“We’re camping next week, so I’m going to fail at my diet again,” one client admitted.

She meets her extended family each summer for one of my personal favorite activities: huckleberry picking. Every year, they gather on family property and spend days picking berries to preserve and enjoy until the next harvest. Like most family reunions, each family signs up to prepare a meal. She described the menu in great detail, including the huckleberry cobbler she didn't want to eat, knowing the cake topping came from a boxed mix with questionable ingredients and the conventional ice cream contained refined sugars and other contaminants.

Strange, right? To spend hours tromping through the underbrush picking tiny berries—enough to make dessert for 24 people—then bake those berries with food made in a factory. It seems nonsensical. Why not make the cake batter from scratch using real ingredients that complement nature's perfection?

It’s been more than a year since I last flew on an airplane, where I sit in cramped quarters typing this article. The past two summers, I took my kids to Italy, France and Switzerland—partly to show them corners of the world beyond the "bubble" in which we live, and partly because we haven't had a stable place to call home during the summers—or, currently, at all. This year, craving something more grounding, I rented a home instead of traveling. I'd almost forgotten the stress of booking transportation, packing clothes, organizing logistics, coordinating childcare, and stacking client work before and after a trip.

Planning the food, however, felt natural.

As always, I keep two travel lists: one for what to remember, and one for the nourishment I require. First, I focus on the latter.

“This week was life-changing,” said Nicholas, a singer-songwriter from Portland, Oregon.

He arrived at Idaho Basecamp just as the rest of us sat down to dinner: roasted cauliflower, black beans, guacamole, and sautéed local greens over rice. Nicolas had driven ten hours to the Big Lost River Valley, where Mount Borah and the Lost River Range dominate the horizon. Others traveled even farther—from Mexico and New York—alongside artists from Montana and Utah.

They didn't come for the food. They came to rest, create, be present, and spend a week off the grid.

This was my fourth year nourishing artists at Idaho Basecamp's annual residency. I don't go there to rest. I go there to create, too.

I’m a coffee lover and, in the hot, busy summers when I’m up at dawn, had run around all day, and in bed way after dark, my coffee ritual is non-negotiable. I remain mindful about not drinking too much caffeine, consuming only half-caf coffee, and not drinking after noon (except, um, I’m breaking that rule right now as I write this article).

Caffeine is a diuretic, which means it moves through us quickly and contributes to dehydration. Nutritionally, for every 8 ounces of coffee or one shot of espresso, we need about 8 additional ounces of water to stay hydrated. Alcohol requires extra water, too. If you live an active life in the Idaho mountains, enjoy long summer days, and indulge in all the delish beverages that make summer more fun, there’s a good chance you’re not drinking enough water.

By the time my kids arose on July 4th, I had practiced yoga, spent time with my self-help readings, contemplated how un-free I felt in my unstable housing situation, shifted my mind back to gratitude, and picked up the cotton candy machine. That's right—we were preparing for my 11-year-old daughter's first business venture during Hailey's Independence Day parade.

At 10 a.m., we dumped four Mason jars of organic flavored cane sugar—cherry, root beer, coconut, and pineapple—into the trash. The sugar had been stored in a friend's basement for a few years, so we were making a fresh batch. As we reviewed the recipe, we discovered a problem: flavored sugar is supposed to dry for six hours after being mixed with liquid extracts. Oops.

“If only I had hand-picked strawberries and local potatoes—oh, and a greenhouse with an avocado tree—this breakfast would be transformed,” I mused. I’ve learned to keep thoughts like these to myself, knowing my kids would roll their eyes.

There is this “thing” I do with every meal as a way of giving thanks: I consider what’s local and seasonal, from where or whom I procured the ingredients, and what elements I could improve to make the meal even more local and seasonal. Weird? Perhaps. OCD? Hardly. Playful? Not exactly. Mostly, I’m tuned in to how good fresh food tastes! In essence, “fresh” indicates locally grown and recently harvested, which also translates into seasonal unless you’re talking about hydroponics (which I’m not).

