That Time I Got Doxed and Harassed By The “Feminist” Breeder

If you’ve been hanging around feminist circles on the web or if you read GOMI, you have undoubtedly heard of the (in)famous Feminist Breeder. She is a hot hot mess all over the interwebs.

She live streamed her home water birthshe got sued by another blogger for abusing DMCA laws, she’s tangled on twitter with actual real working feminist academics, she’s attempted to shame the fat acceptance community, while proclaiming herself a public health scholar, she’s insulted the autistic community and she’s publicly proclaimed grad school to be harder than cancer.

And she will not apologize for her mental illness.

She is pretty much, the worst/best train wreck the web has to offer. If you’ve been unlucky enough to stumble upon her lunacy, its all but impossible to look away.

She runs a subscription only blog, behind a paywall, which up until this weekend, I was a paid member subscriber. I also happened to frequent a Facebook page called Banned By the Feminist Breeder. She is notorious for banning anyone who disagrees with her. She is rather prone to polarizing issues, so she uses her self proclaimed “ban hammer” pretty often and this page has a bit of a following on Facebook.

She bans pretty much everyone who doesn’t agree with her.

Anyway, this weekend she asked her paying blog subscribers to link their Facebook profiles, to their membership profiles on her site. In her words, to smoke out “stalker trolls.”

I think she meant people like me. People who pay her membership fee but, still find occasion to snark.

I do not consider myself a troll, at all. I’ve certainly never stalked this woman. I mean there’s no need to stalk, she literally posts every single thing that has ever happened to her, on her hot ass mess of a  Facebook Page.

I will cop to hate reading her dumb ass blog. Over the years I’ve been following her online presence, its been entertaining, like train wreck. I’ve seen her go on and off of psych meds at least twice, I’ve seen a couple of nervous breakdowns, lawsuits, twitter beefs, once she even called herself a strong black woman with red hair and white skin and then attempted to convince black twitter that she was actually not a total racist.

I will admit to reading her for the shit show that she is.

She’s Dooce crazy, like before Dooce got all super boring and shit.

Anyway, since she like insisted that I verify my identify, for the privilege of paying 3.99 a month to read her mindless drivel, I canceled my reoccurring payment through PayPal. My payment came out automatically on May 15. I canceled on May 29, I think. Well, for some reason, I guess, maybe because I’m a troll, my access to my subscription was revoked as soon as I canceled, a whole two weeks before the period for which I’d paid ended.

OK. Fine. Whatever.

I didn’t really care all that much, but money is money, so I opened a claim with PayPal for a prorated refund, to which I am pretty sure I’m entitled.

Can you imagine what happened next?

Little Miss I’m-withdrawing-from-my-psych-meds went ballistic. In spite of her debilitating brain zaps, from not being on her meds, she managed to track me down on twitter and start harassing me. She found an old twitter account of mine and began lambasting me.

Her first tweet? “Found you, PYSCHO.”

Feminist Pyscho

Um, awkward.

seriously awkward, because up until this point, I had never had any contact with this woman.


Yes, I subscribed to her lame ass blog. I’ll admit that. But aside from occasionally snarking her on BBTFB, and asking PayPal for a prorated refund. I NEVER. AND I mean NEVER. interacted in any way with this crazy pants.

Her rant went on and on for a while. Its still up on twitter. check it out.


Feminist Breeder Pyscho


So when she got tired of pointing her rage in my direction, she went and found my husband’s twitter account. (!)


the woman accusing me of being a “stalker troll” found me and then my husband and tweeted him!

and then she friggin emailed him. SHE EMAILED MY HUSBAND. BECAUSE I’M A STALKER. I guess that was her Feminist way of letting him know he should control his woman…?

Not sure.


She later bragged on Facebook about knowing where he worked. (um, WTF, stalker!) A couple of her super creepy fan girls, mentioned something about sending us mail, because you know, that’ll show us, and pizza. I guess implying, or threatening that they have our address.


as if this wasn’t enough…

The next thing she did was make a meme about “stalker trolls” using my personal information, my first name AND my maiden name (that she only had access to because she’s a PayPal seller.)

