Figure skating lesson.

Kids in redwoods. (photo Pája)

Thanks to Lisa's illness with fevers, we were imprisoned at home for a week. Tom would build trains, lego, merkur, transformers, roto and all of them over and over, but still he ended up at a computer. He usually browses through puzzles and kids' games; I monitor it superficially. This time he announced proudly that he was playing Angry Birds. I vaguely remembered that Břeh had shown us this game on his phone, and so I asked Tom where he got it from. He said that it was easy, just write ANGRY BIRDS in this window and it will find the game on the internet. I don't remember ever teaching Tom to search the 'net, but some individuals apparently don't need instructions.

The kids were counting down days till granny's arrival; Tom pondered that while sleeping at night, the remaining time passes by fast, and therefore it's best to sleep all night. Eventually the wait was over and granny flew in. We had an ingenious plan — granny would land before noon, getting out of the baggage claim by twelve thirty; we would load her and continue together to a lunch. However, baggage unloading became somehow unhinged — by one thirty, the flight attendants and pilots got out; granny was even a few minutes later. Throughout the approx. hour and half of our waiting, I had to calm down Tom, who "was panicked, for he would miss his granny", compounded by being hungry and tired. The innards of the airport had eventually disgorged granny, we ate our lunch by two thirty, and all was well.

To make matters less simple, my friend Pája came for a visit on the next day. Back then, before we both got married into California, we used to climb together. Now we see each other about once a year, for it's some six hours drive. Now Pája's house is being remodeled, and she found herself for a week without basic amenities like a bathroom, so she was "forced" to accept our hospitality.

On a train in Vasona. (photo Pája)

Celebrating birthday with Ellen and Sophia.

Kids were ecstatic — I promised them that they could sleep with granny in her room, which made their room available for the visitors. Even so, I was still worried about how our little home (and our not so little personalities) would cope with a house this full. Eventually it turned out better than expected — Pája integrated herself into our routine so well, that I haven't noticed any stress in the household and my nerves. Within the five days we fit several interesting events, but those only briefly:

Eli and Sophie both figure-skate, and one of our actions was ice-skating. I was not sure how those two trained athletes would mix with kids that skate at the frozen village pond level — and it was OK. Tom would run chases with them and bore with courage when he could not keep up. Sophia was teaching Lisa some pirouette tricks, and Lisa would try (but not succeed) to spin. Ellen then skated with Lisa, and they formed a good duo — Eli in a figure-skating dress and tights, and Lisa in a fleece and a woolly hat. But they were cute.

We drove to Felton to watch the train and redwoods, crawled into Fremont's tree and Lisa cut the skin on her forehead, when she fell on the side of the road. We also went climbing in the gym; Pája had not climbed for ten years, but only confirmed my theory that climbing experience is cumulative — once you know it, it's not hard at all to get it back — she climbed 5.10a.

On one Wednesday afternoon I had to leave Pája to her resources, for I had and appointment with my kids to the dentist. It amused me most that once Eli and Sophie learned where we were going, instead of being glad of not having to go, they instantly developed a tooth ache (Ellen) and a loose tooth (Sophia), demanding to see the doctor at once.

Our usual campsite became useless.

Rock crusher at Golden Gate Mine.

We spent one day in Santa Cruz. First the aquarium, then lunch, and Tom asked for a roller-coaster ride, and hence we ended up at Boardwalk. There, surprisingly, the beach became the winner, and the whole pack of kids got seriously wet. I refused to stand with dripping children in a line to a carousel, and we signaled for retreat. My theory got again confirmed that children need very few technical implements to be happy and active — sand and surf is more than enough.

On Thursday before Lisa's birthday, a drama took place in the house. First Tom took Pattie the hamster to the back yard and then ran away. A furious "mouse-hunt" ensued, during which I pondered how to best punish my son. Eventually I found Pattie merrily padding toward me from our garbage bins; she most likely went to check out the grounds. I caught her, chastised Tom for being irresponsible and leaving our hamster outdoors without supervision, and carried the rescued Pattie home. She was very eager to stay out of her cage, and I let her loose in the house and proceeded in cleaning her cage. Pája was asking me whether she should catch the hamster, and I brushed her off that it's OK. Pattie had discovered earlier that it is possible to crawl under our dishwasher into a cabinet below the sink, where we keep our garbage bin, which must smell very enticingly, and one can shred dish-washing sponges. After Pattie gets tired of these joys, she would usually sit at the cabinet door and wait for someone to open and take her out.

