I've made almost enough trips down to the basement to know where most of the food is now. We have a fairly ingenious storage system given our restricted utilities capacity, making due with a couple freezers that run at night, a few propane-fueled fridges, and a half-dozen coolers fortified with ice packs. There is enough electricity to run the KitchenAid mixer, though fucking up your chocolate frosting takes a noticeable toll on the battery bank. Most often the stereo plays at a moderate volume, but once guests depart after breakfast, it's fun to crank up Dead Kennedys to finish washing dishes.
It's hard to say if the lake is really slightly warmer or we're building up our cold-water tolerance. The level is rising as more mountain snow melts. I performed my "wet exit" -- turning over and escaping from a kayak -- and can now paddle off on my own (with a radio, don't worry, mom). Which will be a nice break in my routine of reading in my tent before dinner shifts start.
This weekend is a combination of group travel and accomplishing tasks that in civilization take five minutes but are woefully futile in the backcountry. Electronically signing a PDF, getting blood drawn, obtaining camp stove fuel, drinking espresso, downloading episodes of a bizarrely entertaining food-obsessed anime series... Nine of us crammed into an AirBnB condo to accomplish these and other mundane necessities. But tomorrow we'll redeem things by hiking to a glacier, and I'll return to the sylvan retreat where I strive to make perfect little lemon tarts and crisp-skinned duck breast.
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