I’ve got a feeling there are some TOS violations, right there. I don’t know, you tell me.

Keeping it as classy, as usual, she made sure to include a picture of my kid on her little meme.


It gets creepier still because over the last couple of days I’ve noticed a huge surge in traffic to my tiny, essentially defunct blog. Apparently, The Feminist Breeder, safely behind her paywall, shared as much of my personal information as she possibly could.

This would be her blog post where she basically doxes, or shares as much of my personal info with as many strangers as possible:

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So why am I sharing all of this? I need this to be known. I need this to heard. There is this histrionic, narcissistic,  mentally unstable blogger who recently went cold turkey off her psych meds, who is spending her time stalking and fucking harassing me and my husband. And its affecting me deeply. Put yourself in my shoes.

Not Sad. Not Yet.

So today Jesse left Pittsburgh and headed to DC, for his brand new, crazy, insane, awesome 8 month touring gig with Marvel Universe Live! We said goodbye early this morning amidst the normal everyday chaos of our morning routine, that getting-out-of-the-door-and-off-to-school madness that is all too normal.

We only had time for a minute or two of quiet reflection, and then he was off. On his way to airport.

Off to have his own adventures.

I guess we’ve had some time to brace ourselves for this impending reality. I guess we’ve sort of coped in advance. The way that neurotic people cope with change. We’ve had all the conversations we can possibly have for now, about what it means to be family and be apart.

Apart for eight months.

I’m sure, in the future, I’ll feel differently, than I do now. I’m sure when I’m lonely for husband, my best friend, my only friend(!) when I’m weary of doing everything around here all by myself. When I’m heartsick that Damien doesn’t have his Daddy near, I’m sure I will feel sad, but right now I’m so excited for my husband.

And the future.

Jesse is such a super talented theater professional. If you don’t believe me just google him.

In the three short years we’ve been in Pittsburgh he’s accomplished so much. He’s never stopped putting himself out there and he’s made a name for himself. He’s just defied any expectation I’ve ever had for him. In fact, before we moved here, I had no idea Jess could even nail two boards together.

(All of our bedroom furniture is from Ikea!)

So I knew, I just knew when he was presented with this awesome opportunity, that he had to try. I pretty much knew he had to go out there and see if there was something bigger and better, something that we had never considered.

And ya, I’ve spent some time planning for the worst case scenario. I can’t help but entertain my insecurities about how I won’t be able to handle all the responsibilities of running the house on my own; Jess always does the dishes and he always takes Damien to school in the morning. He’s the only one I tell my troubles to. He’s the fun parent and he fixes things when they break.

I had to ask him to show me how the trim the hedges before he left. (I’ve been willfully ignorant about so many things around here.) I’ll have to get used to taking out the garbage and picking up the CSA and sleeping alone in our big bed.

And I’ve spent more than enough time hoping for the best, too. I’ve been day dreaming about how much fun it will be to road-trip it around the country and see the show in a bunch of different cities.

I’m excited to focus on school and Damien and not have to worry about a full work week.

But the truth is I have no idea what to expect.

Not a clue.

I’ve never been married to a guy that’s on the road for 8 months, while I’m at home trying to run the house and raise the kid and not fail out of nursing school.

And you know, it could be terrible. I’ve thought of that, too. I could end up miserable and lonely and sad, all the time.

But, I am a firm believer that reasonable expectations are the ultimate key to happiness. And right now, I have no idea what to expect.

That seems pretty reasonable, to me.

One of the things I’ve kind of arrived at, since we up and moved here to Pittsburgh, is that I have no idea how good or bad things are going to end up. And there’s no use worrying about it. There is always some possibility or some dream or some screwy situation that you can never plan for. Something you can never anticipate, even if you obsessively worry about every possibility you can imagine.

