At the geyser

A view from Helena

Memorial Day is a day dedicated to remembering fallen soldiers in all the wars. And it's a moving holiday, a Monday that is attached to the last weekend of May, and it gives people an opportunity to set out on a more serious trip. Mountain passes usually open on this weekend, as well as campgrounds and other tourist attractions — and everybody's driving.

This year's May was, alas, horribly cold — looking at all the forecasts I was holding my breath until I was blue in my face, but it got me nowhere. First we realized that we might not be able to camp up at Cottonwood Creek — it's too high an elevation, with this year's two hundred percent of average snowfall, the campsite might still be under snow cover. We resigned to the idea of overcrowded camping at Buckeye, whole three thousand feet lower. Still, on the Thursday before Memorial weekend the forecast for Buckeye was outright crazy — cold and windy on Saturday, near freezing at night with rain (snow in higher elevations), with Sunday following slightly above freezing, rain (snow etc.)... we simply concluded that it simply was not worth it.

Tom began to whimper on Friday about stomach aches, and underwent some digestive virosis on Saturday — I was rather grateful that I did not have to deal with it somewhere in a frosty tent. Yet, our tripping withdrawal syndrome reached an unbearable level on Sunday — and Hippo commanded us at ten a.m. to get in the car. Until that moment I lived under the impression that we agreed to not go anywhere and wait and see about Tom — but perhaps I was wrong. Anyway, Tom looked alright, and we went.

In Novato (a way north of San Francisco) we tried to have a lunch at Pasta Pomodoro. We don't do much so-called Italian food here, this was a chain, but we don't know the area and we did not have much time to dawdle. In Calistoga we made our first interpretive stop at the Old Faithful. One of a few reliable geysers spewed water on schedule every five or so minutes, and we had much fun. First the kids watched little fish in a warm stream flowing out of the pool around the geysers, and then Lisa discovered the animals (the place is really a farm selling tickets to a private geyser). A special, four-horned breed of sheep captivated her until she noticed two mules in a corral behind. After that, nothing else could get her attention, not the geyser, no llamas, and certainly no planned trip up the mountain — she would stay admiring the good-natured cross-breeds for entire hours. Eventually we had to drag her away and continue in our program.

Tom helping Daniel with knots.

Firemen.

We had been to Mt. Saint Helena long ago, despite that we found the parking lot in the woods and set out up the right trail. By then it was late in the afternoon and according to the sign, we had five miles to go to the summit. I argued with Hippo that we would have to turn around by five thirty to get back down before dark. I admit right away that this hike did not impress me. You walk along a dirt road through endless switchbacks, relatively boring. Offspring were mischievous in their different ways, we tried to fool Lisa by our usual argument that every proper mule would love to walk up such a hill and would be happy to be outside walking, but it did not work too well.

When we finally approached the nearer of the two summits, and could see another mile across the saddle remaining to the other summit, we outvoted Hippo that conquering the northern peak is enough and we won't go any farther. A picnic improved the morals a little, and it was more fun going downhill. By then I was wearing my wind-breaker. A reasonable person would expect that in my age I would have learned my lesson from Pinnacles and carry more substantial clothing — but I failed again somehow. This time at least I had MY OWN wind-breaker, and did not have to beg for others' coats.

As soon as we drove back down through the switchbacks to Calistoga, I stopped at the nearest sensible-looking restaurant — sushi Kitani. After faux Italian it was a change for the better, only having sushi with our children starts to get expensive. There was an interesting intermezzo with bathroom — the owner would carefully lock it, for the toiled gets clogged, and every time one of has had to go, she implored us to avoid dropping even the slightest shred of paper into the bowl. I felt like in Thailand, where European toilets (as opposed to a plain hole in the ground), if available at all, sported dedicated waste bins for used paper tissues. Simply exotic.

Half way to home, Hippo suddenly and abruptly turned out to a gas station, and left us at very accelerated pace in the direction of restrooms. First we pondered whether the sushi could have caused it, but he got fever on subsequent days and started to regularly complain, so he probably caught Tom's stomach virus.

These are no rocks on the beach, but seals.

Point Lobos abloom.

Meanwhile, Tom got better; the following Friday fell on first such in a month (June), when I can bring a guest to the climbing gym (for free), which I use for climbing with our children and their buddies. It was clear that Bryce would come along, but I still wanted to have Lisa invite a girl friend of hers. Since we don't have granny available, I have been trying to arrange visits with friends for Lisa, but it does not always work out and then Lisa gets an opportunity to ravage Tom's friends' hearts. Should this go on at the same rate, we are bound to have to, no later than by age ten, find some strictly girls-only boarding school.

The climbing proceeded along a typical scenario — I was belaying the kids, who kept running off to play in a tunnel. Eventually I convinced Daniel's mom to try climbing as well — she's quite good, considering that she never did it before, and having given birth four months earlier. A Thai dinner followed, and Bryce and Daniel created a problem, for they fought over who gets to sit next to our Lisa. Thus our princess sat between them, and our poor forgotten Tom sulked in the corner (now you see what I mean with the boarding school?).

On Saturday we took Hippo to San Jose airport; he flew to a conference in San Diego. It was much easier on me that he could use our local airport; it's quite a difference driving ten minutes or a full hour (to San Francisco International). I turned straw widow with children, but it's no a big deal anymore. They are self-sufficient, behaved, and everything works most of the time. On Sunday we made a trip to Santa Cruz and then we continued on to the last week of school. On Tuesday we picked up Hippo again (took us altogether half hour) and proceeded reunited as a family.

