced, they were living near Lake Tahoe. Their father won full custody and took the family to Manteca. Linda remarried and settled in Nevada. Her new husband was a pit boss at Caesars Palace with a degree from Stanford University. 鈥淗e worshipped the ground she walked on,鈥� Mical said. 鈥淚 never heard they were having problems.鈥�

So when Linda ran off, the Garcia children figured she鈥檇 come back eventually鈥攋ust like she always had.

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Joe Buffalo Child grew up beneath the northern lights, but one starry winter night in particular remains etched in his memory. He was six years old and camping with his grandparents to monitor the family trapline, a 50-mile stretch of snares set for rabbits and muskrats in the snowy boreal forest outside Yellowknife, the capital of Canada鈥檚 Northwest Territories. Slipping out of the cozy tent, his breath fogging as he gazed skyward, it wasn鈥檛 long before Buffalo Child found what he was seeking: 鈥淚t was stars, stars, stars, then鈥�boom! The aurora鈥檚 there,鈥� he told me, his eyes sparkling at the flashback.

On trapline trips like these, learned about the many ways nature was tied to the traditions of his people, the , who have inhabited central and northwest Canada for over 30,000 years. By day, his grandfather took him hunting or fishing鈥攐utings that came with important lessons, like how to predict an approaching storm by studying the movement of the clouds or the height of a seagull鈥檚 flight. Come dusk, bathed in the gas lamp鈥檚 honey glow, his grandmother shared spiritual beliefs, like how Buffalo Child鈥檚 beloved tie-dyed sky dance, known in the Denesuline language as ya鈥檏e ngas (鈥渢he sky is stirring鈥�), carried messages from his ancestors.

鈥淚 was on the land under the aurora even as a baby,鈥� he said. 鈥淭he aurora鈥檚 always been part of our life.鈥�

This deep knowledge of nature and cultural connection to the night sky were foundational to his future as a professional northern-lights chaser and guide for his company . Now 60 years old, Buffalo Child has spent nearly two decades sharing his aurora-tracking abilities with those willing to make the journey up to Yellowknife. He is considered one of the most well-known aurora hunters in North America.

The post Northern Lights Hunting with This Indigenous Tracker Was the Most Moving 国产吃瓜黑料 of My Life appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Josh Drinkard always wanted to build his own cabin. Growing up in suburban New Jersey, he鈥檇 wander to a small strip of woods near his childhood home and spend hours constructing forts and treehouses. When he moved to New Mexico as an adult, Drinkard, the IT Operations Manager at 国产吃瓜黑料 Inc., bought 2.5 acres of land in the mountain village of Truchas, about 30 miles north of Santa Fe. There, he took on his first effort at building a very simple cabin with the help of a friend who was an unlicensed contractor and taught Drinkard framing and building basics.

In 2021, Drinkard and his wife, Saraswati Khalsa, started looking at New England as a place to move once their three children were grown. After scouting around, they settled on 25 terraced, hardwood-filled acres near Halifax, Vermont, not far from the Massachusetts border.

Over the past three years, Drinkard has spent vacations building a cabin near Halifax, with the help of his wife, teenage son, and one of his daughters. After a cumulative seven weeks of effort, they can now stay there for long periods, although it still lacks internet service, a shower, and a toilet.

Learning the ins and outs of building a small log cabin in the woods is no small feat. We asked Drinkard to talk about what the project entailed and what skills are required to turn a cabin-building dream into a reality. This is what he learned.

How Big Is the Cabin?

It鈥檚 still a work in progress, but right now it鈥檚 a one-room cabin with a loft. Two people can sleep up there comfortably. The interior is just 12 feet squared. We use the lower room as the living room and kitchen. Another two people could sleep there with a foldable futon.

Why Did You Choose Vermont?

