So much more than a coffee mug

This coffee mug is one of the best purchases I've ever made. So much so that after I lost my first one, I made a special trip to Gardenswartz for a new one when I went back to Colorado over winter break.

What's so special about it? you ask. Good question. See, this isn't a coffee mug. It is so much more than a coffee mug. It is a French press WITHIN a coffee mug. 

Being the coffee shop fly that I am, it has saved me a considerable amount of money since I moved to New York. I make my own coffee at home. I take it to school and make it there. I take it to coffee shops and ask for hot water.

From the website:

Big Sky Bistro - The original coffee travel mug from Porter Products. This classic mug boasts a timeless design. The unique plunger offers you excellent coffee and/or tea anytime and anywhere. Especially compatible with outdoor activities such as camping, back-packing, boating and sporting events. Great for the road, the trail, travel, the boat, the office ... anywhere you want a great cup of coffee or tea!
 -Compact and lightweight at only 7.1 ounces
 -Insulated to keep coffee and tea hot longer
 -Fast to use; takes only four minutes
 -Drink directly from the bistro or pour into another cup
 -Makes 16 ounces of perfectly brewed coffee or tea

A number of people have asked me where to get one. I haven't found them for sale anywhere in New York, but you can order your own here.

I might even crack the window open tonight

It has been absolutely freezing in my apartment lately. The heater is broken and my wimpy quilt just hasn't been up to the task at night. I started wearing layers and more layers to bed, and when that didn't cut it, I brought in the big guns.

That's a -20 degree bag. It kept me warm on many a frigid night in the desert last winter. It smells like campfire and unspeakable grody-ness, which is making me nostalgic. (After 100+ field days, it might be due for a wash.)

Didn't expect to need it here, but let this be a lesson to all of us. New York is a wilderness full of drafty buildings and unresponsive landlords. BE PREPARED.

Bringing the mountain to Mohammed

What's a girl to do when, after basically living in the wilderness for a year, she moves to Brooklyn where there isn't a mountain or a desert in sight? How does she keep from going all "Requiem for a Dream" from tree withdrawal, digging through the pavement with her fingernails and forlornly howling at the light pollution-obscured moon?

A) She sets up a shelter in Central Park and learns Jiu-Jitsu to help her fend off the crazies. 

B) She flies back to Colorado every weekend, because she's filthy rich like that.

C) She busts bowdrill fires on the sidewalk for loose change.

D) She crunch-i-fies her room.

If you guessed D, congratulations! You win some granola and a 30-pack of PBR!

It's not finished yet - I still have to fill in those purplish areas, add some shading, tweak a few things. I might even get super fancy and attempt a tromp' loeil kinda thing where it looks like there's a hole in the wall opening onto the scene. (But let's not get ahead of ourselves here, Emily.)

That's not the only thing I've done to make my room feel like a little oasis in a concrete jungle. Note the earth-toned wall paint. That's important.

A few potted plants (low-light plants, because my window is almost entirely bricked over by another building) go a long way. And check out my prayer flags.

Gotta have prayer flags. They remind me of my beloved Eastern religion-obsessed hippie friends. And I found them at a really sweet Tibetan store on St. Mark's Place in the East Village. I have a feeling it's going to be my new go-to store, since the Animas Trading Company in Durango is now about 2,000 miles away.

Then there's the obligatory incense/candle collection. (Note that the picture of aforementioned Eastern religion-obsessed hippie friends is strategically located next to the Nag Champa.)

Then there's the token guitar that I can't play very well. That's key. I might pick it up every once in awhile and pluck out a few Dispatch or Ben Harper tunes, but mostly it sits there looking impressive for anyone who happens to visit my room.

Finally, there's my prAna yoga mat.

I'm no yoga master, but I did whip a bunch of unruly sixteen-year-old boys into sun-salutationing shape last year, so I feel that I can say with some credibility that prAna has some excellent products. This mat was a little on the pricey side, but it's super sweet and I got a pro deal with them when I worked for Open Sky. So, neener neener.

And finally, for an extra little dose of the wild, my roommate's fat cat can occasionally be spotted stalking through the room. Don't be fooled by her unthreatening appearance - she's dangerous, all right. In fact, she once peed on my bed! Talk about taking a walk on the wild side!

I hope you enjoyed your little tour of my crunch-tastic abode. Namaste.

Lizard Feet

Gear post!

The topic of the day: Vibram Five Fingers.

There was an excellent article about these babies in the New York Times on Saturday. I've had a pair for a couple of months now, and I adore them.