This time, however, when I finished cleaning her cage and opened the cabinet door, ready to grab our hamster and put her in the cage, there was no hamster there. I tossed out all sponges and cleaning supplies — still no hamster. I called both kids back home and ordered them to search. No hamster. I made everybody listen carefully for Pattie making scratching noises somewhere — nothing. She simply disappeared. A nearer inspection of the cabinet led to a discovery of an opening around the sewer outlet, leading somewhere into the depths — i.e. under the house (which has about three feet of crawl space between the ground and the floor, containing heating ducts, water pipes, electric cables and drains), or perhaps between the sheet-rock walls.

Eventually I had to abandon the search. I went to the climbing gym and instructed the rest of the family to listen (especially after the children go to bend and stop making din), whether the hamster scratches somewhere in the house. I was still hoping that Pattie had crawled into some place in the accessible rooms.

Summer's late, everything is starting to blossom.

Mountains over desert town of Walker.

From the gym I returned to an empty cage — Pattie did not show up. Hippo was making various comments, when I emptied our storage room to get to the door leading under the house, and tried to illuminate the depths of our crawl space with half of my body immersed. You cannot just crawl in; you risk to hit some pipes, or disturb heating air ducts; I'm also mildly claustrophobic, but if I could manage to spot our poor "mouse" (how Sid call her), I would possibly overcome my hesitation. I was feeling sorry for her (slowly dying with no hope of help is quite bad), and a dead animal under the house smells horribly, and I felt rather guilty — I scolded Tom for leaving the hamster unattended and then I let her run away myself. Still, I could not see Pattie.

When everybody went to their respective beds, I figured I could not sleep and went to read in the living room and listen for any rattle or scratch. Sid's quips that the hamster can be anywhere and get out perhaps in the garage, inspired me to go and check out the garage. As soon as I opened the door, I heard a mighty racket. When I turned on the lights, the scratching continued, which gave me hope — a wild animal would respond to light with freezing still. Eventually I spotted to source of the noise in the pedestal under our water tank. Fortunately some of it planks were rotten (which is not immediately obvious) and I managed to break off a piece and release our poor hamster. And then I could finally go to my bed (after having checked three times that the cage was fast shut).

I was a bit sleepy on Lisa's birthday on Friday, but glad that all was well. Lisa was looking forward to this day; she talked about it for at least two months and naturally never failed to enumerate all the things she would wish to get. This year again her most prominent present would be a horse ride, but we had been trying to talk her out of it — we did not want to visit the ponies at Half Moon Bay, as they require the parent to lead them on a rope around a small corral. In the end we figured we could go to our proven Leavitt Meadows. For a while it looked as if Pája could join us, but she changed her mind, mostly for logistic reasons.

Lisa wished a "beautiful birthday cake". They make them pretty here, not a problem, but overly sweet. Fortunately I found a great specimen in a miniature size — and even so it was hard work for eight people to eat it all. It's simply not very good eating (and I'm chocoholic and like sweet stuff). We held the ceremony in the morning, before Hippo left for work and our visitors departed to Southern California. Lisa liked the cake, she got a whole heap of small presents, and enjoyed them all. And I started packing for the weekend.

A view to Antelope Valley (toward Walker).

At the pack station.

We drove out leisurely on Saturday morning, stopped for lunch at Knights Ferry, and reached the pack station around three o'clock. A cowboy named Jeff said that he could take us riding right away, but we will most likely get wet — storm clouds were gathering over White Mountains. Forecast had mentioned occasional storms, but we did not sense it being too dramatic. Thus we agreed on a two-hour round trip for Sunday morning, and still at ease we proceeded to our favorite campsite on Cottonwood creek.

