Happy Friday — we’re back with more Hot Bones and a fun announcement. The next Green Drinks event will feature Charlottesville’s leading, best, and only sustainable living newsletter: This one.

I’d be thrilled if you wanted to join us. It’s on Wednesday, April 8 from 5:30 - 7pm in the front room at Firefly. There will be good beer. There will be a raffle. There will be the chance to help shape local news and climate coverage.

No need to RSVP, just head over if you can!

Do one long thumb scroll for more Cville-specific updates like local events, cool houses, and pets to adopt.

🐶 Speaking of: Bruno! This guy is an amazing and shy pup, and he’s been at the CASPA for 240+ days now. If that doesn’t break your heart, just know that he also loves to carry around sticks and sleep in the sunshine on warm days (German shepherd mix, 6 years old, 62 lbs).

Black Bear Composting isn’t just for your at-home food scraps and yard trimmings. It also works with grocery stores, restaurants, schools, and other orgs around Cville to help reduce waste, save resources, and lower expenses. (UVA is a big customer, for example.)

If your 9-5 doesn’t work with Black Bear yet, now’s the time to start. The BB team will:

It’s a great, easy way to keep composting around the clock, not just when you’re at home.

Become a Black Bear member here.

Of all the things you should worry about — the war in Iran, the misuse of government power, a rapidly warming planet, a summer full of wildfires — I’d argue that what you really should be worried about is getting this text from your significant other:

“Great news. I just scored us a free canoe.”

This is the preamble to weekends full of logistical nightmares, ruined lower back muscles, sunburned feet, and keys forgotten inside the car you parked 5 miles upriver. Your marriage will dangle by a single Chaco strap. Soon, the canoe will have to be gifted to the next sucker who sees “free” and doesn’t think twice.

I almost fell for this last spring, when someone on Cville Slack posted about their amazing-condition canoe, pickup whenever. Thankfully, I went to Great Outdoor Provisions looking for canoe car straps, and after chatting with their canoe guy for 5 minutes, I backed out. River trip logistics are endless.

Then you can go canoeing.

As much as I’ve always wanted to be a River Girl, this is insane. I could go for a trail run, eat a great lunch, take a long shower, and watch multiple episodes of The Pitt in that same timeframe.

I stand by the decision I made last year to leave the free canoe alone. But the one element of the river equation that I forgot until this past weekend is that while I hate chaotic logistics, my wife thrives on this stuff. She’s a producer after all. Why not let her strategize over everything?

It was delightful. The first 80 degree day of the season, blue skies, zero clouds, and a light breeze. We went on a small river near Sperryville because it’s close to my parents and we could use their dorky but indestructible sit-on-top kayaks and not-yet-smelly PFDs. (The worst smell in the world might be the neck flap of a rental lifejacket.)

This river story has 5 short parts.

Of the roughly 95,000 miles of linear streams in Virginia, we were about to paddle three. G planned everything, bless her heart.

We’ve already covered most of the annoyances here. But with two kayaks and one small Subaru hatchback, I do need to mention that we actually had to do that whole bulleted list twice.

However, with my strategist wife driving the ship, all I had to do was hold the kayak strap from the passenger seat, repeating “yeah, it’s still secure, I got it” while very much ready to let 30 pounds of yellow plastic fall out of our trunk into oncoming traffic if we hit the slightest bump.

It took us over an hour to haul everything to their go positions, and then G had to find her sunglasses at the bottom of the dry bag.

“This is very important. Don’t rush me.”

“No no, all good. Just don’t look at my feet while you’re doing that.”

“Yeah, nice Tevas.”

She did not mention my winter-weary, load bearing toenails. And that’s why we’re still married. (And the no-canoe decision.)

Okay, sunglasses found. Boats by the river. Dry bag rolled. Car keys present and accounted for. Let’s roll.

A lot of writers have described how magical water is — the ungraspable phantom of life and all that — but when it comes down to it, there’s just something special about being on a river.

Even if that river is two feet deep and you have to scoot your way over some of the rocks and tiny rapids. Even then, it’s still nice to be out there, floating downstream, banging off rocks and protecting your face from briars on the bank. You’ll get a certain peace of mind after your first scoot, when you realize that all these river dangers can be avoided by just standing up and dragging your kayak downstream a bit.

But a few minutes in, we hit our first actually dangerous obstacle.