I wore them as my camp shoes when I was a field guide and found them to be perfect, not as unwieldy or heavy as Chacos or Tevas, but tough enough to protect against sharp rocks and thorns. I wore them rafting, for which they proved ideal - they stick and provide traction even when wet. I have friends who've worn them climbing, and though they're not quite as effective as climbing shoes, I'm told they work well enough as long as you're not trying anything too crazy. I even hiked in them; interestingly, I came to prefer them to hiking boots because I tend to roll my ankles a lot and I'm convinced they helped me avoid that. With hiking boots, if you step on something wrong, there's only one fulcrum point: your ankle. Wearing the Five Fingers, I was far more aware of what I was stepping on to begin with, and then my whole foot was capable or curving and wrapping around whatever wobbly rock or loose log I was stepping on. Very prehensile.

Finally, I've been wearing them running. The New York Times piece I linked to gives a pretty clear picture of the barefoot running vs. cushioned running debate. As the article allowed, most people have different needs when it comes to running, so what works for me may not work for everyone. That said, I'm surprised and delighted by how well they've worked for me. The first couple of times I ran in them, they made my calf muscles extremely sore because of the way they force you to run on the balls of your feet. That wore off after a few outings, leaving only a beautiful sensation of extreme lightness and the sense that this is how I was meant to run: unencumbered and agile. They've actually made me more excited to run.

A side benefit is the reactions you get when you wear them - reactions from New Yorkers, no less. These are the people who are supposed to have seen it all, the people who are fazed by nothing. A lot of incredulous stares, sure. A few disgusted comments: "Dude, they make you look like a lizard!" I mean, they are undeniably freaky-looking things.

But mostly, I've found that they are a fantastic conversation starter, the ice breaker of all ice breakers. I've made more random five-minute friends in the short time that I've been a Five Finger owner than the previous 23 years combined. Everyone who catches sight of them is gobsmacked. They feel compelled to say something and find out why the hell you're wearing rubbery toe socks on the subway. When I wore them to Trader Joe's on 14th St. (a crunchy Manhattan hotbed if there ever was one), I thought they were going to make me their queen.

A bonus: if you walk through a field, flowers get stuck between your toes.

It looks like Five Fingers can be found in at least eight locations throughout New York. You can check the store locator here.

The Friendliest Place on Earth

Hello. I'm Emily. I recently arrived in New York City after spending the last couple of years happily exploring the wilds of the great American West. I worked a series of odd jobs, many of them seasonal in nature: forestry researcher, ski lodge dining room server, brewpub jack-of-all-trades, freelance writer, wilderness field guide. Not only did the mountain air and the smell of sage work their way deep into my heart, I fell madly in love with the culture I will hereafter call "crunchy."

You know. It's not precisely "hippie," but it's definitely granola. "Dirtbag," when spoken with a great amount of affection and pride, is also an acceptable term. We can often be found working in fields relating to wilderness, education, holistic health, music, or psychology. Many of us have a bad case of a travel bug that is more likely to take you backpacking in South America or Southeast Asia than wining and dining in Paris... though we aren't above enjoying the finer things in life. At the risk of further pigeonholing this lovely bunch of people, I will add that if you attend an ultimate frisbee pickup game, odds are that you'll run into a few of us.

I've come straight from Durango, Colorado, a sort of dirtbag heaven on earth. Located in the Four Corners at the exact point where mountains meet desert, there is ridiculous climbing, dirt biking, skiing, and kayaking in the area, much of it actually within the city limits. Many of my friends live out of their trucks year-round because when they aren't field guiding, they're off on a road trip to Utah canyon country or backcountry snowboarding in Wyoming. Plenty of my old coworkers at the brewpub moonlight as rafting guides on the Animas River and have been known to wax rhapsodic about the trip to "Gnar-nia" their new tele skis took them on. The big expenses in our small budgets tend to revolve around gear and music festivals. So leaving that for the bright lights of New York has been interesting, to say the least. You know that part in Crocodile Dundee when Mick arrives in Manhattan in his outback finest? And looks spectacularly uncomfortable and out of place?

Well, it's actually not like that at all. I'm from Massachusetts originally, have spent a fair amount of time in cities, and am incredibly stoked to be here. I am, however, experiencing a few pangs of nostalgia for the stars, which I won't be seeing for awhile. I miss showing up to work in torn Carhartts and Chacos. And there's a lot I'd do to breathe in the scent of a ponderosa pine. Mostly, I miss the people and the lifestyle.

In this blog, I'll write about all the outdoorsy, adventurous things I can find to do in this urban wilderness. I'll talk gear a bit for all you gearheads out there, and if I see or hear about a sweet band playing in the area, you'll definitely know about it. Any tips about inexpensive and/or awesome outdoor getaways and activities would be great. This is New York, and it has a little of everything. I know that there's a little crunch to this Big Apple, and I intend to find it.

"That's incredible. Imagine seven million people all wanting to live together. Yeah, New York must be the friendliest place on earth." 
~Michael J. "Crocodile" Dundee