Don't make me choose a favorite hike in the Cottonwood Canyons—I can't do it. Red Pine Lake was a favorite from several summers ago with Laura and Audrey, the best adventure crew. These photos have me longing for summer sunshine, mountain air, and the smell of sunscreen (I suppose I could have two out of three of those things if I picked up skiing, but... I'll pass. I'm the Lara Jean Covey of the group, who would spend ski trip doing Korean sheet masks instead of the titular activity—doing activities that could clearly result in broken limbs are strictly on my list of personal Don'ts).

There are very few people who truly appreciate what I mean when I tell them I am from the Garden State.

Just now, writing that, I am suddenly feeling very nostalgic for my graphic tee from dELiA*s that bore a cute illustration and caption: "the Garden State: it grows on you!" (have just now returned from an internet rabbit hole of teen fashion research because apparently dELiA*s met an early demise but they have since made a comeback—although they certainly seemed alive and well when I shopped there as a teenager in the twenty-aughts!)

All this to say, I get as many blank stares when I say I grew up amongst forests and farmlands as I dole out when someone replies to my introductory pleasantries with a "New Joy-sey" (for the record: I do not know one! single! soul! who pronounces it such and is actually from the state; the people who say this are always New Yorkers/from Staten Island!!!).

Shocking, I know (particularly when witticisms like this abound in popular culture. Those jokes only apply to Newark)—but I grew up in a truly beautiful part of the state: south Jersey with its greenery and glorious produce. A couple summers ago (2017, to be precise), I was home for a visit to my parents and extended family, and I realized that I had a deep longing to capture the New Jersey I know and love in photographs. During my visit, my mom obliged me with many roadside stops (or in some cases,  simply slow-downs) so I could try and capture these familiar scenes of my upbringing.

Even these photos and this small photo essay do not truly do my homeland justice. To be perfectly honest, my dream is to spend a month in June or July back home, with nothing else to do but drive back roads (which are all of them) and stop at every tiny roadside farm stand, documenting this singular wonderful tradition. The notion of a proper 'farmers market' (booths and stalls and crowds and the like) was unknownst to me until I encountered them in Union Square in NYC and likewise in other big cities; where I grew up, you just stopped at the farm on your way home from wherever you had been coming or going. My family has our tried-and-true favorites (Mood's, Schober's, Grasso Girls), mostly out of convenience of the routes we frequented, but many more whose names and locations I could not possibly recall, because of their glorious plentitude.

Although I've spent nearly all my adulthood in Utah (college + post-college), I will always be a Jersey girl at heart—it is where I was raised and home of the worldview that shaped so much of who I am. A favorite story to illustrate this point: when I planned a week-long camping trip in the Canadian Rockies, I had planned out our menu in advance to simplify our grocery stop for produce before entering the park (having brought the dry goods with us). At a Walmart in Edmonton, Alberta, I asked my friend Laura how many ears of corn she wanted. She gave me a strange look and replied, "one." A few days later, I started a pot of water to boil over our campfire and we shucked the corn cobs. Because I had planned and orchestrated all of this, Laura and our fellow camper and friend Angie looked to me for direction on what other prep they could help with. I explained that the prep was done, as I dropped our four-total ears of corn into the pot to cook. Laura's exclamation and dawning realization still make me laugh to this day: "When you asked me how many ears of corn I wanted, I didn't know that corn was THE ENTREE!" I kid you not that it had honestly never occurred to me that corn wouldn't be the entrée, comprising most of a classic summer meal. When I told my parents this story, we all had a good laugh, and I expressed that my gastronomic-homesickness for Jersey sweet corn will likely never ever dissipate. I usually find all other corn to be insipid, grainy, and altogether disappointing in comparison to the corn of my childhood. It may simply be that I find the produce of my home state altogether superior in every way. I am probably not wrong—we are named for it, after all.

Anecdotes aside, I hope this post makes you smile and gives you a small glimpse into the landscapes and foods that feel like home to me.

fun fact: Hammonton blueberries (of HAMMONTON, NEW JERSEY—BLUEBERRY CAPITAL OF THE WORLD and home to the annual blueberry fest) will always be my favorite blueberries. Some of our dear family friends lived in Hammonton when I was growing up and I was always jealous of/loved their blueberry shirts, with the Top Crop top-hatted-cane-wielding blueberry mascot. 

