We stride into the cloud-covered forest wearing outfits reserved for the sun. I stuff my fingers in my vest and brace for the cold.

Hour-old raindrops fall from the rocky overhang and slam my very large leaf. All around me, leaves float on the stream and collect in dams.

I strip to my bandeau and return to the cast iron Lodge pan in the sink, an expensive and intimidating piece I probably shouldn't touch.

The sun is setting, but the only orange thing we see is a fluorescent fungus, a gorgeous specimen with overflowing folds.

“Slurp, burble, gulp,” my sister Danielle chants as the slippery mud swallows her Vibram sneakers with every step. “It’s eating me alive!”