“Strainers” are branches and logs that get pushed downstream in big storms and then get stuck somewhere deeply inconvenient for passing kayakers. The first big one we encountered was a fallen maple tree across the whole river — water was still flowing below but our chunky kayaks couldn’t do the same without risking us getting pulled under and caught.

So we got out and splashed through the freezing cold water (straight from Shenandoah National Park) to haul our boats over the trunk. No biggie except when G pushed my kayak really hard down the other side.

“Hey you splashed me.”

“Charlotte, this is a river trip. You shouldn’t get in a kayak and think you’re going to stay dry.”

This was a funny thing to say considering what happened at the next rapid.

Our hot bones and cold bottoms kept floating down the river, sometimes facing forward, sometimes spinning backward.

So far on the trip, I would typically paddle ahead and run the rapid, then hang out in the eddy below to watch G come through next. Sometimes she would flawlessly execute each turn and bump my boat to say, “why are you waiting?”

And sometimes she would flawlessly execute each turn, but backward, laughing lightly as she spun next to me. Very French, very joie de vivre.

The problem was that this next rapid was not La Vie en Rose. It was East Germany underground punk, fast and sharp edges.

G was at the last wave when a rock edged too close and she leaned too far. Her boat swamped with water and the two of them floated downstream to meet me.

As I dragged her kayak to the rocky beach, she laughed: “If you’re using this for Hot Bones, it better be the best edition you’ve ever written.”

Mais oui, ma cherie.

I started to flip the kayak over to drain some of the water out.

“Charlotte, don’t panic. But step away from the kayak.”

Snake. Snake? Must be a snake. Dear god please don’t let it be a snake.

I launched myself onto the beach, then looked back. The tiniest, sweetest, cutest mouse stood shivering on the back of G’s seat.

“Oh my god. Has he been in your kayak this whole trip?”

“Poor little guy. Where did he come from?”

I knew exactly where he came from. My parents’ shed next to the driveway. This industrious family of mice has singlehandedly taken down multiple cars over the years by chewing through wires and nesting in engines (while also not getting blown up? Unclear how they do this). One time a mouse crawled out of my front hood while I was stuck in traffic on 66, well over 50 miles from that shed.

“How’s he going to get home?” G asked.

“I think he’ll be just fine. He just needs to dry off in the sun.”

In addition to Mr. Mouse, we saw five deer, some big fish in the deep water, a bald eagle, a few wood ducks, and two geese that floated ahead of us for the rest of the trip.

Unfortunately, no photos were taken of the wildlife because 1) I didn’t bring my phone and 2) G’s phone was drying in a towel after Mr. Mouse rapid.

“That’s the sign of a healthy river,” I’d say to G every time we saw a creature.

For some reason I said this with confidence, but really I had no idea. There are plenty of roads nearby, and lots of farms. Surely all that runoff potential harms the river in ways we can’t see.

But I didn’t want to be proven wrong about this healthy river stuff at some later embarrassing moment. So after our trip. I called Betsy Nicholas, president of the Potomac Riverkeeper Network, to get some actual expert advice on what makes a healthy river.

And I was right! “It’s that plethora of life that’s on the river,” she told me.

Indicators include: plenty of big fish, lots of little fish, turtles, birds like eagles and hawks, underwater vegetation like grasses, and a bunch of little critters under rocks and things. Those are all “signs that [a river is] doing well and it’s healthy,” Betsy explained.

There are also the things you don’t want to smell or see, like big algae blooms or bad odors. Although make no mistake, “a lot of people who don’t go kayaking think rivers smell weird,” she added, but “that’s just a little bit of nature.”

The Potomac Riverkeeper Network has had its hands full this year with the massive sewage spill in the Potomac near DC, doing the lord’s work to communicate risks to the public and dutifully monitor bacteria levels when no gov agency would. Parts of the river might even be swimmable this summer (but maybe head upstream).

A lot of river stewardship is water quality testing like this, but it often goes unseen as it’s quite science-y and can be confusing. Plus, most people don’t want to hear about E. coli levels at any point during their day. Or really ever in their life. So a key for the Riverkeeper Network is communicating their findings in plain English to people like me.

Closer to home, organizations like the Rivanna Conservation Alliance and the StreamSweepers crew are doing similar work to protect our watershed and keep our rivers clean — and G and I were the lucky beneficiaries this past weekend.