I had no clue how great things would be when we packed up and moved our lives here to Pittsburgh. None of the emotional catastrophes or tangible disasters I planned for, ever came to pass and it’s been better than I could have ever imagined.

So, I’m just excited for the future and so proud of my husband. I’m looking forward to seeing how things shape up. And right now I’m not sad.

Not yet.

But ya, go ahead and ask me how I feel this time next week.


So, I guess I’m estranged from my father. I don’t talk to him. I haven’t talked to him in a good long while. 

I’m starting to come to terms with the idea that this is actually something I’ve done on purpose, something I’ve chosen to do, over the years, versus some incidental situation that’s just kind of, happening to me.

What can I say?

It’s been a deliberate choice, even if I’m only acknowledging that now.

I grew up in a messed up and chaotic environment. I’ve mentioned it here, before. There was so much sadness, anger, and violence in my home, so much subsequent shame about it, that I ALWAYS dreamed of getting away from it.

Getting away from them, from him.

The night my father finally left my mother, the night he finally left her for good, after wreaking years of physical and emotional havoc, he threw me through our front screen door, into the street, in front of a bunch of neighbor kids.

I was in my underwear.

In my underwear.

And it was the night before my first day of high school.

Over the years, I’ve had as little contact with him as possible. It wasn’t hard, he never sought me out or actively pursued a relationship with me. Although, there where times throughout the years that we have had some contact, including a brief period right after Damien was born, that I went to stay with him, my stepmother and my 3 little half brothers, at their apartment.

My father and me.

My father and me.

Interestingly, but I guess not surprisingly, he hadn’t changed at all. Just like when I was growing up, he had nothing to do with the day to day affairs of his children. He was just as aloof and disconnected from them, as he had been from my brother and me. He didn’t work, instead he spent his days locked in his upstairs bedroom. His room, the music room, emitted the stale smell of cigarette smoke, with the occasional expletive escaping from behind the walls that usually blared public radio, all day, everyday.

This experience of living with him as an adult was pretty much the end of any notions I might have had, that I would find a place, in my life, for my damaged fucked up father. I knew after this, we would be done. While I was grateful for the literal roof over my head, that he had provided to me, (I would have surely been homeless without it) I felt completely heartsick watching so many of the same painful scenarios of my childhood played out again. 

According to the mythology of my family, my father was diagnosed with schizophrenia in the military, as a young man and he never treated it. As long as I can remember, it’s seemed pretty appropriate. He’s always been unnerving and volatile and seemingly disconnected from reality.

After that brief period of living with him, I didn’t really see him again. I’ve had the same phone number for seven years; he’s never dialed it. Occasionally, my mother would have holiday dinners and include me and my father and his second family. But I never saw him on purpose, again.

I’ve never been sad about that.

Throughout the years, when people would ask me about my father I would say, “We’re just not that close.” “We just don’t do birthdays.”


I never knew exactly how to explain, being estranged.

After we moved up here to Pittsburgh I began to realize that my estranged father was the last living link I had to my grandmother. His mother, my grandma Minnie.

My only photo of me and my amazing Grandmother Minnie.

My only photo of me and my amazing Grandmother Minnie.

My grandma Minnie was the one constant unwaveringly loving person in my young life. She doted on and spoiled me and my brother. She loved us fiercely and there was never any doubt. She offered us shelter from the storm of our crazy parents and our tumultuous home life. We spent weekend nights with her, staying up late watching wrestling and horror movies on TV. She gave us money for candy and she cooked us bacon sandwiches and fried chicken.

She was pretty much the best thing ever.

After she died, I ended up with very few things of hers. All of the jewelry I had of hers, all costume, by the way, was stolen when my apartment was burglarized.

Somehow, I ended up with only one photo.

Lately, this has started to nag at me.

My son won’t ever know her and it’s kind of heartbreaking. He only has some stories and this one photograph.

(I’m sure you can see where this is headed.)

I contacted my father, just recently, to see if he would scan some photos, so I could share them with Damien. At first, he responded kindly enough.

