Truth be told, I hadn’t recognized myself for a while. 

Somewhere in the noise of moving across the country, finishing my degree, helping my dad recover in the hospital after a health scare, starting a business, and the general “just push through it” survival mode we all know too well, I stopped prioritizing the version of me that thrives in wild places. The me that felt alive far from other people, who laughed at muddy boots and slept best next to a fire and under the stars. That me faded, and I missed her more than I let on. 

Recently, however, something cracked – a longing to be in the North again. A pull back to myself. So we packed up the truck, mountain bikes and malinois in tow, and drove to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to explore a place we’re hoping to soon call home. I wanted to be away from the city, the airport, the noise. I wanted quiet and calm, a week to regulate a tired and stinging nervous system and just breathe. 

And boy, did the trip deliver…just not in the way I had planned.

Let me paint the picture: 

1. We forgot pillows.That’s okay, we used our duffel bags.

2. We forgot seasonings – and someone decided to select steaks as our first “simple” campfire meal. That’s okay, we used butter and a salsa packet from Love’s (I don’t recommend)

3. One of the dogs developed sore feet the second day and needed to be crate rested.

4. I mistakenly left the rain fly off the tent to air out without checking the weather.

5. We got caught in a torrential downpour halfway through our drive to trails and came back to find our tent had transformed into the most depressing little wading pool, our foam sleeping mats happily becoming sponges. 

6. Spent the night soaked, cold, and eventually curled up in the truck trying to sleep. That’s okay, feral is the way I like it. 

It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t Tiktok-pretty, and my phone was dead for most of it due to a faulty charger. It was exactly the kind of chaos I used to love – a time to be resourceful and laugh hysterically when the alternative is screaming. 

We cooked over the fire, we biked miles of snow machine trails, we even called in a wild banjo man when he heard Josh’s fire-side harmonica. In the middle of all the mess, something incredible happened: I felt like me again, the real me. The one who used to mush dogs through snowstorms and fall asleep behind a snow drift under aurora skies. The one who canoed through storms and shipwrecked more than once. The one who knows that even the worst camping days still beat the best days stuck inside. 

We even discussed getting sled dogs again once we are settled on our own property.

Saying that out loud makes my heart race–in a good way. I haven’t had them in nearly as long as I did have them. That stretch of time without them had felt like I’m holding my breath, grieving something I didn’t think I would even be supported in doing again. And now, with the prospect of having a team again? I’m breathing deeper.

Of course, I’d be lying if I said the trip didn’t remind me of how much I value being prepared. While I can forgive myself for forgetting seasonings (butter steak was an … experience) and forgetting the pillows, what I really missed was my dang soap.

Have you ever tried cleaning up after sorting  a muddy, smelly, slightly swamp-soaked camp site with nothing but baby wipes? It took about 47 of them, leaving me feeling wasteful and with a trash bag of single use wipes. I kept thinking: “I make backcountry-friendly soaps for this exact situation – why didn’t I bring any??”

My soap would’ve handled the mess better, I would have felt better, smelled better, and taken up less space that the sad plastic mountain of wipes. And honestly? It’s the little comforts–like having something that works the way you need it to – that make the rough days smoother.

So here’s to the return to who I am. To rainstorms, ruined tents, the promise of sled dogs, and chasing the life I actually want.

And next time? I’m bringing my dang soap.

If you’ve ever found yourself in the middle of nowhere covered in who-knows-what and wishing for something better than baby wipes… well, I’ve got you. That’s why I started making soap built for backcountry messes and adventurous lives. You can check it out — or don’t. But I highly recommend bringing some on your next camping trip. Trust me on this one.