Effing Hippie

So, this has come up, now and again, and I wish to address it and clear the air.

I’m a fucking hippie.

I hug trees. I love the Bottle Bill, and faithfully recycle my cans and bottles. I also teach my children to do the same.

I buy from local farmers, organic whenever possible. Because I believe it’s important to keep the land around my rural Oregon home the way it’s been for a long time – berry fields, nurseries, and orchards.

I go for long soaks at Common Grounds, and I am planning my next retreat at Breitenbush Hot Springs.

I shop at New Seasons whenever I can, because I want to support a local business who is doing good things in my community. And I’m thrilled about their honeybees on the roof.

I hike the Gorge. And I pick up other people’s trash when I go. Because the Gorge is amazing and people who litter piss me off.

I grow my own veggies and fruits, to teach my children about where food comes from. And because they taste amazing. And I can and freeze the results, because nothing beats opening a jar of summer produce on a rainy January day.

I shop at thrift store so I’m reusing people’s castoffs, and because I can’t afford to by clothes new, most of the time.

I teach my children to recycle their yogurt cups and water bottles, so they know that they are responsible for caring for the world, too.

I work with the Portland Fruit Tree Project to harvest people’s unwanted fruit, and I love that I am helping the Oregon Food Bank when I do so.

I fucking love yoga, and I’m looking at starting Hula dance lessons this summer.

I may or may not be considering yarn bombing the local park.

Have I mentioned I’m poly?

So, you see the label on the box? The one that says “fucking hippie”? Truth in advertising, baby. Truth in advertising.

Here I am, not quite hugging a tree. At Hug Point, on the Oregon Coast. I may also have been wearing Birkenstocks when this picture was taken.

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