We knew about clouds hovering over it, and one could assume it was raining there. When we showed up at a ford several yards across the main road that had not been there before, it started dawning on us that things may not be as simple. The road was flooded in several more spots. Then we reached a place that looked truly ugly — the creek overflowed its bed and part of it now rushed down one side of the dirt road, carrying away all the dirt and leaving rocks and holes. We somehow managed to fit our bus on the remaining half of the road — we were still hoping that damages would be minimal under the cover of the trees were we normally camp.

And then Hippo and I stood with next to our mud-covered bus, not daring to let the kids out, and watched the wreckage. It obviously was not just a summer storm shower; the whole forest had converted into a series of creeks, water flowing everywhere it found some slope. On flat places (yes, where we usually erect our tents), ponds had formed. It dawned on us that one could perhaps camp in such a forest using an inflatable raft, but we definitely did not feel like putting up tents in two inches of water and mud, gambling on a night storm not digging a new creek-bed through our tent.

Making a decision that we may fare better at a motel, was not very hard under these conditions. While driving back to highway 395, we were checking out some alternative campsites, and found a gravel-based flat at the intersection of two dirt roads — it was the only spot not submerged under at least an inch of water, or a foot of mud. It was no pretty place, but as plan B (in case of no vacancy at the motel), we would have taken it.

The fords' water level had receded.

A nice summer day — so far.

Luckily, the West Walker Motel had last two rooms available. Also, sun started coming out in Walker, and since it wasn't time for dinner yet, we chose to get out of the car a bit after a whole day in it. Jeff the barbecue owner (not to be confused with Jeff the cowboy) had earlier recommended Mill Canyon, and the motel owner seconded that opinion and added detailed instructions how to get there.

Walker is a desert town. A river of same name flows through it, but otherwise the surrounding landscape is formed mostly of rocks, sagebrush bushes, and variations on cactus and other dry-climate plants. In entirety it seems parched and unfriendly. You would definitely not expect a lush green valley behind the first hill, once you take an inconspicuous dirt road. It is surrounded by evergreen-grown slopes of Sierra Nevada foothills. Up the road, we found a canyon with an abandoned rock crusher — a hundred years ago, this was a gold mine. And then we continued up into the mountains, passing gorgeous views to Antelope Valley (containing Walker), until the path split in several directions on a mountain meadow. We first tried a turn-off labeled —pack station". We found no people there, only curious mules crowded a corral — perhaps they were expecting us to bring them some food — but we could not arrange a ride with them, could we? Too bad there was nobody around, we would have welcomed a change in scenery and horse trails.

Then we examined two trail-heads leading into the mountains, and followed one of the paths on a small hike in the woods. I was surprised again how late spring came to these parts — everything was growing and blooming, there was no sign of an otherwise advanced summer. The greatest surprised was the landscape itself, so pretty behind Walker's desert facade; we shall certainly come back.

Horses must always try of of their little mutinies.

Descending to Secret Lake.

We parked our bus in front of the motel and ran across the street to Jeff's. We could not find him in anywhere inside the restaurant — we wanted to make sure that he would serve us beer, after all the previous hassle with our kids. To our surprise we found him in a conversation with Craig (the owner of the Leavitt Meadows pack station). We should not have been surprised — only a limited number of people live in the area, and it's quite probable that they all know each other. Craig said that he just stopped by to pick up dinner for his children, for the storms have flooded his basement and so he was busy with that. He apologized for not being available at the pack station and that he did not respond to phones and e-mails.

Sid and I took advantage of the fact that we were accommodated across the street, and ordered larger volume of beer than usual. But somehow we must have neglected our practice and soon, when Jeff was closing, we were still faced with an unfinished half of a pitcher. He offered us to take the beer with us to the motel and leave the pitcher on a table in front of the restaurant in the morning, which we welcomed. We also had a kid-free room that night, having evicted our offspring to sleep with granny. So Sid and I chatted on, making fun of a nook in the room (possibly intended for luggage) that would fit Hippo exactly. He concluded it was "storage for drunks", for it was impossible to collapse and fall out of it.

In the morning we appreciated another specialty of this small motel — the rooms are very small, but each one has a front yard with a table and chairs. It's ideal for breakfast, especially on a cloudless summer morning. We were expected at Leavitt Meadows by ten, and we had plenty of time to sit and then pack at ease.

