traveling tea leaves.

In the spirit of powering down, refreshing the spirit and the senses, and finding a little breathing room to explore the wide world, things will be a little quiet in this space until we're back home in Brooklyn next week. Then, no doubt, I'll regale you with recaps from our trip. Lessons learned. Hikes hiked. Nights endured.

For now, here are a few posts to keep you sufficiently well-read in case you missed them:

Family Camping Trip: Planning
Growing a Minimalist Wardrobe: Camp Edition
Baby Proof: Road Tripping
Natural Beauty: Camp Essentials

PS. We're Instagramming our adventure and posting when we can. You can follow along at #travelingtealeaves if the spirit moves you.

natural beauty: camp essentials.

It goes without saying, when it comes to beauty basics and camping the emphasis is on the natural. As in au natural. As in, nada. As in, just the fresh air and morning dew for toner. The salt spray as hair product. The scent of pine needles crunching underfoot for perfume. Does a body good. When faced with a new morning and smell of fresh air upon just waking, it's hard not to just feel kind of grateful for the skin wrapped around your muscles and your bones.

Still, we're not planning to rough it completely. There's a coin-op shower down the road from our campsite, and we'll be spending a few nights at an inn (thank the heavens), so we won't return to Brooklyn smelling too funky. I'm bringing along a few things to keep us feeling fresh and ready to face the day, even though there will still surely be a thicker-than-usual ring of dirt around Faye's neck.

I've got a square of bar soap tucked into some beeswrap for safe-keeping. And I filled a pair of travel containers with shampoo and conditioner—portions squeezed out of the larger bottles of both that we've been using lately. (We found an old bottle of the down and dirty camp classic, Campsuds, in our camping gear, so we packed that up to help wash dishes.)

For camp scrub-downs, I'm packing a set of hemp washcloths (they're meant to be cocktail napkins, but we got more mileage out of them as washcloths and (bonus!) they're great at exfoliating)!

My mom left us with a set of borrowed camp towels that fold up to nothing and dry quickly (even if the fabric admittedly makes my skin crawl just a little bit.)

We'll bring our trusty deodorant, toothpaste, and what's left of the sunscreen we have to share. I'll be tucking a tiny bottle of toner in my bag to feel refreshed even without other creature comforts, along with a tiny mascara, just in case. Okay fine, and a razor. I'm not going completely cave woman.

For Faye's, ahem, beauty routine, we were recently given this sudsy bottom cleaner to try—just coconut oil, castile soap, and water—and I'm packing that to help with camp wipe-downs when water is limited. We'll also plan on bringing an extra pack of disposable baby wipes and a set of disposable diapers to use during our twelve days away. (Cloth diapering in the woods will have to be a challenge I accept on another day.)

More camp packing notes, HERE.

baby proof: road tripping.

The obvious is that city-babe Faye isn't super used to travel by car. We don't own a car, and we don't even own our own car seat—though since Cait and family made the move west, we've taken out a longterm loan on the seat they used for O.

Suffice to say, experts we're not. But that's not stopping us from embarking on an 8+ hour trip with a 14-month-old.  Indeed, at the time of publishing, we're actually already en route. That's right. Right this very minute we're likely already onto singing rounds of Row, Row, Row Your Boat.

In a shocking twist, in planning for this roadtrip, I wanted to make sure that we didn't lug an entire playroom's worth of toys along with us. Not that we have a playroom, but you catch my drift. Ultimately I decided to pack a few trusty toys that we know usually engage Faye for a good minute or two and to add a few newbies for the novelty factor. I'm packing everything into a small tote that I'm hopeful will help keep us at least a little organized.

Here's what we filled it with:

Toys

• Noise-maker: We packed Faye's extremely quiet and not at all headache-producing jingle bell rattler because it usually is good for some enthusiastic music making. Headaches aside, if you ask me, jingle bells are still superior to screams.
• Sensory bag: Faye's still maybe a little young for sensory bags in the traditional sense, but I riffed on the idea and filled a little pouch with treats for Faye to explore. Some of them are old standbys and others are brand new and hopefully exciting to tiny hands. I included her egg rattle, her hairbrush, a tiny pouch with two wooden dolls, a wooden bird call, a square of cloth and clothespins with colorful ribbons for her to play with, a paper tube for using as a periscope, dropping things into, and generally horsing around with, and sheet of ribbed paper which she'll probably quickly devour but which I'm hopeful she'll delight in for at least a mile or two.
  
