Like many of the most resilient and creative people on this earth, the river of Marissa Schneider’s life has meandered through the unexpected twists and turns of trauma. Somewhere along that ride though, she found cannabis. As she moved through trauma, and the painful healing that comes after, the plant became a tool. A tool used not only to help her own soul in the process of mending, but also to help others. For Schneider, cooking with cannabis is about bringing people together. It is about healing her soul, and those of the other bodies she meets along her way. 

Before taking a look at Ann Hood’s Kitchen Yarns: Notes on Life, Love, and Food (W.W. Norton & Company, 229 pages), I feel compelled to make two personal points. 

Though I can whip up a tasty breakfast — my wife and I operated a Waynesville bed-and-breakfast for 15 years — and my gazpacho soup and quiche with salad have brought me compliments from family and friends, I am no longer much of a cook. Living alone these past six years, I mostly subsist on low-calorie microwave meals, bagged salads, grocery store rotisserie chicken, sandwiches, and canned soups. Occasionally I’ll cook up a big pot of chicken soup and live on that for two or three days, but over half of the ingredients come out of cans. 

The drive to The Mountain Retreat & Learning Center in Highlands sets the stage for its seclusion from the outside world.

Tourists crowd the winding two lanes that thread through the red, yellow and orange hues of fall. All of this makes the trip slow going, giving a person ample time to take in the beauty of the season.

Literature abounds with references to stone fruits. They signal something luscious and, if not romantic, intensely pleasurable. But there is also something dark about them.