“Jamie, I thought of you—our garden is packed full of lettuce. Do you need any?”

This text message came through on Friday while I was driving home from dropping off my son at his first job. His lunchbox was packed with homemade food to support him through a long, hot day. I was headed home to my daughter, who was eating the sourdough pancakes I’d just made, to pack up her gear and lunch for an excursion up north.

Besides finishing my housing article, sending off a podcast for editing, and replying to client emails, I added three more things to my to-do list: make dressing, harvest lettuce, buy fish.

Finally, I knew what I’d make for dinner at the cabin.

My son walked into the kitchen while I was preparing dinner, removed his ear bud to say hello and, upon hearing the guest on a podcast I was streaming say the word “organic,” he rolled his eyes, replaced the ear bud and left the room. “I’m doing research!” I shouted after him, but I knew he wasn’t listening. He was tired of hearing about food, while I am ever curious. I will never know it all—nor do I want to. With all my education, years of reviewing research, conducting interviews, writing a food column, a decade of clinical practice and a lifetime of recipe experimentation, still my perspective feels limited.

“I've had so much shame around food and nutrition.” A woman I’ve known for thirty years asked for my help feeling comfortable and strong in her body—her main health goal. Her other dream: to find peace with her meals.

Specifically, she wanted help optimizing her diet to help with mental focus, strength and agility while also hoping to lose weight and reduce amplified symptoms of perimenopause. She was also concerned about recently elevated lipid, blood sugar and blood pressure labs. She thought she was eating “all the right foods” (most of the time), yet was feeling excessively guilty and shameful for indulging—ever. She no longer enjoyed lunch out with friends, a glass or two of wine at book club, any occasion with celebratory food. She was being mindful, yet everything felt wrong.

It’s the last week of school for most of us in the Wood River Valley. It’s also a stressful time for us parents, endeavoring to be present to the milestones, anticipating summer with kids home and simultaneously navigating work and other commitments. In my own world, we moved again this week, adding another thick layer of complications and anxiety to an already full schedule. It’s a tempting time to forego good food for convenience; yet being lax on well-balanced, nutrient-dense meals can easily set us up for habits that translate into three months of ultra-processed, easily accessible pre-packaged foods for summer travel, camping and kids’ irregular activities.

Adults, let’s ensure we have simple meals to nourish our adrenals and moderate our stress response.

Fourteen years ago, I gave birth to my first child. At the time, I was vegan and for years been preparing most meals at home, paying close attention to nutrients, even before I understood them. I was also on a budget, having been “let go” for being pregnant, I was focused on graduate school prerequisites while pursing my second yoga teacher training. I never thought conceptually about meal planning. Simply, I cooked when I was hungry, went to the store when I needed ingredients and ate out sometimes with my then-husband and friends.

When my baby was ready for solid foods and my own nutrient needs had changed, I needed a plan, one that included meals for a rapidly growing baby and a post-partem mama with foods that were safe and nourishing for both of us. I was busy, tired and overwhelmed, and the internet offered little guidance.

Last week one of my busy mom clients, a fellow business owner working through her rather complicated relationship with food, told me about an “aha” food moment: while preparing her simple, well-balanced, gut-healing breakfast (plus leftovers for subsequent days), she noticed her frustration, followed by the sentiment, “This is a waste of my time.” Then, remembering our conversation about food as nourishment—not as a chore—she felt her body soften, followed by the transformative notion, “Actually, this is self-care.”

Admittedly, one of the reasons I wanted my children to attend The Sage School is because of their year-long focus on the American food system in the upper grades. It may seem a selfish reason, considering I’m a nutritionist, foodie and local food system advocate, yet I believe it’s one of the most important areas of study, addressing political, environmental, nutritional, cultural, social and economic issues locally and globally. Plus, it’s not a subject taught in traditional public schools, so who’s going to save the world if no one studies this vast and complicated topic and, subsequently, impart their enthusiasm for change unto the greater world?