Every summer, my dad would buy several flats of blueberries, which we'd rinse and then store in our basement chest freezer. All winter long, we'd have fresh-frozen blueberries for our Honey Bunches of Oats with almonds (or other cereal of choice). <3 Dare I say, fresh frozen blueberries are far superior to their freezer-aisle counterparts.

"NO NASTY PEOPLE"—this is so dead-on South Jersey and I love it.

LOPES. need I say more.

Two years ago, I spent Labor Day weekend learning to drive stick shift en route to Havasupai, where I went on a 20-mile out and back backpacking trip with 49 other women who were, to me, complete strangers (how's that for an introduction?). The falls pictured above are the namesake Havasu Falls, one of dozens in the canyon. Havasupai means 'people of the blue-green waters'  and the entire area comprises the Havasupai tribe's reservation. The tribe has a village at the bottom of the canyon and farther in are dispersed campsites where visitors can stay. Visiting requires a reservation, which typically sell out in early February, in order to limit the ecological impacts of having too many visitors. I was humbled to be able to visit such a beautiful place, and was grateful that the Havasu people so generously allow visitors to come and share in the beauty of their home.

Our group was comprised of women from all over the western United States who were all part of the Facebook group "Girls Love Travel." My friend Tippe spearheaded the organization of two trips to Havasupai for interested GLT members. About a dozen of us spent the first day of February hitting redial (ad nauseum) to try and get through to the local Havasu tourist office to secure passes for the trip (our dedicated calling efforts secured each of us a spot on the weekend of our choice for which we'd been able to get passes). Tippe ended up going in July, and I elected to go with the September group over Labor Day weekend (I was not keen on hundred-degree temperatures for a hike of that sort), hence, my ending up with all strangers. It turned out to be a blast and I met so many amazing women doing amazing things with their lives. I love keeping up with our group via social media posts and seeing what adventures, travels, and life moments everyone is up to.

I ate so. much. frybread. while visiting the Havasu reservation (it was especially delicious given the contrast from my Clif bars, freeze-dried fruit, and rehydrated-cooked-on-a-gas-stove meals).

The night sky from the canyon was incredible—despite the graininess here, you can still get the slightest suggestion of milky way. I slept in my hammock, slung between two trees, and gazing up at the stars (before safely stowing my glasses for the night) was a nightly highlight.

The distinctive color of the water in Havasupai results from the lime and travertine deposits. It was so remarkable, and even on the hike in, we'd stop in awe of the water flowing past in those azure shades. The canyon was also incredibly lush, with maidenhair ferns growing from every possible dewy surface. We hiked and swam and hiked and swam some more, all day every day. I'd bought a pair of Chacos earlier in the summer (I found a pair without the infamous toe strap, and I've been sold on them ever since) and they worked so well for the type of hiking we did down in the canyon (my ankle-shielding hiking boots were well-suited for the lengthy hikes in and out).

Several of the falls required additional hiking into the canyon and traversing of some steep drop-offs. One of the areas was equipped with chains and ladders and the path wound through cave-like tunnels. I never felt unsafe during these sections, but I was grateful for the stability offered by the chains (as opposed to rope, which often feels much sketchier and subject to failure).

On the last day of the trip, Christine (on my left), Liz (on my right), and I headed out from camp at 4 AM to beat the heat on our hike out. We hiked out of the canyon with our heavy packs in under 4 hours! Although it seemed those uphill slopes stretched on and on forever, I was grateful to give my knees a break, as the hike in was very prone to knee-destroying.

This was my first proper backpacking trip and I enjoyed it immensely. I haven't done very much backpacking since then, besides a tiny overnighter in the Uintas last summer, but I hope to do a lot more backpacking yet, having made some investments in my equipment. It's quite a different endeavor than car camping, as it is much more strategic and you are limited somewhat by what you can fit in your pack and what you have strength to lift. I'm no expert, but relied on many other experts to research what I should bring to Havasupai—online resources abound. Two things that I would highly recommend, however, for the backpacking types or camping-lovers generally: a solar phone charger and this perfectly tiny and incredibly utilitarian gas stove (it folds up into a little plastic box just larger than a pack of gum, and it has been indispensable many times over. It threads onto a gas canister [bought separately] and does a terrific job boiling water for camping oatmeal, couscous, instant noodles, or other dehydrated meals).