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milletry · 1 day

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Discover the Health Benefits of Foxtail Millet with Milletry!

In a world where health consciousness is on the rise and sustainability is becoming increasingly imperative, there’s one humble grain that stands tall – Foxtail Millet. As we embark on a journey towards wellness and eco-friendliness, Milletry, your trusted e-commerce destination, proudly brings to you a plethora of products centered around this nutritional powerhouse.

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The Milletry Experience: Your Gateway to Health

At Milletry, we are committed to curating a diverse range of products that not only cater to your nutritional needs but also contribute to a sustainable lifestyle. With our foxtail millet-based offerings, we aim to redefine the way you perceive healthy eating.

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Conclusion

In a world inundated with options, choosing health and sustainability should never be a compromise. With foxtail millet at the helm, Milletry invites you to embark on a culinary journey that nourishes both body and soul. Join us in celebrating the goodness of nature and let’s pave the way for a healthier, greener tomorrow.

#foods #healthy diet #healthy food #healthcare

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pulsdmedia · 5 months

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The Week Ahead 11/20-11/26

It's the big week, and while we're already thawing our turkeys and getting in the festive spirit, we're also ready to keep doing what we do this time of year - making sure you get into the holiday spirit in the city that we love so much...

$99: 3 Course Thanksgiving Dinner For 2 With Cocktails & Wines

Tara Rose embodies the warm spirit of Ireland & its welcoming nature - a sentiment deeply rooted in its founder's heritage. Akin to the feeling of gathering by the cozy Thanksgiving fire, Tara Rose's Thanksgiving rendezvous will serve up perfectly cooked eats sure to make your holiday unforgettable. As a Mulled Wine or Spiked Cider heats up that internal flame, you'll add to the scrumptious ensemble with a serving of refreshing Warm Farrow Salad to start, moving on to Salmon Risotto, not to mention Rigatoni Pesto - but have no fear, traditionalists! Roasted Turkey is still on the menu! When you want to end things on a sweet note, nothing hits the spot like the Chocolate Fudge Sundae...

Yohji Yamamoto Sample Sale

Yohji Yamamoto is know for his futuristic, trendy styles unlike anything else you would find on the market, while Y's features functional designs derived from the creativity of Yohji Yamamoto's main lines. Head to 260 Sample Sale for an exclusive, limited time event where you can score these brands for never-before-seen prices.

$29 Ticket: 2 Hour Open Bar Rooftop Thanksgiving Eve Party

It's here! Elsie Rooftop's Thanksgiving Eve Open Bar Party gets you admission to a sky-high soirée, complete with access to a 2 Hour Premium Open Bar Serving Cocktails, Wines, & Beers. Round up your friends for some pre-Thanksgiving shenanigans sure to ruffle some feathers! It's a night designed for drinking, dancing, and absorbing the energy of the party that will put you in the mood for the feast that follows the next day!

Cocktails & Jazz

Get ready for a fabulous night with top hot jazz & swing bands in NYC at the beautiful & intimate Foxtail cocktail bar at the Arlo SoHo. Featuring exquisite cocktails and a delicious menu, perfect for after work or a meetup with friends.

$19 VIP 2 Hour Open Bar Tix: Open Bar Disco Fever Fridays Party

Indulge in the allure of Disco Fever Fridays at Copacabana! Surrender to your desires, embrace the sparkle and 70s tunes, and relive the Studio 54 era. Grab this $19 VIP 2 Hour Open Bar Ticket, complete with a 2 Hour Open Bar so. you can lose yourself in a disco paradise, dancing to iconic tunes, and groove to legendary DJs playing Abba, Bee Gees, Donna Summer, and more. Immerse yourself in the dance floor's twinkle, capture memories with friends, and let go of worries as you dance until sunrise. Join us for an unforgettable night of unbridled revelry!

Y2K Party

Live your sweet sweet Fantasy, baby!! 2nite House of Yes! spices up your life with a PHAT dose of Y2K Flashback Magic that is da bomb dot com, booyah baby grrrrl. Log in, dial-up and turn on with the throwback dance jams you crave with exxxtra manic millennium NRG. AS IF! Don’t be wack, Don’t be trippin’ just get jiggy with it and hit us baby, one more time and get hella tight all freakin’ nite.

#pulsd #nyc #newyorkcity #newyork #getpulsd #nyclife #foodie #new york city

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princess-of-the-corner · 3 years

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Feast Redemption: Lila tries to get Marinette in trouble about Feast but it backfires.

Lila: "Marinette's pet ate my family heirloom!!"

Mari: "Whoops, sorry, it looks a lot like the Fox Miraculous so they must've gotten hungry."

Miss Bustier: "Should we be.... Concerned that they ate jewelry?"

Marinette: "Nah. I mean I'm trying to get them to not do that but they can eat pretty much anything."

Lila: "But my necklace! It was such an important gift from my grandmother!"

Marinette: "Yeah yeah hold on."

The class watches in confusion and vague horror as Marinette reaches her arm into Feast's mouth, going all the way up o her shoulder despite the creature being the size of a large cat. She concentrates, moving her arm around more than should be possible in a creature that small. Eventually she grins and pulls her arm back out, a foxtail pendant clutched in her hand.

Marinette: "Here you go!"

Lila stares, very much not wanting to touch it.

Alya: "Marinette, you're my best friend and I love you, but what the FUCK??????"

Meanwhile Adrien is losing his shit trying not to laugh.

#feast redemption

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galahadwilder · 4 years

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Unwise

Ch. 2: In Which Too Many People Turn Patrols Into Dates

Happy birthday @alexseanchai! You wanted more Unwise? Here you go!

Convincing Fu to let her bring out the other Miraculi on a semi-permanent basis had been a chore in and of itself. Feast had proven the depth of his paranoia—though, to be fair, it’s not technically paranoia if people are actually out to get you—and she wasn’t prepared to lose Tikki a second time. He’d refused to allow her to bring out more Miraculi, until she’d forcefully reminded him that A. she is a full-fledged Guardian now, he’d said that himself, and B. She, a child, is the one on the front lines while he hides. (She hates bringing that up, because she knows why he’s doing it, but it was that or go insane.)

Eventually, he’d relented, though he’d let her take only the ones who’d already proven themselves. Which was fine, it wasn’t like she was planning on doing any recruiting anytime soon.