But, I didn’t reply soon enough, in a way he would have liked, and just as quickly as he was kind to me, he spiraled into all to familiar menacing and nonsensical threats.

He wrote me back. And part of his mostly incoherent reply, was written in all caps. It was copied and pasted over and over again, in the message as if he was screaming his unhinged response at me, again and again. It was like a time machine had transported me back to my youth, back to that night before my first day at high school or the time went he crazy about the type of bread my mother bought. 


Except this time.

I’m far away.

And I knew I been right all along.

I knew that I separated myself from him for damn good reason. I knew that it had all been on purpose, even if I’d spent all this time pretending, even to myself that, that it had been incidental.

I’m estranged from my father.

On purpose.

Because he’s a goddamn crazy person. 

Dad and me.

Dad and me.

My first instinct was to respond to him, with bitterness and cruelty.

Who did he think he was? Certainly not any kind of father.

A part of me, the wounded part of me, wanted to give him a piece of my mind.

But, I worked so hard to divorce myself from him. From his violence and his tenuous grasp on reality, from his strangle hold on my life. From his poverty. From his anger and rage. From his mental illness. 

From all of that.

I’ve worked so hard to be someone different. I am different, damn it. I’ve worked to make my own way. To work for what’s mine. To break the cycle of violence and destruction. I’m never going back there.

I wouldn’t even go back there for pictures of my grandma Minnie.

So, ya I didn’t write him back.

I literally live my life on the other side of all his shit. There is no place for that in my life, anymore.

So, now I’m up here in Pittsburgh with Damien and Jesse in our sort of sanctuary, far far away from all that crazy. I’m in this spot where the bullshit can only reach me, if I let it in.

And it ain’t getting in.

So, its OK with me that Damien only has stories about his great grandma Minnie since there aren’t any pictures.

And we are just gonna chill up here in our bubble, free of pyscho, and just talk about how great she was, whenever it comes up.

That’s enough for me. 

Because, sometimes you need to turn around and close the door.

And that door is fucking nailed shut, yo.

When Your CSA Feels Overwhelming

Have you seen this post? It’s called I Can’t Handle My Farm Share. A hilarious blogger I follow, shared it on social media with the quote, “I don’t know what I’m feeding my kids tomorrow, but I know Bok Choy isn’t the answer.”

Here’s the gist: frazzled, stressed, hilarious mom blogger comes clean about how she hates her CSA.

There’s too much food!

Her husband doesn’t like vegetables!

She hates Bok Choy!

And, where are the berries, damn it?!

It’s actually pretty funny.

As you may know, I love my CSA.

I. Love. It.

I look forward to it. I plan around it. I am certain that it’s the best way to enjoy farm fresh local food. It’s a tiny way that I can use my food dollars to invest in my local economy and feed my family wholesome food. It connects me with the family farm I purchase my share from. It connects me with my neighbors whose porch I visit weekly, to retrieve my box of goodies. And best of all, it practically implores me to prepare delicious healthy veggies at every meal.

It’s frigging win/win.

But, ya. I get it.

Getting your produce this way can be kind of overwhelming. It does take some getting used to. The produce in the CSA I subscribe to, isn’t washed. I have take it out of the bags it comes in and clean it myself. That can be challenging on weeknights when all of the things are going on.

And let me just tell you, the first time I took a head of lettuce out of my fridge and a bug crawled out, I thought I would die.

Literally, die.

But listen, I didn’t die. It just didn’t happen and now I wash my greens before I put them away.

And I get that it can be overwhelming to handle giant boxes of veggies week after week. But, contrary to what this post would have you believe, the kale and Bok Choy heavy boxes don’t last forever.

That’s only the first few weeks, I swear.

As the growing season progresses, the boxes get more interesting, with tomatoes, eggplant, peppers and even later with apples, pumpkins and squash.

