Happy Friday — we’re back with more Hot Bones and a serious craving for the coldest, crispest glass of white wine on planet earth. With a side of fries.

And I’m not just saying that after five days of non-alcoholic beer. There’s a new section in this edition on the best organic wines to try this summer. Wonder if you can guess who the guest writer is.

This week, we’re also on the hunt for the best electric yard equipment to help you avoid maintenance, fumes, and the ire of your neighbor on Saturday mornings.

Before moving to Charlottesville, G and I lived in a 1920s bungalow with a bright blue door in the suburbs outside DC. It was tiny, adorable, and required extensive maintenance practically 24/7. As we were renting, this was not our problem. 

One Saturday soon after moving in, we were doing our normal routine (late lunch, tennis on TV in the background, and a fun-when-you’re-in-your-30s organizational task) but we kept hearing thuds coming from somewhere in the house. I think we both assumed it was the other one of us — that or our eccentric Dutch downstairs neighbor doing his own fun-when-you’re-in-your-40s task management.

It was weird though because the thumps were coming from the walls more than from downstairs exactly. But the Saturday vibes were strong and I guess we ignored it, hoping it would resolve itself before we had to text Dave our landlord to come take a look.

Later in the afternoon, G and I went on a long walk and halfway through who should call but Dave. While G answered, I stood vacantly on the side of the road, trying to suss out what the issue was from her responses:

“Oh no.”

“Okay.”

“Wow.”

“No, no need to apologize. Thanks, Dave.”

“But yeah, maybe just a heads up would be great next time.”

So anything, it could have been anything.

She finally hung up and kept walking. 

“Well, what happened??”

Those thumping noises? That was Dave just a thin layer of plaster and dust away. 

So it was a raccoon spa. We’d created the Four Seasons for small mammals with thumbs. All autumn, at least one raccoon had been taking steams, most likely waddling out late at night in a bathrobe, smelling like Pantene Pro V and Dove soap. Skin exfoliated, hair follicles luminescent, not a care in the world. 

Obviously we were incredibly grateful to Dave for discovering and fixing the issue before our spa raccoon fell through the vent and into the shower with me — but I don’t think, until he called G, that Dave fully realized the difference between living life when no one is around and living life when your landlord is around. Especially if your landlord is unsuspectingly crawling in your attic for an entire afternoon to replace the exhaust ducts. 

“Oh god, I hope we didn’t say anything embarrassing today.”

“What was that dumb thing we were yelling to each other between rooms?”

“Did we have a candle burning?” 

“What else does our lease say not to do. Did we do that.”

“Dave must think we’re insane.”

We must have done at least one embarrassing or stupid thing that day, because Racoon Spa Discovery Day was the last time Dave came over unannounced. From then on, whenever he came to check on something, he’d give us a signal that he was around — in the winter by parking right in front of our office window and in the summer by immediately turning on the gas lawn mower that could wake the dead.

All of that to say, this week I’ve been wracking my brains for a reason why you should still have a gas mower. Being a landlord and not wanting to surprise your young, highly anxious tenants when you need to fix stuff around the house is the only reason I can come up with. 

Ironically, as soon as we moved, we had to buy a lawn mower of our own. Seeing as how we weren’t going to be surprising any tenants or battling raccoons, we went electric.

Here’s why this was a good choice for us:

Seven bullet points on the positive side, wow, this is starting to sound like someone’s Hinge profile written by their mom. And to be clear, this isn’t just for lawn mowers — the logic holds true for all electric yard equipment. String-trimmers, hedge-trimmers, chainsaws, snow blowers, even and most importantly LEAF BLOWERS. 

Think how your life would be different if your neighbors didn’t use foghorn decibel gas-powered leaf blowers to put their leaves onto your lawn. Why, life would be perfect.

The only complaint I have so far is that a bunch of grass clippings got stuck in the catch-all area of our lawn mower and dried there during the winter, which I recently had to pry out with a stick. User error, won’t happen again.

And when I’m done out in the yard — after 30 minutes of lawn meditation — I can fold the machine in half and stick it in the corner of our shed. 

If you haven’t already gone electric, have I convinced you yet? Hope so. 

Here are a few solid product recs to test out. And here are a few pro tips:

And of course, if you’re driving through the suburbs of DC this summer and hear the roar of that gas lawn mower, give Dave a wave.

GUEST POST 🤩 G here! Charlotte refuses to let me use my full name (something about identity protection), but if you know me, you know I love wine. And recently Char asked me to write about organic wine in all its pet nat, biodynamic, skin contact glory. 

What I really like about natural wine-making is that it’s all about getting out of the way and letting the grapes do their thing. That means no chemicals in the treatments of the vineyards, little to no preservatives like sulfites in the aging process, and minimal filtering when it’s ready to get bottled. 

Rumor has it, that’s why natural wines = less hangovers, although the science on this is dubious at best. Live in ignorant bliss with me? 

Charlotte cut most of my recommendations (“spacing!”), but here’s the tip of the natural wine iceberg:

Heads up: You may find with natural wines that some of that unfiltered goodness leaves behind residue in the bottle or some unusual flavors. That’s part of the charm IMO, but some bottles won’t taste like your fave Kim C sauv blanc. 

Do you have other recs to add or avoid? Reply to this email and let’s start a list.

The mountain laurel at O-Hill is in full bloom. Highly recommend a midday hike and then an afternoon beer at Durty Nelly’s or Pi-Napo.

(Probs no organic wine on the menu but worth an ask.)

Thanks for reading this week’s Hot Bones. If you’ve got thoughts, hit reply. I’d love to hear from you.

🦴 Charlotte