She’d been planning to hand out all of the Miraculi herself, as usual, but as soon as she’d had them in her hands she’d paused, reconsidered. Chat was right—trying to do everything herself has been driving her insane. She already knows that, if she goes down, Chat can take the earrings and Mister Bug it up—or, in an emergency situation, just Cataclysm a butterfly and wait for her to get back up—so there’s a little bit of the weight off there. But the fact is, he was originally never supposed to know the identities of any of the backup, and if she were to have gone down in that situation he’d have been left to continue the fight alone in a way that she never would. The thought makes her want to vomit.

And she can’t deny that the way Chat’s face lit up when she asked him to help her distribute the Miraculi had done something funny in her tummy. Not love, of course, nor attraction—absolutely not that, stop laughing Tikki—but something. She’d laid out all of the Miraculi Fu had let her take on their favorite rooftop, then, after a moment’s consideration, handed him the Horse, the Bee, and the Dragon (she’d briefly passed her hand over the snake, but she saw the way he tried to suppress a shudder; curious as his reaction made her, she knew she couldn’t let herself think about what that was about, lest she learn something she shouldn’t).

She picked up the Fox, the Snake, the Turtle, and the Mouse, then paused, thought, made a decision. “You already know who the mouse is,” she said. “If you ever need an illusionist, and I’m not there to help you...” She held up the foxtail necklace. “This one goes to the Ladyblogger.”

Chat froze. “My Lady,” he said, the Dragon choker dangling between his claws, “are you... sure I should know this?”

She nodded. “You said yourself, I can’t keep doing this alone,” she said. “You’re my partner.”

There’d been no big meeting; someone might’ve noticed that Multimouse wasn’t there, and that would lead to questions she doesn’t want to answer. She’d made a list of reasons why, but surprisingly, Chat had asked for none of them, simply agreeing with her out of hand.

The whole thing is going swimmingly, and yet she can’t help feeling guilty about how she’d arranged the patrols. She’d insisted on not letting Rena Rouge and Carapace patrol together, since there was no way either of them could tear away from each other in a non-emergency situation, so for the first two few nights she’d rotated them through everyone but each other, just to keep from ill-advised makeouts. And yet, here she is, having intentionally arranged herself on patrol with Adrien...

God, she’s a hypocrite.

She can honestly say that after a week of letting other holders cover patrols, she’s more rested than she’s been in a while. But she’s done so many stupid things to spend time with Adrien, it’s not like one more will make a difference at this point, right? And at least this way she’s doing something productive with it. She hopes. If she can, you know, actually hold it together around him to do anything.

“Tikki,” she groans into her hands, her elbows propped on her desk. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing.” The cursor blinks on the anonymous Google schedule she’s been sharing with the team, waiting for her to confirm the time of her first patrol as Multimouse. Her first patrol with Adrien. She wonders, idly, what he’ll choose for his name.

Tikki sighs from her spot on Marinette’s pincushion, rolling a chocolate chip between her paws. “I don’t know,” she says. “Master Fu had very good reasons not to let the rest of us out of the box, but you also have very good reasons.” She looks up at Marinette, her blue eyes shining with compassion. “I do worry about you.”

“I’m just happy to be out and about,” Mullo says, climbing onto Marinette’s phone and poking the screen with delight. “So much new technology! I didn’t get to see this last time you wore me.”

“Not that,” Marinette says, dropping her hands onto the desk—then she tilts her head. “Well, yes that, but not what I’m asking about right now.” She sighs, staring at the calendar block. “Am I being... selfish, with this schedule?”

Tikki purses her lips, then turns the chocolate chip on its side and starts rolling it back and forth on the desk beneath one paw, staring at it pensively.

“Tikki?” Marinette whispers.

Tikki grimaces. “You know you’re not supposed to use your powers for personal gain,” she says. “I’ve told you before.”

Marinette swallows. “I remember,” she whispers.

Tikki tilts her head. “On the other hand,” she says, “this might be more practical than you think.”

Marinette blinks. “What?”

“If he is going to be a full-time member of the team, it might help to acclimate yourself to his presence?” Tikki says, a small smile spreading across her face. “We wouldn’t want you to start tripping over your words in the middle of combat.” She flings the chocolate chip straight up, then launches her tiny body from the desk, swallowing it in a single gulp in a manner reminiscent of the poster for Jaws.

“Hey!” Marinette protests. “I did fine last time!”

“You said one sentence and you had to use Sass to practice it eight times first,” Tikki says with a smug grin, crossing her arms.

Marinette bites her lip, then rolls her eyes. “You see how mean she is to me?” she says to Mullo.

“Hm? What?” the rat says, her head perking up and twisting back and forth. “I’m sorry, I was distracted by this...” Her turns back to the phone, where she’s been swiping between app pages with wide eyes. “Um, magic screen thing.”

Tikki giggles. “Not everything humans do is magic, Mullo.” She flits around to Marinette’s eye level. “Marinette. The day I told you not to use your powers for personal gain? That was our third time out. I didn’t know you then. I do now.” She reaches out, laying her palm on Marinette’s cheek. “You’ve grown into a responsible and professional young woman, and Master Fu has selected you to be the next Guardian.” She floats back. “I trust your judgment. And besides, you deserve a break.” She gestures to the computer screen, where the calendar is still waiting, unfinished. “If this is what you want to do? Then you should do it.”

Marinette swallows as tears brim in her eyes. “I—thank you, Tikki,” she whispers.

“Of course,” Tikki says, zipping forward to hug Marinette’s cheek again. “I love you so much, Marinette.”

“I love you too,” Marinette says, cupping her Kwami to her cheek with her palm.

“Oh my Guardians!” Mullo sobs. “You—you two— you are...” She rolls over onto her back, letting out a tiny melodramatic wail. “Your friendship is so perfect!”

Tikki snorts, backing away from Marinette’s cheek. “Okay. Back down there, Squeakers.”

Marinette sets her jaw, looking at the screen. “So,” she says, “I’m doing this?”

Tikki nods. Mullo rolls back onto her stomach, looking back at her expectantly.

Marinette nods back. “I’m doing this,” she says, and presses her finger down on Enter.

This was a mistake this was a mistake this was a mistake this was a mistake—

Sapis (who looks amazing in his costume, his gossamer half-cape floating off his back, furry cuffs on his wrists, black streaks in his carefully styled hair to resemble antennae—oh, she’s going to be gushing about this to Tikki later) is looking at her with eyes like the night sky, golden irises inset on black sclera, and she feels all the breath leave her body. She’s seen enough of Adrien’s patented “Soft Eyes” in candid shots from Alya that she thought she’d be immune, but nope, photographs have in no way prepared her for the real thing. Sweet Kwamis, she’s going to die and she hasn’t even said a word to him yet.