And listen, it’s worth it. I’m not going to sit here and claim my kid begs for veggies. But since I’ve started cooking with my CSA, making a point to put vegetables in front of him at every meal, my kid eats salad, tomatoes, peppers, even radishes on the regular. I can even sometimes get him to eat kale, if I fix it with bacon and top it with Parmesan cheese and nag him about it a little.

That in itself is a damn victory.

That my kid eats kale.

So, you can do this CSA thing.

You really can.

Here’s a few tips for managing your share and feeling good about it.

1. If you can, prep everything. If you’re able to, wash and prep everything, before you put it away. Now, this method only works for me, if I’m off on the first couple of days after CSA pick up. But it works, well. It gives me time to think about what my meals for the week are gonna look like. This was what my share looked like last week.


Here’s how I prepped it: I blanched and froze the leafy beet greens and kale. I cleaned and chopped the beets and green onions for salad. I washed and dried the lettuce and put it into ziplock bags. I just tossed the rhurbarb and mint into the fridge for use later in the week. And I used the zucchini and apple cider right away. Prep took about an hour total.

And by the time I was done I already figured out we’d have braised kale and beet greens with our fried chicken on the 4th.

2. Roast and top veggies with Parmesan cheese. This is one of my favorite ways to prepare veggies for maximum flavor. This is how I get Damien to try new foods. It’s easy and really, you can almost roast anything. Too much kale? Roast it and make you some kale chips. Top them with shaved hard cheese and enjoy. It works with squash, zucchini, broccoli, eggplant, cauliflower, even tomatoes and peppers. I’m hard pressed to think of a veggie that isn’t made even more delicious by roasting. And it’s a mostly hands off process, so you can help your littles with their homework while dinner is rendering in the oven. If you prepped your produce earlier in the week, then it takes mere minutes to get into the oven.

3. Sauté greens in chicken stock and balsamic vinegar OR veggie stock and rice wine vinegar. These two easy combos always save me on hectic weeknights. This method works great on any number of veggies. When I clean my kale or collards I always save and freeze the veiny stem part, to use later for vegetable stock. So, I often have it on hand. My favorite way to prepare Bok Choy or Chinese cabbage is to sauté it in olive oil, with some garlic or green onion then simmer it in veggie stock. I add a splash of rice wine vinegar, near the end of the cooking process, to brighten up the flavor. It’s always delicious quick and easy. I love the combo of eggs and cabbage for a delicious and quick vegetarian meal.

4. Even if you don’t think they’ll eat it, put veggies front of your kid. Eventually you will wear them down and they’ll try it. And of course, just because they try it, doesn’t mean they’ll love it. But, my kid knows that there’s always veggies at dinner and that he’s required to at least try the new foods in front of him. This is how I got him eating salad and tomatoes and greens, when for the longest time he would refuse. And I’m pretty sure if your kid sees you eating Bok Choy and enjoying it, he’ll eventually try it, too. And when your kid eats veggies, you feel like you’re winning at parenting. Amiright?

5. Remember it’s not all or nothing. Yes, the point is not to waste food. But you’re not in a competition with yourself to finish everything in your share and love it, every single week. Don’t like beets? You don’t have to eat them.

I’m not sure how you could dislike beets, but whatever.

You’re not winning any virtue contests by sucking it up and eating foods you don’t like. You don’t null all the benefits of subscribing to a CSA because you let some parsley or collards go bad or because you passed on the escarole for the 3rd week in row. And if your share is really too big, try splitting it with another family. Or donating some of it to the food bank. Or freeze it. But whatever you do, don’t get stressed out because you had to throw something away or because something went bad. You’re not a bad person. And doing a CSA is like anything else in life; it’s about balance. We just sort of try to balance the things we’d like to do with the things we’re able to do. And that’s it.

I really think that subscribing to a CSA is one of the best things you can do because it really gets you thinking and caring about your relationship with your food.

Happy Eating. 🍴


I got into nursing school, you guys!

I start in September.

It’s the best news!

I’ve been working so hard on these damn prerequisites and stupid applications and entrance exams. And I’ve been crossing my fingers and holding my breath and checking the mail.