We bought this property without any services or electricity, so the price was below the national average per acre (which was about $3,000 at the time, according to Drinkard). I love the location and especially the lush green forests. We also love skiing and whitewater rafting and can do both near here; the closest mountain is Mount Snow, 18 miles north, and the closest flowing river is the Deerfield, to the west.

We liked that it鈥檚 not far from a town with big-box stores鈥擥reenfield, Massachusetts鈥攁nd that you can catch a train from Brattleboro, Vermont, to New York City. We thought that if the kids are in college, or after, if they wanted to take a train up, that would be convenient.

And I like Vermont in general. Everything has a small-town feel. There are no billboards. And it鈥檚 similar to northern New Mexico in that it鈥檚 rural and very liberal.

How Did You Get Started With the Build?

We found a spot that was flat and open. There was a little meadow on the property just big enough for a cabin, so we didn鈥檛 have to clear it. We knew we鈥檇 use the hemlock trees from the surrounding forest. I was told hemlock resists rot pretty well.

I knew I鈥檇 have to find a cheap 4×4 vehicle to leave out there, and we only had a few thousand dollars to work with. In Vermont, good pickups in that price range were all rotted out, so I settled on an old Lincoln Navigator in New Mexico that had been stolen and recovered; its interior was beat to shit. I welded a receiver hitch in front, to use as a winch and a pushbar, and I also fabricated a roof rack big enough to haul 16-foot-long lumber and plywood sheets. Then I drove it out to Vermont.

We decided to use a to build the cabin after a lot of time looking at YouTube videos. Butt-and-pass cabins go up quickly, but the drawback is you need a ton of expensive lags to connect the walls to each other and each log to the ones below.

We used logs for the whole first level of the cabin. The first year, the family came out for four days and we felled trees and placed and leveled the bottom four logs. After they left, I stayed another six days on my own and threw up the first 12 rows of logs鈥攖hey weren鈥檛 that heavy鈥攑lus the floor and a temporary roof to keep the snow out.

The next year, we got the structure height to about eight feet. At this point, we started using two-by-fours for the loft level. I traded an old laptop of mine for a bunch of small windows and a door.

After the entire structure dried, we hung shingles on the front. I installed a water-catchment system and solar panels鈥攂oth are sustainable. We built the loft platform inside and scraped and sealed all of the logs. And I built a small shed with scrap materials and installed more windows on the first floor.

What Was the Hardest Part?

Felling trees for the logs and dragging them around 100 yards to the build site was exhausting. And I鈥檓 not in awful shape.

Using a , we took down 30 to 40 relatively straight, light trees on the first trip out, but they kept getting hung up in the tight forest canopy. Then we cut these to 12 and 16 feet and dragged them to the site. It took a few days. The next time we were there, the following July, we cut another 30 or 40 trees.

Does the Cabin Have Plumbing and Electricity?

One of the last things I did when I was there was put in a . The rainwater goes from the roof to a gutter and through a small-screen filter to a 300-gallon IBC (intermediate builk container) tank. The tank was repurposed鈥攊t used to hold soy sauce鈥攁nd someone sold it to me. I鈥檓 gonna have to plumb from that tank to a sink and an outside shower. There鈥檚 no toilet鈥攚e probably will get an outhouse but right now we鈥檙e using a bucket with a toilet seat on top.

鈥淓xcept for needing help fixing the road, we were able to do everything on our own.鈥�

For electricity, I have a small solar setup: two 100-watt panels and a solar battery that鈥檚 good enough to charge things and for basic lighting. The great thing about these is they鈥檙e upgradable; I just need to get more batteries and panels to turn it into something more robust that could handle, like, a fridge.

What About Heat?

I brought out a woodstove from New Mexico but decided it鈥檚 too big and that it would heat us out鈥攖hat鈥檚 a mistake I made with the cabin in Truchas, too鈥攕o I鈥檒l probably buy a small one.

Did You Have to Troubleshoot Any Unforeseen Issues?