Say something, Ladybug, she tells herself. But under Sapis’ gaze, in Multimouse’s suit that she’s suddenly aware came out far more cute than her usual reassuringly minimalist design, she doesn’t feel like Ladybug, so when she opens her mouth, she only manages to squeak.

Nice, she thinks, mentally kicking herself. Well done. Very professional.

“H-hi!” she yelps. “Are you, um...” She grips her elbow, her free hand playing with the tail of the jump rope tied around her waist. “Queen Bee’s replacement?”

“Yep,” he says in an exaggeratedly deep voice. He takes a Superman stance, pressing his fists to his hips, and turns his eyes dramatically to look somewhere slightly behind her. It looks generally ridiculous, and he clearly knows it. “Sapis, at your service.”

“Sapis?” she says, squinting one eye, trying to remember if she knows what that means in Latin. Sagesse... that’s the same root, right? “Wisdom?”

His whole face lights up, and her heart leaps in her chest. “Old Latin pun,” he says. “Si sapis, sis apis.” He steps forward, holding out a hand. “If you’re wise? Be a bee.”

She stares at him, looking at his hand, then his face, then his hand, then his face. She has—she knows what she’s supposed to do here, but this is Adrien trying to introduce himself, and she knows it’s him, and he doesn’t know it’s her, and she has to get this impression exactly right. The joke is stupid, silly, it’s so very Chat Noir that she’s caught off guard and suddenly her chest is bubbling, she’s laughing, and oh god is he going to think that she’s laughing at him? Is he going to be disappointed? Is he going to be crushed? Oh Kwamis, is he going to hate her forever?

And then his eyes shut, and he giggles, pure and clear, and it’s just like that moment after the umbrella closed on her head. Lightning strikes in her heart all over again, and it’s everything she can do not to fall on her steadily reddening face.

Finally, he calms down, but when his golden-black eyes turn back to her he’s still beaming. “So,” he says, gesturing to her necklace, “Chat Noir tells me you’re really good with that thing.”

She reaches up, fingers it nervously. “I—pretty good, yeah.”

Sapis grins, hoisting his trompo. “Wanna show me what you’ve got?”

A slow, sly grin spreads across her face in answer as she reaches for her jump rope, the confidence building in her chest. This is familiar territory. This, she can handle. “You’re on, bee boy.”

Adrien wants to see what she can do? He won’t even know what hit him.

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what-marsha-eats · 6 years

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Eating Meat, Mindfully

by Camas Davis

From the July 2018 issue of Vogue magazine

Last Saturday I butchered a side of beef with friends, all of us women. We stood around the worktable in kitchen clogs and running shoes, old T-shirts, worn jeans, faded aprons. With saws and knives and cleavers we separated brisket from shoulder, rib eye from T-bone. We set aside bright yellow suet for rendering, trimmed meat for grind, bones for stock. Once we were finished, each of us would take home the equivalent of one quarter of a 335-pound side, which had come from an animal that had spent its life in a pasture feasting on foxtail and fescue.

Halfway through, my husband, Andrew, appeared with my ten-month-old daughter, Djuna. I set my knife down, washed my hands, and nuzzled her, her new-baby smell still strong enough to cut through the pungent, earthy scent of beef fat that permeated my apron.

That morning, after nursing Djuna, I’d walked out the door, knife bag over one shoulder, breast pump over the other, and heard Andrew say to Djuna, “It’s time for Mama to make the doughnuts.”

I hadn’t wanted to leave her; I didn’t even really have time to do this—who has time to butcher her own beef anymore? But this was how I’d chosen to feed my family: Once a year, I buy an animal—sometimes pig, sometimes beef, sometimes lamb—from a local farmer I trust. I butcher the animal myself and fill our basement freezer with whatever meat I don’t turn into charcuterie. Besides, I actually do want my daughter to see me elbow-deep in a beef carcass. I want her, eventually, to learn how to kill a chicken for coq au vin. I would like her to embrace these complexities just as I did when I dropped everything and everyone I knew and loved, and went to France to learn how to turn a live animal into dinner.

Here is how it went: Nearly ten years ago I left the man I thought I would marry. Shortly after, in the Great Recession, the magazine where I’d been working relentless twelve-hour days laid me off. I spent the weeks that followed sitting in my pajamas thinking, No more. No more editing and writing. I realized that while I’d written about food for much of my career, I’d never really found out where the steak I described came from. I did remember, as a kid, watching my dad knock the fish we caught in the head with a little baseball bat he called the Fish Whacker—so they won’t suffer, he told me. But I turned vegetarian as an adolescent, and then, in my late 20s, as I evolved into a food writer, I slipped back into eating meat again and mostly ignored the darker side of the modern system that brought it to my table: cattle standing in their own manure. Chickens stuffed in tiny cages. I chose to ignore a lot of things, really, like how unhappy I’d been in my job and in my relationship. What if I learned to kill my own dinner again? I thought. It would be hard to ignore that.

One month later I was living in Gascony, in southwestern France, working alongside the Chapolard brothers, who, along with their wives, ran an artisan pork operation. I’d recently read that 99 percent of animals raised for food in the industrial world are factory farmed. The Chapolards’ pigs were part of that other 1 percent. They owned and ran every part of the process—from growing the grain to feed their pigs to making sausage. And they sold every part of the animal—save for the bones, which they burned and turned into compost—at four outdoor markets each week.

In the abattoir, Jacques Chapolard showed me how to stun a pig via electric current, making it senseless to pain, before killing it. In the cutting room, Marc demonstrated how to pour a bucket of pig blood into a meat grinder for blood sausage. Dominique, with thighs nearly as big as prosciutto hams, stood over me in his white butcher coat, smiled kindly, and said, “If you are going to kill an animal for food, you should be willing to eat every part,” while Bruno took a cleaver to a pig’s head and gently retrieved both sides of the brain with his fingers. “We’ll sell out of these on Wednesday at the market,” Bruno told me. What would happen if pig heads were a part of my daily existence back home? I wondered. Would we demand a more responsible system of meat production? Would we all eat as much meat? Would we eat meat at all?