Every. Day.

Like a crazy person.

And it means that much more, now, because I wasn’t accepted into the first program I applied to.


Oh ya, my eggplants have flowers, now too. ❤️

The best news.

My Container Garden: An Update

I’ve been dying to fill you in on my garden progress, simply because it’s going so well that I feel the overwhelming need to brag. But, things are going so well, and progressing so quickly that by the time I sit down to compose a post my photos are already a little out dated.

That’s how fast things are growing

It’s been great. The weather has done wonders for my disposition and my vegetables.

Its sunny and humid and it feels like Summer in Pittsburgh.

I love taking garden photos. Especially, since taking that photography class, I’ve gotten more confident using my DSLR. And I think my photos may be getting better, to boot. I get a swell of pride comparing these progress pics, side by side.

Gardening has made me a little full of myself.

Collards and Kale in Containers

So, ya this happened.

I bought these collards and this kale from Penn’s Corner and they have been doing A-mazing in their containers. In the beginning I kept noticing that they would be a little wilty and lifeless looking, in the afternoon blaze, even after I’d just watered them. Turns out they don’t love 12 hours in the blaring sun. So, I moved them out of the full sun of my back yard and onto my less sunny, but still pretty sunny, front porch.

I just harvested most of the collards and about half of the kale and braised them with a smoked turkey neck.


On our neighborhood website someone was giving away strawberry plants and we snatched those babies right up. I had no idea how to grow berries in containers, but we figured it out after a little web digging.

Ok, we totally just copied this girl.

Jess drilled some small holes on the bottom of this 5 gallon bucket and some larger 1 inch holes on the sides. We sort of stacked the soil and plants as we went.

straw2 strawberries in containers

Um, tell me again who needs a 35 dollar strawberry pot?

not this girl.

If you’ve ever had homegrown strawberries, then you know they are 100 million times sweeter and tastier than their store bought counterparts. I’ve seen them selling at the Farmer’s market but for 6 dollars a pint! I’ve splurged a few times but it’s usually an extra special treat. At that price they’re a friggin luxury.

Aren’t mine lovely?

homegrown strawberries

Hey, do you remember those carrots I planted?

Don’t be coy, of course you do.

Well, I thinned them, finally!

Who knew carrots took so long?

Well, there are three large, deep pots with around 10 Dragon carrots or so in each. I’m pretty excited about these.

carrot seedlings in containers

The fern like feather tops of the carrots remind me of dill or cilantro and their bright green hue is so perfect.

I am quite proud of these simply because the amount of sheer patience required not to start messing with them before they were ready. I’ve never grown carrots and I understand they can be temperamental, so I’m really trying not to bother them too much. But it is looking like they are on their way to great things.

My eggplant and peppers and tomatoes are all lined up in a pretty perfect little row.


I am so excited for the eggplant because I’ve never successfully grown them before. All the eggplant seeds I started died from neglect. So I ended up purchasing these beauties from Penn’s Corner. They have real soft rich green colored leaves with a gorgeous purple tint. I’m feeling pretty smitten and now I’m wondering if I ought to have gotten more.

My cucumbers are growing like crazy. Cucumbers are amazing and I would totally recommend them as a great crop for a first time gardener. It’s almost like you can’t screw them up. All you have to do is put a seed in some dirt and it will grow. I have at least 8 plants, I think, maybe more. I’m gonna try to remember next year how well they grow and not to over seed.

I ended up thinning them and then giving these away and I still have a bunch.

These leaves get crazy big. And the grow all over the place.

Cucumber Seedlings

I’ve got my cucumbers two to a 5 gallon bucket. They have a pretty extensive root system and they are wild and viney. So, I’ll probably end up using a trellis to keep them supported. I’ll share more on that a little later.

And finally last but, not least. The belle of the ball, my heirloom tomatoes:


I started all these babies from seed. So, they’re extra special.