• Felt balls: I strung a bunch of brighly colored wool pompoms on a bit of embroidery thread for Faye to play with. She's still in a rear-facing car seat, so I hopeful they'll be something fun to play with strung from the headrest.
• Magnetic blocks: When we stopped into the Patagonia store before our trip, they had a huge set of magnetic wooden blocks that Faye loved. I stopped into our local toy shop and bought a tiny set as a special treat. 

Books
We read several books before bed each night so in trying to keep at least a semblance of normalcy, I packed a few favorites. We also stopped at the library for a few new ones. I don't plan on sitting in the backseat during the ride, but if the going get's tough here's hoping a few new books might do the trick.

Music
The rental car that Silvercar was kind enough to hook us up with for this trip comes equipped with wi-fi and satellite radio so we're going to take advantage of some serious Pandora streaming. No doubt there will be much singing. Wheels on the Bus, take 45.

Snacks
I'm hoping we can pass at least some time with festive food options. We're prepared with snacks of blueberries, cucumber sticks, and halved grapes to sink a ship. (As a sidenote: I also packed Faye's tiny knife, spoon, cup, and bowl, for this trip. They've been giving us all kinds of mileage lately while I make dinner and I'm hopeful she'll be as interested in using them on the road.)

Any tips for us? There's always the return trip, so don't hold back!

my week in objects (mostly).

five little things that made my week:

1. this tiny kettle.

{just right for camping and everyday.}

2. these pom-poms.

{because they were just what i was looking for.}

3. this tiny tote.

{because i need another canvas tote like i need a you-know-what, but this one was smaller than usual and just right for a junebug.}

4. these photobooth photos.

{because of all of the people in them.}

5. this tiny headlamp.

{for not being lost, afterall.}

other things:
pinhole cameras via kelly.
there's a packing list to admire.
digital nomads.
oh my gosh: #findthegirlsonthenegatives
107°!!!
ordering food in other languages.
indigo beach dreams.
soap nuts!
'maters (+ fried cheese).
test-kitchen approved camp gear.
illuminating endangered species.

PS. August's newsletter will be wending its way to you on Sunday. I think I've finally really found my groove with this one. Sign up HERE if you haven't already.

baby proof: teething.

War and Teeth.

Love in the Time of Teething.

A Tale of Two Teeth.

That a novel based solely on the tumult of teething hasn't made into our literary canon can only mean that the great writers didn't spend nearly enough time with teething humans. Surely even a novella would offer comfort to bleary eyed parents. Reading the dramatic arc of someone else's struggle to soothe a puffy gummed human would assuage doubts of one's own parental failings and offer reassurance that one's sweet baby did not indeed become irrevocably possessed in the middle of the night. Or, if there was no questioning that that did indeed happen, that the parent would at least not feel alone in the struggle.

Last night the waking hours began with a long mournful cry that surely woke the neighbors in the highrise across the street to say nothing of the neighbors directly below us. It wasn't the usual sort of cry, pitiful and whimpering. It was a howl. A head-thrown-back wail turned into a croaky yawp. Faye's tiny fists gripped the crib rails and her shock of sweaty hair was knotted into an unruly pompadour above her face, clearly beet red even without the light turned on to confirm.

That we're currently enduring a New York City heatwave wasn't helping matters. In the semi-darkness that's a city living room with only sheer curtains, I walked our girl to the freezer where I commenced to partake in the most necessary and least environmentally trick in the book. I opened the freezer drawer and literally stuck her inside, balancing her enormous cloth-diapered bottom on the fridge door.