Today I have a business, the Portland Meat Collective, and a national nonprofit, the Good Meat Project, which offers hands-on classes in things like humane chicken slaughter and whole-hog butchery. We give our students knives and teach them what it means to eat an entire animal, and then we send them home with the chops and roasts and skin and bones they have cut themselves. We teach them how to buy a whole, humanely raised pig from a local farmer, and offer advice on questions like what kind of sausage grinder to buy. After our classes, meat becomes a special occasion for our students, an accent to a meal.

Not everyone gets it, though. “It sounds so hard,” plenty of people say. “Why would anyone do that?”

I tell them that it is hard. Standing in slaughterhouses is hard, as is driving up and down I-5 with pig carcasses in my backseat, as is looking a rabbit in the eye and then killing it for dinner. I tell them that I’ve figured out for myself—and for myself only—what each of these experiences means.

I tell them this is my own quiet act of rebellion: rubbing salt into an entire pork leg from a pig I butchered myself and then hanging it in the garage to dry into prosciutto. Or gathering a group of friends for a day of beef butchery. We have all decided we want to know. My daughter points at the side of beef on the table and says something that sounds like “This?” Someday soon, I say, I will tell you, and then you will know too.

Camas Davis’ memoir, Killing It: An Education, will be published by Penguin Press in August 2018.

#camas davis #sustainability #butchering meat #mindfulness #personal essay

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priyadarshinidoesthings · 4 years

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My first full cooked meal in 21 days. Foxtail Millet, Sauteed Spinach with garlic, tomatoes and almonds, cucumber raita and green tea. Now my friends I will feast. Also had 2 hapus aamba today and died and went to heaven ! https://www.instagram.com/p/B_Kzk_gjnVk/?igshid=15wna395bn955

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ma-at-thought · 6 years

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A Poem Arrives

When Laereth came to check on his packages at the Tranquillien post office, the girl behind the counter offered him a single envelope with a trembling hand and a shellshocked face. She looked like a woman who'd walked through her personal hell and she wouldn't look him in the face as she passed over the letter; didn't even greet him as she normally did with a bright smile and a polite inquiry about his health. Instead, she slammed the window closed and slipped out back to have a quick nip from her flask.

The autumn day was pleasantly crisp, tart scents rising in the air as Laereth's heavy boots crushed fallen leaves in every hue of fire underfoot. The fluttering banner of his crimson foxtail echoed the colors that still clung to trees, as did the sun-bright bronze designs on the simple but elegant armor the proud Spellbreaker never seemed to be without. Chilled breezes danced fallen leaves in merry circles, foreshadowing the cold of winter to come, but for now the sun shone down warmly and made for a pleasant day.

At least, it stayed pleasant until Laereth arrived at the Post. The stunned and mutely horrified reaction of the familiar girl behind the counter put him enough on edge that one arm tucked behind his back, calloused fingers brushing the downward-facing loop of a handle on his bronze-bound wooden shield. Gracefully-tapered ears perked and narrowed emerald eyes darted from shadows in the buildings to passing Sin'dorei with suspicion, but aside from the look of lingering alarm and fear on the pretty girl's face, he saw nothing to justify his tension.

When he turned back to lay his gaze upon the girl again, with intent of asking just what had happened to leave her so shaken, Laereth instead saw the letter held mutely out toward him as if a bribe to make him go away. His lips pursed in a frown as he took it, glancing down with disdain at the awkwardly-made hearts that formed a insipid backdrop to the presumptuously scrawled name in looping letters suggesting an overzealous attempt at elegance which fell flat to him. He raised his head to squint at the girl behind the counter, wanting to ask just who had dropped off such a thing for him, but the slam of the window foretold her retreat to seek comfort in whatever her flask held.

Heaving a sigh, Laereth turned and headed down the path, no longer enjoying the day as much as he had. Nothing in the crisp breezes that carried scents of burning leaves and ripe apples would put a spring in his step when he held such a missive. What noble youth had decide to cast her eyes to someone so incredibly beyond her reach? Being a well-known bachelor of some reputation and Lord of his House invited the most vapid, infatuated women to send their calling cards his way, hoping pointlessly that he would deign to bother with them. He held himself so high above these lovelorn youths that they would have better luck convincing the moon to drift down in her cold and pale beauty to grace them with her presence.

Still, when he arrived at home, he made his way up to his bedroom and tossed the letter like a discus to land on his bed. Rattles and clinks filled the chamber, bouncing off the heavy bed with its four tall posts and the crossbeams that loomed over the brick-red bedspread; once his armor was removed he was left in just the bronze-hued leather pants so well-worn and comfortable. Dropping to sit on the edge of the bed, he picked up the envelope with a sigh for those wobbly hearts that scattered like forlorn leaves that waited to drop until the cold of winter. Even the handwriting filled him with disdain, but he plucked a thin knife from beneath his pillow and used it as a letter-opener. His nose crinkled as he half-expected wafts of expensive and cloying perfume to emerge like unwanted spirits, but instead he was rewarded with thick vellum upon which the obnoxiously loopy handwriting continued. A poem, of all things. His eyes narrowed to show the faint lines at the outside corners and he settled down to read.

Flashing like a lighthouse on a foggy winter's ever,

his sword swings in deliberate arc, another skull to cleave.

Blood coats his face, his chest, his hands, but he's no time to grieve

for the souls from whom the bodies fallen, he has forced to leave.

A monster in an elven skin, this lion's fangs are bared

and he charges 'cross the war field where no other men have dared.

A leader to his army who, around the campfire's shared,

the tales of all his battles leaving weaker soldiers scared.

The heads he's lopped clean off their necks, the bodies left to rot

across a barren hellscape where the battles have been fought--

a man who dithers, primps, and flirts with power he is not,

but a beast unchained and left untamed, he works with what he's got.

And what he's got could fill an ocean, and overwhelm the sky,

he is deeper than unending pit where plagued souls are tossed to die.

Great hawk who soars above the world, his bloody wings on high,

does he ever face mortality and fear the end is nigh?

So full of rage he's bridled, clapping muzzle on his temper,

plastering false smiles across his hardened lips while swarmed by those who simper

and offer to him vapid presents in the tail-end of December

that lie forgotten on a shelf by next year's bleak November.

But give unto him heartfelt praise that compliments his dusk

and you may draw close to steal a whiff of fiery amber musk.

Present to him your trophies taken, a claw, a bone, a tusk,

and share with him around the fire some cheese, boar loin, and rusk.

Should you ask him the right questions, he may deign to answer you

and tell you all his war tales, the cruel, the hard, the true--

of times he's face defeat when all the aching hope, it flew

to nest in future battles when these fighting days are through.