On Wednesday, the school had organized an Olympic Day. Kids love it, but otherwise it's a zoo. Fortunately those five hundred students get split up — Lisa's kindergarten operates fully separately on their own playground, grades one through three take lower field; fourth and fifth-graders use upper field. The latter even had some crazy music going on there (yes, I'm obviously old and out of touch). I oscillated between Tom's and Lisa's classes, awaiting trouble, which did not come. Although in the afternoon Tom declared that he had a headache and by evening developed a notable fever. I gave him ibuprofen and hoped that it was just from his staying all day in the sun, which we haven't had a chance to get used to this year.

Horses need care.

Lisa on Meg.

Alas, my expectation turned out to be false — Tom held on to his fevers through Thursday and Friday. I had to cancel horses already switched from Memorial weekend, and we stayed at home again. By five o'clock on Friday afternoon, Tom began to run with Lisa and demand access to the pool (naturally after all plans for the weekend turned irreversible).

We took Saturday easy, just to be sure, and arranged for a trip with Ryzls' family to Point Lobos on Sunday. We agreed on meeting in our place, and when the Ryzls showed up very much on time, kids declared that they wanted to play together and we had to postpone our trip a bit. On the other hand, Míša and I had time to have a coffee and discuss our lunching strategy. Once we got to a Vietnamese restaurant, we pronounced fried rice to be risotto and even their girls loved it.

At first we had planned a short hike to the northern beaches, for Andrejka had allegedly whimpered in the morning about an aching throat. However, the pack ran off into the park with a war cry and at high speed, which made us conclude that everyone was healthy and merry, and we would not limit ourselves. A fire engine had just arrived at the entrance to the park, and the firemen gave our kids red toy helmets; the children kept wearing them for most of the rest of the trip. We advanced to the whaling museum and then covered the prettiest part of the coast. Andrejka began to whimper near Allan Memorial Grove again, and we sent her off with Hippo to fetch our car, while the rest of us finished a loop through the grove. This had eventually filled up the whole day — we made it back home just for dinner. Sadly, Andrejka remained feeling unwell, and started taking antibiotics on the subsequent Tuesday to treat strep-throat — you just cannot guess it ahead of time.

Kids' summer vacations began on Monday with a test program. One of my neighbors recommended a girl she knows, who teaches her daughters horse-riding. Excellent references, very acceptable prices — only it's relatively far (about fifty miles), all the ways on the foot of Mt. Diablo. My own suspense was very strong about how this adventure ends.

My greatest worry was about traffic, since we had to take several frequented freeways to get to Diablo. Fortunately we were apparently headed against the direction of highest demand. Then a got lost in the town a bit — but when I found the right county highway, I could follow directions that Hollie had sent me.

Lisa dragging Meg up a hill.

Tom on Meg.

After that, we proceeded with no delay — before I finished signing all waivers, Hollie had the kids under her control, and they were leading Meg the pony out of the stables (I may still use some inaccurate terminology, so please forgive me if I confuse things). She showed them various brushes and scrapers and whatnots, Meg was obediently lifting up her hooves, although presence of this many people made her somewhat irritated. Hollie was teaching the children how to move around a horse; then they went to fetch a saddle and reins, and put them on Meg. Kids helped with all the belts and buckles, and Hollie drilled them to repeat the names of all those things (which I don't remember, and perhaps will learn later).

Lisa simply had to go first; Tom is not as much into horses. I had to admire how much Hollie taught Lisa in such a short time. Mostly balance in the saddle — Lisa lifted up her arms, swung them about, turned around left and right, reached for the tips of her feet, took feet out of the stirrups and put them back in, all this while Meg walked around. Then Hollie let her trot and the exercise repeated — for now only with one hand, and Lisa could hold on to a belt on the saddle with another. Apparently our ancestors include some circus person, for Lisa held on top of the horse with no problem and kept calling, waving at me and Tom, and generally enjoyed the lesson tremendously. In the end she matter-of-factly grabbed Meg and took (or more accurately, dragged) her back to the stables, where Tom would get in the saddle.

Tom developed (perhaps inherited) round back, and Hollie had to keep reminding him to straighten up — in the moment he bent down his feet would not hold in the stirrups and slipped out. This made me even more resolved to make him go through at least a handful of lessons — my back has been bothering me throughout my life and only horse-riding seems to help me (to keep a good posture, boost the muscles etc.). When Lisa was riding, Tom watched the lesson. Now Lisa left the arena and went to the stables to make friends with the other horses. First she enticed Tom, a pony in a paddock, petting him, singing and talking to him, and jumping about. Then, however, she disappeared in the stables and I went to check on her. I found her stroking the largest, blackest beast of all they had accommodated there. I was taken aback at the size of these real horses (I get the feeling that pack stations sport much smaller animals, but that's perhaps due to the fact the they live there in an open space framed by the huge mountains). Lisa was not afraid. The beast was bending its neck to let Lisa pet it and looked generally very peaceful. Later on Hollie said that this was the one horse that bites sometimes, and I will have to talk with Lisa to throttle her enthusiasm.

We were returning home rather tired; it had been hard after all. I'm very glad that we had finally found something interesting for Lisa. Her whole life hitherto, she has been accommodating Tom and his trains; we keep visiting railroad stations and museums, and she's interested, but definitely not as much as Tom is. Horses could be something that interests her — and a thing the rest of the family is willing to support and participate in, although perhaps with less devotion than hers.