I’m growing a lot of the same varieties I grew last year, Italian Heirloom, Gold Medal and Moonglow as well as Cherry Romas. I’m going to baby these suckers because they’re the only ones to survive from the million I started in April.

They’re ready to be potted up any day now.

This year is going to be great in the garden.

I just know it.

Vanilla Rhubarb Jam

I’ve only ever canned jam twice in my life.

Well, this is the third time.

It always seemed like too daunting a kitchen task to bother with. There’s tons of fresh homemade local jam around here. Amish jam, Jam from the farmer’s market, my husband even went to Florida and came home with some EPIC homemade Florida jam.

So ya.

I’m haven’t exactly been tripping over myself to try canning.

But, then I did it!

And, oh man!

It’s so satisfying!

It’s pretty much the ultimate domestic project. You feel like Martha friggin Stuart when you’re done.

There’s no way Martha uses Smuckers.

And after you’re all done and you pull the jars out of the water bath and the tops go pop, it’s pretty much the best feeling.


Totally worth all the work. The effort. The sticky fingers.

Totally worth it.

The satisfaction is as sweet as the jam, itself.

Anyway, if you’re on the fence about canning. I suggest trying it. Start with jam.

It’s so easy.

It couldn’t be simpler. And the results are amazing.

Check this out.

Yesterday I made this rhubarb vanilla jam. Rhubarb, vanilla. And the secret ingredient is tea!

It wasn’t without its hiccups, though. But I guess I’m a learn-as-you-go kind of gal.

And I did learn an important lesson about canning, while making this recipe. Repeat after me: Don’t make substitutions to canning recipes.

I was out of lemon, so I substituted vinegar for lemon juice. I only bothered to look it up after I did it. And it turns out vinegar isn’t a perfect sub for lemon juice, in canning, because it has way less acid. And less acid means potentially less safe and therefore maybe not shelf stable.

And maybe not shelf stable means not shelf stable.

Anyway, lesson learned.

All that delicious jam went straight into my fridge.

I’m sure we’ll find a way to eat it all!

(Jam’ll keep in the fridge for 2-3 months.)

But. Isn’t it gorgeous?


It just tastes so good. Sweet and slightly tart, with a smooth round vanilla finish.

Give it a try! Let me know how you enjoy it.

Recipe Adapted from Food in Jars

Makes 7 delicious 8 ounce jars.


10 cups of chopped rhubarb (2 pounds of stalks)
5 cups sugar
1 cup black tea
2 tsp of vanilla extract
Juice of 1 lemon
Pinch of salt
1 packet of Sure Jell and 3 TBSP of Ball powdered pectin


Sterilize your jars in a large pot of boiling water.

In a 5-quart, non-reactive pot, bring the rhubarb, sugar and tea to a boil.
Add the vanilla extract, lemon and salt to the pot and let it bubble gently for about 30 minutes, stirring often.

After 30 minutes have elapsed, and the firm stalks of the rhubarb have broken down, add the pectin, stir to combine and let cook for a 10 more minutes.

I mashed the rhubarb stalks with a potato masher to break them down, further. Follow this step for a less chunky more jelly-like jam.

At this point, dip a spoon in the jam and see how it coats the back of the spoon. If you get a nice, smooth sheet your jam is done.

Pour into your waiting hot jars.

And process in a hot water bath for ten minutes.

Remove from water and let cool.

Try not to eat an entire jar in one sitting!

Or do it. Whatever.

Ramps Are All the Rage

I love me some ramps.




Three years ago I had no idea that they existed or what they were.

And now, I nearly wet myself with anticipation leading up to their annual arrival.

I know.

What is that?

I had checked Penn’s Corner online Farm Stand no less than 15 times in last two weeks waiting for them to turn up.

I have no idea what it is.

What inspires this frenzy, exactly?

I mean, they are delicious.

Like, really flipping good.

They’re this almost sweet, mild garlicky flavored, wild onion.

But, it’s more than that.