She clung to my neck and cracked a smile when she spotted the bag of frozen blueberries on the fridge door. She began to oooh in spite of herself. And so despite the hour, which was wee, we sat on the apartment floor together and ate frozen berries. I mama-birded tiny bites of frozen strawberries and wiped her back and my own neck with a cool cloth.

When Faye'd had enough of the berries, we returned to the freezer and wrestled a frozen blue fish teether from underneath the ice trays. The teether is a recent aquisition—along with fancy mayonnaise and sour cherry compote—gained from my sister Cait emptying her fridge before her move cross-country. It worked wonders last night though on other nights we've had similar luck with frozen cloths for sucking and chilled rubber spatulas. We've tried homeopathic tablets which seem to do more to make us feel proactive than anything else, but I'll take it. I haven't yet embraced my full hippie parentdom and gone for the amber necklace, but I haven't ruled it out either.


Mostly, I've found that taking a minute to go all in helps the most. On nights when a tooth is working its way up through those tender gums, I've found that embracing the fact that it won't be business as usual helps me about a million times more than trying to pretend otherwise. Frozen strawberries on the middle of the floor in the middle of the night? You betcha. As my Dad would say, "We do what we do."

And as far as the next great teething novel? Here's my vote for Zen and the Art of Teething in a Heatwave.

Just this week, Courtney posed the same question on Instagram, and there's some good advice there, but if you have teething tricks or tips up your sleeves, in the name of love and wisdom, let us know in the comments.

More posts about baby stuff, HERE.

growing a minimalist wardrobe: camp edition.

Camp clothes aren't really a separate category in my personal wardrobe. Mostly because I don't spend the majority of my time at camp. When it's time to head to the woods, I pull a little bit from everywhere. An everyday t-shirt or two makes its way into the bag. A few things that might be otherwise described as activewear come along too. A few cozy essentials that might best fall under the category of loungewear. A super simple dress or two in case we decide to reenter civilization.

If ever there was a time to embrace the concept of a minimalist wardrobe, a week or so in the woods is probably it. Even when you're car camping, and have a little bit of extra room in the trunk, it's nice to have a super simple wardrobe that means your bag won't get too unruly after a week or two on the road. Since we'll have a rental car with us, we're packing two duffle bags that we can unzip easily and rifle through without too much mess-making.

Mostly, I try to keep the things in my camp bag limited to what's comfortable, cozy, and convenient. Arguably good rules of thumb for everyday. For a week or two in the woods, especially, its nice to have clothes that pull their weight and do a little bit of extra work for you. I took advantage of Patagonia's summer sale to snag two hard-working tank tops that I've had my eye one. When you're only packing two tank tops, making them ones that come with built-in bras and moisture-wicking fabrics helps keep the number low. If they get stinky or sweaty, I can give them a quick wash with camp soap and hang them to dry over night. Likewise, I've decided to bring along just one pair of quick-drying shorts that I can wash in the evening and hang to dry overnight if need be. For cool Maine mornings and evenings, I've got leggings and warm pairs of woolly socks ready to go. My trustiest fleece sweaters made the cut, too. I've had both of them for years and years and they're honestly as good as new and as warm and versatile as ever.

We won't be going on any truly intense hikes during this trip, but we definitely plan to be out and about and generally getting a little dirty. The perfect excuse to rely on the old-school comfort of a new pair of sandals that can get wet, take for a hike up dusty trail without too much trouble, and that look dy-no-mite paired with socks. #camplife. My last pair of camp sandals finally bit the dust years ago, and James lost the sole on his last pair during a hike along the Oregon coast, so we both decided this trip merited replacement pairs. Don't worry: I got silver and he got black, so we're not exactly matching.

For the curious, here's what's going into my bag (specifics where possible!):

+ 2 pairs of shorts (these + cutoffs).
+ 2 breathable tank tops w/ built-in bras (this + this).
+ 3 t-shirts (these).
+ 1 pair of leggings (similar).
+ 2 fleece sweaters (this + this plus a few years).
+ 1 button-up (this)
+ 1 pair of jeans (similar)
+ 2 simple dresses (this + this).
+ 15 pairs of underwear (of all (solids and) stripes).
+ 2 bras (this + one sports bra).
+ 2 pairs of camp socks (similar).
+ 1 pair of sandals (these).
+ 1 bandana (this).
+ 1 beanie (older than the hills).
+ 1 pair of jams (this + this).
+ 1 bathing suit.