Mayhap he will divulge the thoughts kept trapped inside his head

and provide you with a glimpse into the heart of living dead--

for a fire can only burn so long when it's not being fed

and hungry beast needs meat to feast, to drink a river red.

Give him no empty words nor flattery, he can smell the bitter guile

that clings to the vacant grin you wear although your eyes don't smile

and should he scent the falsehood, you won't be saved by denial--

a great predator will track its prey for many a long, rough mile.

He will not stop his careful hunt until you're humbled at his feet

and trussed up like a gala goose and carved for him to eat.

Sinks he his razor teeth into your tender, well-done meat

for he's always victor in his games and you taste of defeat.

Cross not the Bloodhawk leading charges headlong into the fray

and listen in between his words for the phrases he won't say.

If you're in his confidence, he'll help chase your fears away--

but don't try to chain him down to you; a wild thing cannot stay.

For long moments, Laereth simply stared at the poem that had surprised him as much as if a dog suddenly spoke eloquent prose. The content didn't even match the handwriting; it was jarring. Slowly, he read over the poem again, and his lips curved in the barest shadow of a smile. Long ears set back slightly and relaxed as he took a certain amount of pleasure in the poetry that he had been presented with. Someone knew him very well. And nobody who would plaster insipid hearts and curlicue letters all over the parchment would be the sort of person Laereth would ever allow to know him well. That cut down the possibilities of a sender to almost no one. Add in genuine skill at composing poetry and that pathetic number dwindled even further.

The smile that flashed and was gone like lightning was feral, a quick baring of teeth. He threw the envelope away as though concerned that the hearts might vex him toward madness if they stayed visible any longer, but the parchment was set upon his nightstand. He leaned out from the bed to grasp the neck of his guitar, then leaned back against the headboard in a comfortable slouch and settled the instrument against his thigh, knee bent to support it. Hands most familiar with every weapon known to man and some random items that no one would suspect could be weapons drifted gently over strings and frets, producing a whisper of sound. A quick plucking brought forth the babble of a brook; his hand upon the neck dropped down and the same quick plucking displayed a rumble of thunder. A few chords were strummed until he settled on a low minor key and he started to play, wandering through an immature tune that could grow sophisticated and ripe with patience, mentally setting the poem to music.

#A poem!#An anon mystery poem!#Long post

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scriptgerman · 7 years

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Karneval, Fasching, Fasnet: The fifth season

It’s Wednesday, March the first: Ash Wednesday. Which means for Christians that Lent begins and for Germans that the fifth season of the year is over. (Of course, for Christian Germans it also means that Lent begins.) Fifth season you ask? Wtf Germany? Well, yes. It’s spring, summer, fall, winter and KARNEVAL aka Fasnet aka Fasching aka carnival, obviously ;)

We’re gonna do this after a read more, because apparently I like to write a lot.

Let’s start with some definitions:

Die fünfte Jahreszeit (The fifth season): 11.11/ 06.01. until Ash Wednesday, time of the carnival in Germany

Karneval: Name for the festivities in western, northern and eastern Germany

Fasching: Name for the festivities in Bavaria and the southern east of Germany

Fasnet: Name for the festivities in Baden-Württemberg

Please note that especially in Nordrhein-Westfalen (North Rhine-Westphalia) Karneval is dominant, but there are also regional names being used, like “Fastelovend” and “Fasteleer”.

So what exactly is being celebrated with these festivities?

These festivities date back before the Christianisation: People believed that evil spirits brought the winter with them. The festivities were used as a way to chase these spirits away. After Christianity was established the festivities lived on as a way to feast before Lent and the costumes meant to scare the spirits became the fun and colourful costumes known today. Well, mostly.

What does the fifth season look like?

The first to start the fifth season are the people celebrating Karneval: They start the festivities officially on the 11.11 at 11:11 o’clock, while everyone else starts later, on January 6th. Though between November and January there aren’t many festivities. Through January and February, all festivities are sittings.

The Thursday, known as “Weiberfastnacht” (literally “Women’s Fasnacht”; “Weib” being an archaic, derogatory term for woman), “Fetter Donnerstag” (Fat Thursday) or “Schmotziger Donnerstag” (Dirty Thursday”) before Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of the carnival parades, although most only start on Friday: On Thursday, people celebrate costumed in bars and clubs, in and around Cologne and Mainz, carnival strongholds in Germany, it’s something of an unofficial holiday. Men are advised to not wear their best tie, for women go around and cut them off, the tie being a sign for men’s power. The men are compensated with a kiss (on the cheek). But careful! If the wearer has not given permission before, your female character could get in trouble. (Does not apply if the man in question is taking part in the festivities and should know about this tradition.)

All during the weekend, parades take place, finding their climax on “Rosenmontag” (“Rose monday”). A few last parades take place on Tuesday, sometimes known as “Veilchendienstag” (“Viola Tuesday”). No more festivities take place on Ash Wednesday, though there are many political events, which is known as “politischer Aschermittwoch” (“political Ash Wednesday”).

What are the differences between Karneval, Fasching and Fasnet?

Though the rough course is the same in all three festivities, they vary a lot. I can’t talk much about bavarian Fasching, though I expect it is similar to swabian Fasnet.

As I said above, the official start in the Karneval season is November 11th, 11:11 am. Why right then? No one knows for sure, a lot for myths and half facts. It’s tradition. Nonetheless, most events don’t start until January. In January, a Prince is chosen to reign during the fifth season. This is varies from region to region, sometimes the Prince reigns alone, sometimes as Royal Couple with his Lady by his side, sometimes, for example in Cologne, it’s the “Dreigestirn” (triumvirat) of Prince, Pawn and Virgin (all three traditionally men). They are positions of importance and honour.

Until Weiberfastnacht, all festivities are sit down, indoor sessions, with wide programs where speeches are given, songs are sung (with or without the audience) jokes told, dances and skits shown. Everyone is at least partly costumed.

The weekend after Weiberfastnacht, processions take place literally everywhere. These processions are made up of dancing groups, marching bands on foot or on horse, horses, support vehicles and floats - mostly build by the “Jecken” (the people celebrating) themselves, often with political motives, national and international. During the processions, lots of sweets in every variation are thrown down from the floats and given out from the marching groups, as well as flowers (in exchange for a Bützchen - a kiss with closed lips, on the lips or the cheek; if the persons included get close enough together) and little knick-knacks, including small plastic figures, whistles, balls, condoms and stuffed animals.

