Ammi Midstokke

1 week ago | spokesman.com | Ammi Midstokke

Now that my vegetables are in the ground, their battle for statistically improbable survival has begun. I’ve redoubled my efforts to research the nuances of plant care, including panicked trips to the gardening store with photographs of leaves, requests for soil testing kits, and the acquisition of enough fertilizer to get flagged by Homeland Security. (Later, I caught the dogs in the plant beds eating the fertilized soil, which actually did lead to explosive threat.

2 weeks ago | spokesman.com | Ammi Midstokke

I don’t know where undaunted optimism comes from, but I know I got the gene. Many people confuse it with the naïvety gene, when they are in fact quite different. The naïvety gene is sort of like having problem-blinders, whereas the optimism gene leads one to believe that obstacles ahead are smaller than they appear and that one possess the necessary skills or gumption to overcome them.

2 weeks ago | outthereoutdoors.com | Ammi Midstokke

By Ammi Midstokke Cover photo courtesy of Ammi MidstokkeSometime around a decade ago, recovering from a divorce in which I lost everything but my kid and my bike (the stuff that matters), I found myself at the Whitefish Bike Retreat in Montana on one of my first and few breaks from parenting. Back then, it was just the lodge, owned and operated by legend Cricket Butler, who let me stay there for free, sent me out with a bike guide, and subsequently became a friend.

3 weeks ago | spokesman.com | Ammi Midstokke

On Mother’s Day, my family found the perfect gift for me: An off-grid, kinetic-powered, water-resistant laptop known as the Olivetti Lettera 22. Weighing in at just over 8 pounds (9 pounds if we include the durable, zippered case), it’s the perfect addition to any backcountry writing expedition. I do advise keeping your paper in a Ziplock bag and avoiding moisture contact on the ink ribbon.

1 month ago | spokesman.com | Ammi Midstokke

For two years, I’ve been in landscaping limbo, unable to plant a garden as we’ve been busy building a house. This has served as an emotional rehabilitation period during which my memories of horticulture carnage have been erased or replaced with revisionist history in which I recall only the four delicious asparagus I harvested and that year the anonymous tree produced dozens of delightful plums.