It rained a lot one trip, in July, and the road, which is unmaintained, was turning into a rutted off-camber mess. I was having to winch up in several places, and I blew out the Navigator鈥檚 4×4 low. So we found a local heavy-equipment operator and hired him to take down some trees and smooth out the road.听But this is an investment for us. Having a small functional cabin with a roughed-in road will increase the property value by more than what we鈥檝e spent.

Also, except for the initial time I drove the navigator out, we鈥檝e flown. And every time, we fly with the power tools. I check the chainsaw, the circular saw. You can鈥檛 check the batteries, so I have to carry those on.

How Did You Cut Costs?

One of our challenges was thinking up a good chinking method that wouldn鈥檛 take an entire month. There are maybe 80 trees in the structure鈥攂ecause they were smaller in diameter, we needed more, which also meant 80 gaps to fill. Concrete mortar was out, because we didn鈥檛 want to haul water up from the stream and mix cement. was out, because it鈥檚 too expensive. So we used a product called . This is a spray foam with a component that tastes sour, so bugs and rats don鈥檛 want to chew through it.

Pestblock worked better than I imagined, but it鈥檚 gonna yellow real bad and I鈥檒l likely have to paint it. I tried putting floor polish over it, to keep the gray color, but it didn鈥檛 work.

Also, we didn鈥檛 strip the bark off the logs. It looks cool, but bark holds moisture and the logs can rot. After we completed the first floor, they sat for a year, and I thought that if we wire-brushed the logs after a year or so, we could then use floor polish to seal them. So far that鈥檚 been working great, but only time will tell if we have any rot. I might know in a few years.

We also stayed in a nearby campground much of the time when we were working on the cabin.

Did Your Family Like Being Involved?

We just gave my son, Mason, a nice RAV4, so we forced him to come out and be our indentured servant. After the second trip, he told me I鈥檇 worked him pretty hard but that he had a great time. He can do most jobs independently after a little training. One of our daughters also did a lot of work the first visit, carrying logs.

Saraswati, my wife, is really good at certain things like angles or eyeballing whether something is level. My eyes are awful. Also, I can have a short fuse. At the beginning, I鈥檓 fine, but after a week, it grows shorter. And Saraswati will really push to get things done when I鈥檓 ready to quit, so we get a lot more done when she鈥檚 around.

On the flip side, I have to bring her back down to earth on structural realities. She鈥檚 always form over function, and I鈥檓 the opposite. For example, we had a full-size door, but I realized that fitting it would cut too many logs on one side and compromise the structure. So we had a bit of a fight about that, because I wanted to cut the door and make it shorter. That鈥檚 what we ended up doing.

What Are You Proudest Of About the Cabin?

We did this on the cheap and haven鈥檛 splurged on anything so far鈥攖hough having internet out there will be a splurge. The cabin鈥檚 a pretty basic structure, but I鈥檓 OK with that. And except for needing help fixing the road, we were able to do everything on our own. There鈥檚 no cell-phone access out there, so if you run into a jam, you just have to figure it out.

Estimated Costs for the Cabin

Land and Annual Taxes: $78,000

Building Supplies: $8,000

Driveway: $7,000

Eventual Internet Setup: $700

Flights, food, fees to stay in the nearby campground before the cabin was ready: $5,000

Total: $98,700

Tasha Zemke is 翱耻迟蝉颈诲别鈥�s managing editor and a member of 国产吃瓜黑料 Online鈥�s travel team. She appreciates beautiful, and especially ancient, architecture but can鈥檛 imagine building a structure of any kind, given her loathing of giant home-improvement stores.

The post How I Built a Log Cabin in 7 Weeks for Under $100K appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

When Rick Bass first found himself in the area referred to as Unit 72 by the United States Forest Service, he felt desperate and unanchored.

He was walking up what was once an overgrown logging road but had recently been clear-cut into a 200-foot-wide strip of barren land. Roughly one million board feet of sellable timber had been removed, and only a few of the largest larch remained. The Forest Service had cleared the area as a firebreak in response to the Davis fire, ignited by lightning in July 2018 in the remote, rugged Yaak Valley, which is situated within the Kootenai National Forest in northwest Montana.