With so much activity at the federal level trying to protect pesticide companies and opposition from MAHA and the public to protect people from pesticides, it’s an exciting time to talk about contaminants in our food. Of course, I talk about this every day and have received countless eyerolls over the years from friends and family for my choices to buy organic food or, heaven forbid, decline conventional food at a potluck. My former in-laws actually banned me from saying the “O” word (“organic”—not orgasm) in their home. They, and incalculable others, believe USDA organic labeling is a joke played on gullible foodies and environmentalists like me to garnish my hard-earned money—and that conventional food is totally fine.

Are we still really debating whether conventional American food is safe to eat?

As I write this on Monday, April 27, 2026, the Supreme Court is considering a case that could quietly reshape the future of our food system: Monsanto (Bayer) v. Durnell. At its core, the case asks a deceptively simple question: Can a state require warning labels on pesticides if those warnings differ from federal guidance?

The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), which regulates pesticide labeling in the U.S., does not classify glyphosate—the most widely used herbicide in the world—as a carcinogen (1, 2). Based on that position, Bayer argues it should not have been required to pay $1.25 million to the plaintiff, Durnell, who developed non-Hodgkin lymphoma and claimed he was not adequately warned under Missouri law (3).

Durnell’s argument is equally straightforward: he deserved to know the potential risks.

In celebration of my favorite day of the year, April 20 (4/20) I decided to write about Cannabis, plant-medicines and psychedelics (and save the exciting topic of glyphosate for next week). After sharing this inspiration, I surprised by two things: 1.) Not everyone knows the significance of 420. (In cannabis culture, “420” is slang for smoking pot – aka, marijuana, for those who don’t know – paying homage to the code word the time of day when five California high school buddies met after school to smoke weed.) (1). 2.) On April 18, our president signed an executive order to accelerate medical research on psychedelic substances (2). Impeccable timing! 

At the core of my work is food consciousness and healing, so it makes sense to relate food and wellbeing to consciousness medicine.

As I wrote last week’s article about dietary fats and why we need them, my moral compass was nagging me about something I did not address: dietary fats as a hidden source of toxicants. Whenever I guide about food and nutrition, my conscience urges me to say, “Ensure it’s uncontaminated…” – despite knowing everything is contaminated. Whether discussing fish, yogurt, tofu, wheat or spinach, I recommend, “Buy the best quality you can afford…” – despite knowing “quality” is subjective.

Taking accountability for diet and lifestyle is vital, so it’s important to understand the role of environmental contaminants in our food system, how they wreak havoc in our bodies and, especially, their detrimental role on our endocrine system.

Did y’all eat ample colored, hard-boiled eggs over Easter weekend? Perhaps an omelet, frittata, quiche or, as in my home, soft-boiled eggs? I’m a big fan of eggs – pasture raised, ideally. I’ve taught classes on eggs and, as you may imagine, I’m often asked for my “opinion” on eggs. Concerned less about humane conditions or quality, questions are fats. Are they “good” to eat? What about cholesterol? Will they make me fat?

I’m particular about quality food and I know there is good food in a lot of places. However, it's increasingly disappointing that road trip food is so terrible, reflecting the fact that typical American food is terrible. Considering road-trips are a common way of traveling the US, I cannot fathom why every gas station offers the same, crappy food-like substances and sugary beverages: chips, candy, hot dogs, energy drinks. Cheap. Ultra-processed. Wrapped in plastic. Occasionally, a banana or apple sits near the cash register. What’s worse are fast food options inside gas stations or next door – the food making Americans sick.

It was Sunday morning and I was up before 6:00 to prepare breakfast for my son before his last hockey camp practice. My mind pulsed with organizational details – get myself caffeinated, the kids fed, our things packed up and be on the road on time. My body reverberated after two days of city life, concrete and chaos – driving back and forth to the hockey rink a whopping 8 times while in Boise, visiting box stores and grocery stores, navigating traffic and timetables. My emotions drained after recurring arguments with my kids, begging me to take them to In-N-Out Burger, knowing I would not. We had to escape the temptations of the city.