Otherwise, winging it! What are your camping wardobe must-haves?

For more minimalist wardrobe posts, head HERE.

family camping trip: planning.

We've finally settled on a destination. Maine. It's not a place we've never been, but it is a place that we like to return to, and besides, everything's new with a Junebug along for the ride.

We've got a rental car squared away. A campsite booked. Hidden swimming holes and scenic overlooks to find. And a few nights left unplanned just to keep things interesting. We figure that as long as we've got the gear in place, we can handle a few last-minute arrangements.

Viewed one way, camping is the ultimate in minimalist vacations. Just you, the woods, and a few small things for maintaining safety and sanity in the wild. A trip into the woods means living with only the essentials. Nothing too fancy and nothing superfluous. Just a thin piece of waterproof fabric between you and the star-filled sky. A tiny camp stove, a skillet, and a bit of ingenuity will get you dinner. A cooler can stand in for a fridge.

But the rub comes with the fact that most of the time we don't live in the woods. We live in an apartment. And though our needs are few, we have things like a refrigerator and a bed and stove to use on a daily basis. When you live out of the woods most of the time, a camping vacation can paradoxically feel like an exercise in needing more than usual, not less. Suddenly the very things that allow you to live with only the essentials for a week or two can make you feel like living with extras the rest of the time.

It can feel like maybe camping vacations are better for people with things like garages and sheds and ...closets. Places where a few boxes of supplies can take up a relatively small amount of space for much of the year and provide whole weeks of enjoyment once the weather warms and the itch for a change of scenery grows too powerful to ignore.

But the truth is that we've managed to keep a modest collection of camping supplies even in our tiniest apartment. A tiny tent, sleeping bags shoved into small spaces, and a small collection of essentials designed to be carried on our backs has meant that we haven't gotten too overwhelmed by camping gear and that we've been able to take a few pared down trips in the meantime. Still, we began to wonder if camping with a child would mean needing to be a bit more prepared.

The planning began in earnest last week with a spreadsheet. And three columns: Have, Buy, Borrow.

James sent me an invitation to edit the spreadsheet. Normally this is the kind of thing that makes my heart swell. Opposites attract, sure, but sometimes it's nice to have a husband cut from the same cloth.

But when I opened the spreadsheet, the columns that James created glared back at me. No: the rows. There were a lot of them. From plates and cups to coolers and tents and ground coverings. It looked like a lot of stuff. But at the same time that I felt like our packing list might have gotten a little out of hand, it was easy to think about camping with a baby and wonder if our tiny tent actually was too tiny. If our diminutive cooler was impractical, our backpacking camp stove inadequate.

It's easy to get carried away, and really easy to start feeling like nice to have is the same as necessary to have. Looking over the list, it looked like we were going to have swap our rental car for a minivan just to fit all of the stuff.

But we reassessed. We got our tiny cooler down from the top of the closet and decided we could probably swing it. We set up the tent we've used for two and decided it would work for three. We decided our decade-old sleeping bags are still hanging in there just fine. And what's a stroller muff if not a sleeping bag? We've gotten a few new things that will make the trip just a little more pleasant, but other things we've decided to just wing it without. Sure, it'd be awesome to have a rubber tub to bathe our bub, but it's also possible to shower her monkey-style in the campground bathroom. Larger cooler? Amazing. Trying to store it after we get back? Not so much.

Our trip will likely be a little scrappy. We'll make a few meals over the campfire, but we'll also be gentle with ourselves and rely on a few dinners out. Peanut butter and jelly and a loaf of bread will mean that no one will go hungry, regardless of available dining options. Anyway, this isn't a post about having all the answers. It's about not having all the answers but going for it anyway. I'll report back, fear not.

Here's to adventure.

For the curious:
A similar tent.
Our tiny stove.
Similar sleeping bags.
Similar air mattresses.
Our camping kettle.