The biggest of these processions take place on Rosenmontag, and the biggest of those takes place in Cologne: Over a million Jecken are lining the sides, the way the groups walk is 7,5 km long (~4,6 miles). This takes a single group about 5 hours: The procession is never faster than walking pace and often needs to stop for various reasons. In 2017, the procession was 8 km long - and therefore longer than the way to go! Because of that, during the last years the starting time was moved from 11:11 am to 10 am, to make sure that the last participants reach the end before sundown.

Traditionally, leading the procession are the Blauen Funken, a dance group. In the middle is the float of the president of the Festive Committee and the end is made up of the guard of honour, the float of the Pawn and Virgin and the Prince’s float and, at the very end, the Prinzen Garde (Prince’s Guard).

The WDR, a local TV station, shows the procession in it’s entirety on TV. A few numbers from this year’s procession: about 300 Tons of sweets, over 700.000 chocolate bars, more than 220.000 chocolate boxes and over 300.00 Strüßjer were given out (Strüßjer are usually a single flower wrapped with a little green.), there were 114 floats and carriages, 90 tractors, 85 vehicles holding the throwing material, 82 marching bands from all over the world, 500 horses and 12.000 participants, plus nearly 3000 helpers walking next to the floats and tractors, holding signs etc to make sure that the procession goes as smoothly as possible and no-one is run over. The participation of horses is constantly discussed and criticised by animal rights activists.

People call “Kamelle” (a dialectal word for sweets) to get sweets and “Strüßje” to get flowers. Other things that can be heard are “Kölle Alaaf” and “De Zuch kütt” (The procession is coming).

From personal experience I can say that it’s very, very easy to come back from a procession - even one of the smaller ones - with several bags filled with sweets and stuff. When my best friend and I were at two processions a few years back, we each had a bouquet with more than 20 flowers at the end.

Here is a youtube video with the Highlights of the Rosenmontags procession this year. The woman talking btw, is speaking the local dialect from Cologne. I also reblogged a post with pictures of some political floats.

Fasnet traditionally starts on January 6th, although some places have adapted the 11.11 from Karneval. It differs in other aspects as well: Traditionally, there is no Prince whatsoever and the revelers are called “Narren” not “Jecken”. The processions are smaller, less stuff is given away and mostly it’s sweets given away. Also, the processions are made up of groups wearing “Häß”: a special kind of costume, mostly made by hand by the Narr themself and usually including bells and masks. The groups vary from village to village, though some bigger groups have branches in more than one village or town and each group has their own history and legends. They usually carry something called “Saustift”, a stick of greasepaint, in different colours with which the spectators are marked. Some groups kidnap spectators and take them with them for some part of the way, in handcarts or cages. Frankly, as a kid I was damn scared of them and much preferred Karneval in Cologne with my grandparents.

An example for a Narren group/ Häß: Krautscheißer (literally Kraut shitters)

They are named for some people in a very good mood shitting on the local pastors cabbage, or so the legend goes. In the picture are two Krautscheißer in the foreground and two Kochhäfen in the background - originally to groups, now because of declining numbers one group with different Häß.

[a picture of 4 people wearing Häß: in the front two persons in green costumes, made of overlapping green cuttings in varying green tones. They wear belts with big bells over their chests and wooden masks surrounded with what looks like salad leafs. On their temple are colourful slips, the hair of the masks are should long, green woolen strands. In the background are two figures in white. Although they are mostly covert by the figures in the front, one can see that they are wearing wooden masks as well, with what looks like two foxtails on each temple. Their Häß is white with colourful embroidery. Their bell belts are black.]

What effects has the Narrenzeit?

(Narrenzeit = Time of the Narren, a swabian name for the time)

Narren and Jecken actively participating in processions while be unavailable for some time, caught up in preparations, meetings and processions and people traveling on the date of a procession should check the route of said procession so as to not get stuck because the streets are closed off. Stores will have costumes and theater make up en masse for sale and themed parties will be held everywhere. Schools in regions where either of those festivities are traditional will usually time their winter holidays to cover Rosenmontag. In my elementary school we would come costumed to school on the last day before the holidays and were “freed” from classes halfway through the day by Narren.

There’s also a special kind of baked goods available in February, a kind of fluffy deep-frying dough, which is sometimes covered in sugar and other times filled with jam, custards or other sweet creams.

Got a question for the German?

#karneval #fasching #own stuff #german traditions #the fifth season

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nyflowerguy · 6 years

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Interview with Brigitte Girling of Moss & Stone

I’m delighted today to feature an interview with Brigitte Girling from Moss & Stone (pictured left below), together with stunning images from her ‘A Winter Gathering Workshop’ with Kate Hargreaves from Tangle & Thyme (pictured right below), which took place last November.

How did your workshop with Kate from Tangle & Thyme come about?

Kate and I first met at the Flowerona Branding for Florists workshop a year a half ago. This course was instrumental in providing the opportunity for several of us to meet for the first time having known each other on Instagram. Claire Bowen (Honeysuckle & Hilda), Lucy Hunter (Lucy the Flower Hunter), Carol Lannigan (Painterly & Blooms), Kate Hargreaves (Tangle & Thyme) and myself seemed to gravitate towards one another and connect. We couldn’t have known, but this was the start of true friendships that have grown, developed and expanded into a really supportive, network which now includes several other wonderful florists.

Over that time, we’ve all helped each other out in various ways work-wise and got together socially. And this looks like an on-going trend that continues to strengthen. Kate then attended one of my workshops last summer and she told me all about a recent garden design course she had been on, where she was fortunate enough to gain some hands-on experience at Sissinghurst. This is a garden that frustratingly I haven’t yet visited but is top of my list! She then explained that she was now in the process of designing and creating a new cutting garden at her home in Essex. So, a visit to her lovely garden seemed a must! Over lunch, Kate told me all about her plans to grow and develop workshops in her beautiful studio space and she asked me if I would be interested in co-hosting one with her at the end of the wedding season. And so our ‘A Winter Gathering Workshop’ was born.

I feel certain that our story of friendship growth and finding ‘our tribe’ through you and your blog is not unique. There must be many other stories like this as a result of the Flowerona influence. You have created an environment through which beautiful connections can and have been made and where the ethos is not competition but support and encouragement. Our workshop in November happened as a direct result of your influence and support for our floral industry as a whole. I sense there is a new wave of positive support, collaboration and encouragement that has developed within floristry where social media, Instagram and your blog have played an intrinsic part. Long may it continue!