Granny announced that she was not interested in horses and she would rather hike a bit, and set out for the same destination as we were headed for. We forded the creeks easily on horseback, and crossed Walker River in a spot where it's wide and shallow. Dramatic moments from a few weeks back did not reoccur. When we started following the trail further into the woods, Tom's Barney refused. She insisted that it would be best to turn around and head back home, and if that was not an option, when graze on the green grass there. I was curious how Tom would cope, but he eventually worked it out with the uncooperative mare.

Secret Lake

A view to a valley with the Marines Training Center.

We had been to Secret Lake before, but that was back then, during our very first visit to Leavitt Meadows, so even this ride was very interesting and relatively unfamiliar. The kids, of course, needed a break and a snack at the lake — I think that while pining for horse rides, they still could not estimate how tiring it would be. It also became clear near Secret Lake that we won't stay dry. One storm was approaching from the east, another from north, and neither of the remaining directions looked friendly, too.

It was still a long stretch getting back down, and all we could do was hope. On one spot, Jeff stopped and we put windbreakers on the kids. Soon he stopped again and insisted that Sid and I take their cowboy coats. In vain we were trying to convince him that it was our stupidity not to take our rain-jackets along on the ride, and that we did so fully aware of the risk of getting wet. Eventually he prevailed — and as soon as I put the habit on, first drops fell.

The horses did not like it at all. They tried to turn so that the wind would stop driving the rain in their eyes, and thus they would walk sideways at times. It was obvious that a fight went on in their minds between the urge to run away from this weather and the desire to get home as soon as possible (the options being different in about ninety degrees of direction). Eventually the wind and the gale eased off and we rushed downhill. The horses tried to trot in every somewhat flatter section, and prodded each other to hurry up. I was surprised how Tom, who is otherwise a whiner and hypochondriac, faced this discomfort stoically. In the end it was too much for Lisa — in some phase Jeff took her Hank on a rope, for she was barely able to stay in the saddle. She kept quietly (or less so) wailing, until I had to chastise her for scaring up the horses.

We reached the pack station, wet in places that the coats did not cover. Kids' windbreakers were through, not to mention their trousers. Surprisingly, Tom would still not complain — perhaps the company of manly cowboys gave him a good example. Lisa perked up as soon as she changed into dry clothes and received her snack. So in the end, we think that this experience has done a great deal of good to our California offspring. We usually camp during the summer dry season, and this was probably their first encounter with inclement weather — given the absence of any dramatic circumstances (we reached our car and cover within some forty minutes), we consider it a good experience.

We got caught in a horrible mountain rain storm...

...and on the next day, we celebrated Lisa's birthday with a pool party.

There wasn't an end to surprises; Jeff charged us suspiciously low ride fee. When we asked for the reason (we would not like to owe him or get him in trouble), we were told that Craig decided that Lisa was to go for free, as it was her birthday. So let us thank everybody here, we had not anticipated such a grand present (for horses are no cheap thrill indeed).

If you have been counting along with me, Lisa had one celebration on Friday, followed by a birthday horseback ride on Sunday — and for Monday I had invited her schoolmates and friends from the neighborhood to a pool party. Preparations for that were somewhat inhibited by heaps of muddy and wet laundry in the garage, but I managed to at least drive to Costco and buy some fruit and a bowl of cupcakes — tiny cakes. I had informed parents of invited children to not bring any presents for Lisa, and if they were to insist, they were to bring directly usable stuff (like creativity supplies etc.). I'm grateful for the parents being reasonable — Lisa already tall stash of presents did not grow; instead, they had really brought some creative things, which we will use up over time and be done with.

The very party turned out probably OK — kids jumped in the pool and stayed there practically until the end. Lisa played mostly with boys, she even went underwater with Kuba (which was a surprise given her usual aversion to water — but love conquers all). Then Lisa made an impression when she confided to Blanka:
"You know, I like Kuba, he's my best friend. I would like to marry him. But I'd like you to know there has been someone else...".
So I don't know; should I be checking out affordable GIRLS-ONLY boarding schools???