This was especially nice given that the last rapid of the trip was certainly going to dunk us both. At least it would be a clean water baptism.

The car keys were still in the dry bag when we landed on the bank, thank god. We checked the boats for any more stowaways and loaded things up.

One long drive back with the kayak. Then one more long drive back with the other stupid kayak.

We let the dogs out. Later, we collapsed in the late-afternoon sunshine, simply existing with wet Tevas on dry grass.

The most important thing here: Use a river outfitter to avoid every single logistical decision beyond “where we should eat after this?” Rivanna River Co is your ticket here in Cville.

Check the water quality before you head out: Try sites like Swim Guide. The Rivanna Conservation Alliance also puts out water quality updates in their summer newsletter. Also, a good rule of thumb is to avoid getting on a river right after a big rainstorm, so you’re not mingling with all that runoff and all those strainers.

Help keep our local water clean: There are many ways to protect our watershed, but first and foremost Betsy from the Riverkeeper Network recommends learning about your rivers.

“Understanding the system is really important to knowing how to help protect it,” she said. “The choices you make around your home and in your life can all influence water quality.”

For example, reducing pesticides and fertilizers in your garden helps prevent polluted runoff that can cause “dead zones” in rivers. And installing a rain barrel in your yard also helps reduce excess runoff during big storms. Plus, you’ll have a backup watering source during droughts.

And then there’s the plastic leitmotif that crops up in every climate-related story ever. “Plastic is everywhere, and it’s all in our rivers all the time,” Betsy said. I know it sounds a little rinkydink, but simple swaps like a reusable water bottle instead of that crackly Poland Spring actually make a difference when you’re not seeing litter downstream.

Volunteering through cleanups and water testing — or just straight up donating — are other mainstays for helping out.

And last but not least, advocating for clean water goes a long way. Longer than I thought.

“Write a letter to your elected official, write an email, sign on to an action alert or petition, call your local legislator and speak out about what you’re concerned about on clean water. That is tremendously powerful,” Betsy said. “It makes little organizations like ours have a really wide reach and loud voice.”

Every small mouse can have a big impact.

The spring peeper (pseudacris crucifer) is one of the most iconic sounds this time of year. You probably won’t see one of these tiny tree frogs unless you enjoy wading through swampy fields and shallow ponds during dinner time, but you certainly can hear them.

And they are out and about right now: in the low-lying woods near O-Hill, near the creeks off Ivy Road, in the Sperryville meadows as you descend from Skyline Drive, behind the Chick-fil-A in Warrenton. Heck, even peepers gotta eat.

Listen to the peeper party.

😻 Merch or it didn’t happen: The Wildlife Center of Virginia helps rehabilitate injured animals, including Bobcat #25-3628, who is being released back into the wild today. You can celebrate the good news with a limited-edition bobcat shirt or hoody. (Proceeds help fund more bobcat success stories.)

🏠 Fishing camp of the week: 1930s farmhouse on the banks of the New River, with a pressed tin ceiling, many odd kitchen choices, and a clawfoot soaker tub (2 bed, 2 bath in Blacksburg for $250k).

🏡 Cool rental of the week: “Renovated Belmont bungalow” are the only three words more valuable than “location, location, location.” Remodeled kitchen and bathrooms, hardwood floors, and stained glass transom windows ($2,750/month, 2 beds, 2 baths).

🚘 Life after love, yes, but life after cars? Livable Cville is hosting a virtual event on the future of transportation in Charlottesville. Special guest is New York Times columnist Jamelle Bouie. Monday, 6:30pm, free.

🚴 Speaking of no cars: Come watch a bunch of outdoorsy movies at the Bike-In Film Festival next Thursday, April 2. Free to attend, with a bike-bus heading there after the monthly bicycle and pedestrian advocacy committee meeting.

💼 Job of the week: Communications Administrative Associate at the Southern Environmental Law Center ($70k - $81k). You’ll get to work with iconic Head of Comms Erin Malec.

💾 Remote job: Land Trust Program Director at the Appalachian Trail Conservancy ($85k - $95k).

👑 PS Saturday is No Kings Day (more info here).

🪏 And there’s free mulch at the Ivy recycling center.

Have an event or rec you’d like to share? Hiring? Interested in advertising? Share any and all info here.