Blowdown lined the edges of the firebreak. Trees once insulated from the elements were newly exposed and didn鈥檛 have the roots to sustain full-force winds.

Bass, a 66-year-old writer and conservationist, crossed a thick section of fallen old spruce, balancing himself on the larger trunks. After living in the Yaak Valley for nearly four decades, he鈥檚 sturdy, and no stranger to bushwhacking. Finally, he stepped out of the hot, dry clear-cut and through a cool, emerald-green portal. As far as recorded history could reveal, the forest he was entering鈥擴nit 72鈥攈ad never been logged.

Blanketed with ferns and dripping with moss, the forest looked like it was plucked from the Pacific Northwest and moved 350 miles inland. It鈥檚 one of the few remaining echoes of an ancient rainforest that tens of millions of years ago spread from the Washington coast into Montana. Grizzlies, lynx, and wolverines sniff and scratch through 800-year-old larch and some of the largest western hemlock, western red cedar, and Engelmann spruce in the valley. The area is one of only six habitats in the lower 48 states considered large and intact enough to support a grizzly bear population.

Relief washed over Bass. Then he saw long strips of flagging, and blue and orange paint slathered across some of the larger tree trunks. The Forest Service, it seemed, planned to log here too, in the old growth.

His first reaction was rage, but he had learned over the years that wrath was not an effective tool in the fight to protect these trees, which were too important to risk. They had survived centuries of wildfire, drought, pests, and logging that decimated other forests in the region.

Now they鈥檙e engulfed in discord, their fate to be decided by humans who can鈥檛 agree whether to actively manage the area through clear-cutting or to leave it alone.

In 2017, the USFS staff responsible for the Kootenai National Forest (KNF) proposed a sweeping 95,000-acre forest-management plan, called the Black Ram project, to 鈥渋mprove resilience and resistance to insects, disease, and fire.鈥� Unit 72 would be effectively clear-cut. In the words of the KNF supervisors, they would 鈥渞estart the stand鈥� to improve the forest鈥檚 鈥渁bility to adjust to climate change.鈥� This sparked an impassioned battle鈥攐n the ground and in federal court鈥攂etween environmental advocates, local and federal governments, and other stakeholders. After seven years of disagreements, Unit 72 has yet to be logged, but it hasn鈥檛 been permanently protected, either.

With wildfire season becoming longer and more intense across the U.S. and Canada, people are desperate for answers, and the debate of how best to mitigate such fires rages on. Many at the Forest Service and in the timber industry argue that forest-clearing projects similar to the Black Ram are the answer. But it鈥檚 unclear whether these measures, which have gained popularity in the past decade, are always undertaken with the sincere goal of mitigating wildfire. Many conservationists believe that the Forest Service and the timber industry are capitalizing on the public鈥檚 fear, and that painting these projects鈥攎any of which include cutting down old growth鈥攁s restorative is merely a convenient way to justify logging.

A hefty volume could be filled with the years鈥� worth of court documents, scientific studies, and letters to the editor generated by the different sides of the Black Ram dispute. But let鈥檚 begin with the one thing everyone agreed on鈥攖hat the Forest Service has mismanaged public forests for more than a century. A hundred years of fire suppression and immense amounts of logging have left our forests vulnerable to wildfire, insect infestation, and disease, all of which are compounded by a changing climate.

There鈥檚 good research鈥攁nd people鈥攐n both sides of the Black Ram debate. The more important question is, who and what are we protecting these forests for?

The post In Montana, a Threatened Swath of Old Growth Fuels a Longstanding Debate appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

At the end of August I get the call. 鈥淭he apricots are ready,鈥� my mom says excitedly. I grab a few buckets, jump in my car, and drive the 100 or so miles from my home in Dillon, Colorado, to her place in Carbondale. We pile into her Subaru and wind a bit higher into the slopes above the Roaring Fork Valley. We wave as we pass our friends鈥� house, then park below their orchard, a century-old stand of apricot trees that sits at 6,500 feet.