Where did the workshop take place?

Kate has a beautiful converted old brick stable block where she hosts her workshops near Great Dunmow, Essex. I think many of us florists can suffer pangs of workshop envy but this one really is special and was perfect for the workshop we had in mind. On the workshop day, we woke to a glorious spangled heavy frost and blue skies. It was picture perfect but oh so chilly! However, fortunately Kate’s space has a glorious woodburning stove, so quite quickly we had a lovely cosy atmosphere into which we could welcome our guests.

Who attended the workshop?

We had a wonderful group of florists who joined us for the day, all with varied experience and interests. Julie King (Peonies & Posies) who writes a garden blog and is passionate about her stunning cutting garden and using seasonal flowers, Sarah Statham (Simply By Arrangement) who holds the most wonderfully inspirational floral workshops from her ’small corner’ of Yorkshire, Ruth who once owned a beautiful hotel on the West coast of Scotland and did all the hotel flowers there for nearly thirty years, Sarah Whiting (Nettlewood Flowers) a talented flower farmer and florist from Teddington, Jen Sayers (Foxtail Floral Design) who is a skilled freelance florist from Suffolk and Helen Jackson (Petal & Pot), a lovely wedding and event florist based in Walthamstow.

What was the format of the workshop?

We wanted to celebrate the end of a busy floral year with our attendees, create some beautiful centrepieces and construct a gorgeous floral installation setting within which we could enjoy a candlelight celebratory dinner, swap stories and cement even more new friendships. We all worked together collaboratively to make our fairytale setting. Kate and I started off by talking about our design philosophies – we both prefer to use good old-fashioned chicken wire and water for our table arrangements. We feel that it allows for a more natural, garden style feel and the flowers seem to be much happier too! We also prefer to use British grown seasonal flowers whenever possible. In late November, this was of course not entirely possible but we incorporated many dry seed heads, grasses, foraged finds and branches to give a natural seasonal feel to our designs.

After a quick demonstration by us, our guests then had plenty of time to enjoy creating their tablecentres that would run down our evening tablescape. A light home-made lunch of warming soup followed before we embarked as a group on our hanging installation – a floral plank with hanging candle-lit baubles, which would sit above our table. It was lovely to see true collaboration, discussion, respect and friendships blossoming as we worked. After a welcome cake break, we broke into smaller groups to freestyle and create more organic, natural installations around the space. A tumble of my favourite foraged creeping vine, old man’s beard, festooned the stairs and wonderful branchy and brackeny creations began to creep up the walls.

Later whilst enjoying canapés and fizz, we created our floral tablescape. We then lit the candles and sat under our beautifully atmospheric backdrop and enjoyed each others company, warming food and glass of wine or two until quite late into the evening! To top it all, this lovely day was recorded by the super talented fine art photographer Hannah Duffy. Hannah and I had worked together before and she generously agreed to come and spend the day with us capturing our ideas and designs coming to life. I was so delighted with her images – a feast for the eyes!

Could you tell us about the workshops which you’re planning on holding this year?

Kate and I plan to co-host another workshop this year but it will probably be late summer once her new cutting garden is fully underway and brimming full of flowers! We will keep you posted! I really enjoy my one to one workshops and they’re available throughout the year. Guests can choose what they would like to spend the day focussing on and then we get thoroughly immersed in all the flowers the season offers.

I’m also running a series of workshops with Julie of Peonies & Posies from her glorious cutting garden in Suffolk, the first one ‘Gather & Grow Hellebores‘ took place last month. Then I’m hosting ‘The Folly of Flowers – Spring Edition‘, a rather special foam free installation workshop on May 15th with Sarah from Simply By Arrangement in a romantically remote folly in Suffolk. All are available through my website. There are other very exciting plans for collaborative workshops in the pipeline which I will add as soon as the details are firmed up. I just love holding workshops!

Kate will also be running more workshops from her beautiful space this year. Her new website is under construction but if you would like more information, you can contact her by email or through Instagram.

Thank you so much to Brigitte for all her help in compiling today’s blog post. If you’d like more details about her upcoming workshops, please visit the Moss & Stone website. And of course, do pop over to her gorgeous Instagram account to see her latest designs.

(Images : Hannah Duffy)

from Flowerona http://ift.tt/2Ffdwxa via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Flowerona

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wendyimmiller · 4 years

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Rudbeckia Revolution

Be realistic, demand the impossible.

Che Guevara

I am waging war against frustration, and impatience is an obstacle. My struggle may take two or three years before there is a measurable outcome. This year’s brutal heat and drought nearly ground to a halt any remaining enthusiasm for my garden. While the president fantasized in August about buying Greenland, I dreamed of a cooler global climate and a little rain. Nothing worked. Greenland’s ice sheets continued to melt, and central Kentucky had the hottest and driest September on record.

So, I’m done with our garden, at least, until the early-flowering, squirrel-resistant Crocus tomasinianus hits full stride next year. At the first sight of thousands of lavender-colored March bloomers, on the nearby Ursuline Campus in Louisville, I hope my gardening mojo returns. In the meantime, I needed an autumn pick me up. I decided to launch the Rudbeckia Revolution.

But let’s be honest.

Rudbeckia triloba

I am a little long in the tooth to start a revolution by myself, so I enlisted an alley-wise, 24-year-old who came highly recommended. He had previously aced the rigorous Seed Bomber segment of the Guerilla Gardening Aptitude Test. My accomplice’s love for his garden and his will for a little tomfoolery caught my attention.

He planted his first garden this spring in a community plot in Louisville’s Germantown, while continuing to teach English online to Chinese kids. During his inaugural season, he navigated the normal ups and downs encountered along gardening’s learning curve and never flinched. (I am protecting the young man’s identity so that any urban seed-bombing in the future can remain discreet and, perhaps, even beneficial and pretty.)

Chasmanthium latifolium

We deployed seeds in lieu of bullets in two Louisville alleys on November 1st. We were caught on one site, but I explained we were sowing flower seeds. A quick reprieve, and an endorsement, was granted. My comrade’s seed-sower disguise might have appeared alarming but he’s a good-hearted Lone Ranger, not a bandit.

Our ammo was gifted by Jelitto Perennial Seeds. Jelitto offers the best selection and quality of perennial seeds in the world. (I’m a little biased. I worked with Jelitto for 22 years. When I retired two years ago, I was given a generous lifetime allowance for perennial seeds instead of a gold watch. Who needs a gold watch when you can have all the perennial seeds you want?)