Part of the magic of ramps is that, they start becoming available right as spring kicks off. They’re one of the first fresh local veggies to show up in the farmers markets. And after a long harrowing Pittsburgh winter, they are a thing of beauty.

They’re like a delicious beacon of hope of veggies to come. They’re a Spring gift for our poor winter-weary palates.

And we have been waiting so damn long!

Or maybe it’s the principle of scarcity.

We humans tend to assign a higher value to those things that are harder to find.

Ramps are tasty, don’t get me wrong.

But they’re oh so elusive, too.

They’re in season for about 3 days.

OK, 6 weeks.

and then POOF! They’re gone.

Just like that they disappear.

You have to be quick!

You have to cram as many ramp recipes as possible, in the short time they’re here.

In order to fully enjoy them, you pretty much need to binge.

Built in permission to be a raging glutton.

And, I do gluttony well.

Whatever their lure – or because of it- ramps appear to have a bit of sustainability problem. Apparently all this ramp fever may be taxing the wild population.

Such a shame.

And, yet I can’t bring myself to stop shoving as many in my pie hole as humanly possible.

Maybe I ought to try growing my own

Anyway, in the honor of the coveted, trendy, difficult to find, complicated and delicious as all hell ramp, here are some recipes interested in extending their too short season well into summer.

(I had such great success pickling them, that I will be further contributing to their sustainability dilemma, next week when I purchase 2 more pounds.)

Happy eating!


Tom Colicchio’s Pickled Ramps

Ramp Compound Butter

Ramp Pesto

ART 144 Digital Photography

So, this semester I took a digital photography class. I’ve been wanting take a photo class for fun, for a while.

It was an interesting experience. I did it completely online. So, there wasn’t a lot of instruction or feedback from the teacher. Since I was in it for the LOLs, I wasn’t too disappointed about the lack of direction.

But since it’s my third year at community college, I guess I’m kind of used to slack ass instructors and I wasn’t surprised.

The best thing about taking this course is that it really got me comfortable with going out on foot, with my camera. I really had to actively look at my surroundings and engage with my environment. I loved it.

Going out and exploring made me feel closer to my city. ❤️

So, here are the photos I submitted for each assignment. I’m not the best photographer in the world but, I feel I improved as I went along.

In the beginning I didn’t have a great monitor so editing was a challenge. But toward the end I got to playing with layers in Photoshop.

Anyway, check out my work.

Composition (rule of thirds):


Taken at Heth’s Field in Morningside.

Theme (Pittsburgh):


Taken by RedFin Blues along the Allegheny River.



Taken at Immaculate Conception Church in Bloomfield.

Macro: (I got a 100% on this photo!)

Macro Photo

Taken at Phipps Conservatory during the Spring Flower Show.

Special Technique:


Taken at Niagara Falls Summer 2013



Taken at the Highland Park Reservoir

You’ll have to click and expand this panoramic photo for the full effect. I used the Photomerge feature in PS Elements 12. It is such a cool feature that let’s you merge a bunch of shots together. I think this was originally 6 different photos shot in portrait orientation.

Anyway, this has been such a fun and rewarding experience I can’t wait to take another class.

Phipps Conservatory Spring Flower Show

Phipps is like a dream in Spring. The whole place smells like sweet Hyacinths and Carnations and Lilies and the lighting is just hazy and bright and perfect.

Damien and I popped in briefly a few weeks ago so I could get some shots for an assignment in my digital photography class.

I submitted the third photo down, for a macro assignment.

And I got 100%!

Out of 100%!

Pretty awesome, huh?

If you’ve got the chance, you should stop by and check it out. I’ve been during the winter months, and it’s pretty lovely. But the spring flowers, just blew me away.

And did I mention it smells amazing?

It’s so lovely, there.

Even Damien loved it.

notmacrovanswolvanswolmacromacrovanswolDSC_0356_edited-1 DSC_0358_edited-1 DSC_0359_edited-1 DSC_0338

(How completely juvenile would it be to point out how much like reproductive organs some of these flowers look?)

Never mind. Forget I said that.