The 50 trees here are old, and time has gnarled their branches. A weathered wooden ladder reaches into the canopy; the perfumed air reminds us of the jam making and baking that will (happily) occupy our time in the week ahead.

These days, grocery stores sell firm apricots the size of golf balls, but the soft, ripe fruit in these trees are the diameter of a quarter. It takes a while to fill a bucket, but the intense flavors are worth it. Other scavengers are around鈥攂irds, deer, even bears鈥攁nd we give them plenty of space.

This orchard, which contains several apricot varieties, is believed to date back to 1915, and being here makes me think about the people who planted it, and what the trees have endured. Surely, there have been periods of extended drought and extreme cold, and yet, year after year, they continue to bring forth treasures.

鈥淔ruit trees watch several generations go by,鈥� says Michael Thompson, who, along with Jerome Osentowski, cofounded an organization called the , a nonprofit that maps and catalogs ancient specimens like these all over the valley.

Great old trees are not unique to Colorado or the West, of course. They dot the nation, languishing in plain sight in forgotten corners of cities and towns, and across rolling farmland. But in recent years鈥攕purred by a renewed interest in things with rich stories and heritage behind them鈥攖here鈥檚 been a movement not just to save old trees but to propagate them for the future.

In New York City, Sam Van Aken, an artist turned farmer, planted a permanent heirloom 鈥渆xhibition鈥� on Governors Island called . The public site opened in 2022; the 102 specimens it comprises are grafted from trees鈥攁pricots, apples, pears, persimmons, cherries, and others鈥攖hat once thrived across the city鈥檚 five boroughs. In total, they represent about 400 years of local agriculture.

Although most Americans get by with the fruit they find piled in grocery bins, that represents only the tiniest slice of what once freely bloomed. Take the apple. Our commercial, homogenized food system promotes varieties like the crisp but boring Fuji and Granny Smith because they are easily grown, universally accepted, and hardy enough to transport and store.

鈥淭here were once thousands of cultivated apple varieties, and now we鈥檙e down to hundreds,鈥� says Vanessa Harmony, a tree propagator and the owner of Colorado Edible Forest in Glenwood Springs, which works in tandem with the Heritage Fruit Tree Project. 鈥淭here are so many delicious fruits that could be lost if they鈥檙e not found,鈥� she says.

That鈥檚 the role of organizations like ; Washington State University鈥檚 MyFruitTree, which works only with apples; and regional entities like Thompson鈥檚 Heritage Fruit Tree Project. Indexing each heirloom鈥檚 type, location, approximate age, fruit characteristics, and site history culminates in a written log and map of agricultural diversity. This information helps when experts are grafting clones to ensure that varieties aren鈥檛 lost to time.

Like Open Orchard in New York, Harmony, Thompson, and Osentowski have had a hand in creating a research site filled with fruit trees. The parcel, established in 2020, sits within an old orchard in Emma, Colorado, outside Basalt. It鈥檚 open to the public and will eventually feature informational placards, so visitors know what they鈥檙e looking at. Harmony helps maintain the old trees and the newly planted clones gathered from around the valley. 鈥淚t鈥檚 become a living library for me,鈥� she says.

Observing the trees through the seasons means Harmony can identify desired qualities鈥攚hether it鈥檚 the best-tasting fruit, tree hardiness, or something else. She can also send leaf samples out for genetic testing to determine exactly what kind of tree she鈥檚 dealing with. Sometimes that information yields an entirely new variety鈥攐r, rather, one so old that no one around today knew about it.