Cleaned seed of Rudbeckia triloba.

The Rudbeckia Revolution has modest goals. We don’t envision elegant plantings resembling Piet Oudolf’s High Line design in New York. There will be no fussy alley coddling in Louisville. Imagine our small-time seed bombing as the scruffy Low Line.

The revolution’s goal is simple: We are crossing our fingers that seeds germinate and a few dozen plants of black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia triloba) and northern sea oats (Chasmanthium latifolium) will establish in sun to semi-shade, in hard-packed, but well-drained clay soils.

You’re wondering: Why didn’t we seed more species? This is a skirmish, not an invasion.

Seed bombing tip: Sow perennials seeds on top of the surface in autumn. Cover with a mixed grade of fine and gritty sand. No need to scratch the soil’s surface. The sand will absorb moisture from the earth and germination will be enhanced by moist and cooler conditions in autumn and winter.

If our small battles succeed, and there is no guarantee they will, a few plants may eventually self-sow and compete with crab grass, wintercreeper, hackberry roots, poke weed, lambs quarters, foxtail, autumn clematis, paulownia and tree of heaven seedlings, and whatever worrisome uncertainties global warming throws at our hidden alleys.

I’m not sure, even if the seed-bombed alleys flourish, that anyone will notice these new pollinators and caterpillar hosts. One of our battlegrounds, in the Crescent Hill neighborhood, sprinkled with garbage cans, has a tree canopy of filtered light. Dog shit is ignored, a token of the bygone era when dogs wandered free and crapped everywhere. Deer and coyotes, Louisville’s recent arrivals, now roam with rats and cats. This alley is nothing like the closely monitored neighborhood front yard landscape, where deer feast on hostas and a security camera occasionally tags a naughty dog owner who won’t pick up pooch’s shit.

The second alley, downtown, has more sun, weeds and litter, plus a marvelous Catalpa and Osage orange, warehouses and an abandoned homeless camp.

Both alleys are passageways to a diverse and mongrel ecology.

Jean-Francois Millet’s The Sower. Walters Museum photo.

We are not overreaching. The Rudbeckia Revolution’s handbook states plainly: “A few survivors may self-sow or not.” This is not an ugly, in-your-face fight for hearts and minds.

My comrade and I don’t expect to save the world; we are only buying time until next spring.

¡Hasta la victoria siempre!

Rudbeckia Revolution originally appeared on GardenRant on November 13, 2019.

from Gardening https://www.gardenrant.com/2019/11/rudbeckia-revolution.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

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turfandlawncare · 4 years

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Rudbeckia Revolution

Be realistic, demand the impossible.

Che Guevara

But let’s be honest.

Rudbeckia triloba

Chasmanthium latifolium

Cleaned seed of Rudbeckia triloba.

You’re wondering: Why didn’t we seed more species? This is a skirmish, not an invasion.

The second alley, downtown, has more sun, weeds and litter, plus a marvelous Catalpa and Osage orange, warehouses and an abandoned homeless camp.

Both alleys are passageways to a diverse and mongrel ecology.

Jean-Francois Millet’s The Sower. Walters Museum photo.

We are not overreaching. The Rudbeckia Revolution’s handbook states plainly: “A few survivors may self-sow or not.” This is not an ugly, in-your-face fight for hearts and minds.

My comrade and I don’t expect to save the world; we are only buying time until next spring.

¡Hasta la victoria siempre!

Rudbeckia Revolution originally appeared on GardenRant on November 13, 2019.

from GardenRant https://ift.tt/2NIZtmh

#GardenRant

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krsnan-blog · 6 years

Photo

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createyournature-blog · 7 years

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Introducing Our Retail Lineup

Ever since opening our doors last year, we’ve been a proud supporter of several local small businesses. From the honey drizzle on many of our signature acai bowls (Honey Feast) to the warm cup o’ joe (Foxtail) we serve up every morning, we’re supporting our fellow local businesses. So, if you haven’t popped over to our little corner on Orange Avenue recently, you are missing out. We recently introduced several new products for sale in our café, and you’ll probably recognize many of them from some of Central Florida’s favorite small businesses. Take a look, and shop local.

Soy Candles by Winter Park Candle Company

This family owned and operated business creates all-natural, clean burning soy candles right here in Winter Park. Candles are handmade in small batches with organic soy wax and natural cotton wicks. Now, you can feel good about what you are lighting in your home and scent it without pollutants.

Large and small candles available in the following scents:

Bamboo

Heirloom Tomato

Sweet Grapefruit

Mandarin-Citrus

Lime/Coconut

Homemade Preserves by Longwood-Based Sunchowder’s Emporia

Founder Wendy Read has been offering the very best in jams and chutneys one spoonful at a time since 2008. These local, hand-crafted preserves and jams are made in small batches using only the freshest seasonal fruits and finest ingredients. We’re so in love with these beauties that we feature a few of the seasonal creations in our oat bowls!

For a list of our current flavors, please ask a team member.

Honey from Groveland-Based Honey Feast

You may have noticed a drizzle or two of honey on one of our bowls. It’s true. Honey makes a wonderful natural sweetener, and we’re proud to feature Honey Feast from Groveland atop some of our fresh, made-to-order bowls. This local company hand-crafts its honey one barrel at a time with varieties that are pure, unblended and unaltered. You’ll now find their 12 oz. glass jars available for sale in our café.

Honey Varieties Available for Purchase:

Palm

Mangrove

Sea Grape

Orange Blossom

Black Gum Tupelo

Brazilian Pepper

Sun Care Products by Sun Bum®

This one’s for all you sun lovers out there. Yeah, we see you out there in our courtyard soaking up some rays while digging in to your favorite bowl. This Cocoa Beach-based company has you covered with sun care products that are gluten free, vegan and antioxidant enriched (vitamin E). You’ll find an array of their sunscreens as well lip balms available for purchase.

#TrusttheBum

Lineup Includes:

Sunscreen: SPF 15, 30, 50 and 70 (6 oz. and 8 oz. bottles)

Face Stick: SPF 30

Zinc Oxide: SPF 50

Cool Down Aloe Gel

Cool Down Lotion

Cool Down Spray

Show Your CYN Pride

Consider yourself a regular? Show your pride and grab one of our T-shirts. Ranging in sizes from kid to adult, they’re sure to be a conversation starter with your friends. Available in soft Heather grey and funky tie-dye.

#shoplocal #iluvwinterpark #winterparkfl #aroundwinterpark #buylocal

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