Thompson enlisted Harmony鈥檚 help with his favorite: a grand old apple tree he affectionately calls Mo. It was planted in 1910 and produces what Thompson considers the best apple he鈥檚 ever found for pie making. In recent years, this magnificent tree has suffered from blight, and even with thoughtful pruning its future is in question. Harmony has already grafted multiple clones from healthy parts of the tree. Those 鈥淢ini Mos鈥濃�攖wo of which are planted in Thompson鈥檚 daughter鈥檚 backyard in Oregon, and two of which are doing well at Harmony鈥檚 nursery鈥攁re the next generation. 鈥淭he tree will live on,鈥� he says.

As for the apricots that leave my mom鈥檚 and my hands sticky with juice, our friends have largely let nature take its course. In the thirtyish years they have owned the property, Susy Ellison says they鈥檝e had the orchard pruned only a couple of times. The trees, she tells me, seem to like being left alone. 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 want to fuss with them too much,鈥� she explains, adding that they鈥檝e been cataloged by the Heritage Fruit Tree Project.

We gather our buckets and load them into the car. As soon as we close the doors, we鈥檙e enveloped by the thick and heady scent of apricots. We wave again as we pass the house and drive straight to my mom鈥檚. There鈥檚 jam to be made.

Fruit Forward: Interest in Heritage Fruit Has Blossomed

Although the Heritage Fruit Tree Project is specific to Colorado鈥檚 Roaring Fork Valley, there are other organizations doing similar work around the country.

The biggest among these is the Historic Fruit Tree Working Group of North America. The organization serves as a national database and registry of historic trees and orchards.

Anyone interested in heirloom fruit, especially apples, should sign up for the University of Idaho Heritage Orchard Conference. The free monthly webinars are packed with info on subjects ranging from cider making to tree propagation.

New Yorkers (and those just visiting) can check out Open Orchard on Governors Island, where approximately 100 trees represent the bounty that once grew in the city鈥檚 five boroughs.

The and the are based in southwestern and western Colorado, respectively, and focus almost exclusively on apples. Both are intent on saving orchard culture as well as legacy genetics.

Apricot Snack Bars

There are a million and one jam-bar recipes out there, and this is mine鈥攅xcept that I use fresh fruit instead of preserves. The recipe works equally well with fresh and frozen apricots; you can also swap in seasonal berries or peaches and plums. What makes the treats so irresistible is the sweet-tart play of crust and fruit.

Makes about 12 bars

For the Filling:

• 3 cups apricots, halved or
  quartered, depending on size
• 录 cup sugar
• 陆 lemon, juiced
• 2 tsp cornstarch

For the Crust:

• 1陆 cups flour
• 陆 cup old-fashioned oats
• 陆 cup sugar
• 陆 tsp baking powder
• 陆 tsp salt
• 陆 cup unsalted butter, chilled
• 鈪� cup full-fat plain yogurt

Prepare the filling by combining apricots, sugar, and lemon juice in a medium bowl. Set aside and allow to macerate at room temperature. (This step can be done in advance.) If fruit is frozen, allow it to thaw before macerating.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Butter an eight-inch square baking pan.

Prepare the crust by stirring together flour, oats, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Cube butter and add to flour mixture. Use your fingers to smear and incorporate the butter into the flour mixture. Add yogurt and stir. The mixture should be dry.

Add about 1陆 cups of this crust mixture to the prepared pan, or enough to cover the bottom evenly. Press mixture down with fingers or use the base of a measuring cup until firm. Press a square of parchment paper onto the surface of the crust and then add pie weights (you can also use dried beans or rice). Par-bake for 12 minutes, until set but still soft. Carefully remove parchment and weights.

Stir cornstarch into the apricots. Pour apricot mixture over crust. Sprinkle with remaining crust mixture. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes, or until top is golden brown and fruit is bubbling. Remove from the oven, allow to cool, then cut into squares.

Amanda M. Faison, a writer and editor based in Colorado, is working on her first cookbook.

The post If You鈥檙e Not Picking Heritage Fruit, You Should Be appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.