Thanks to everyone who has read this blog over the last four years. It's really been a blast, and it helped me so much in dealing with Ridgecrest to be able to blog about our lives there. Granted, most of you have been in search of information on constructing a tortoise burrow, but I'm glad I've been able to help out in that department!
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
How it ended
It's over, we're gone, but I want to write just a bit more about Ridgecrest and our last days there.
The worst day had to be Wednesday, April 24th, driving Baby A 90 miles to the
dentist in Lancaster early in the morning. All seemed to be going well until they brought him out after the 15-minute procedure, and I picked up my woozy little boy and carried him to the car -- and he suddenly vomited all over me. Fortunately he had nothing in his stomach except the cherry-red anesthetic "cocktail," but still, vomit is vomit. I went back inside to clean up a bit in the dentist's bathroom, but there wasn't much I could do. So then I drove 90 miles back to Ridgecrest soaked in vomit. And later in the afternoon I was so crabby with both boos (because so tired, having not slept well the night before, too worried) and I felt so guilty about that. Motherhood is so... I can't think of the word.
Except for that day, it was all just packing, packing. No time left for saying goodbye. On
Thursday, we made one last trip to the library and checked out a few last books. Bought a
quail "welcome" sign at the Maturango Museum and some soap.
The last weekend was horrible, nothing to do but pack and pack. When I hit 150 boxes, I stopped counting. My brother-in-law and a friend of his
arrived Saturday evening and we turned over Rocket Boy's newer car to them (they drove it to Colorado for us because he needed to drive his old car).
The packers came on Monday, April 29th, the movers on Tuesday, April 30th. The heat was awful, high 90s. (I planned this move to avoid the Ridgecrest heat and the Boulder snow, but instead managed to hit both at the same time.) The two packers worked like madmen, trying to box up everything I hadn't gotten to. The three movers spent all day loading the truck, while we kept on packing alongside them.
Said goodbye to our neighbors. Returned the books to the library. Packed up my car, and spent Tuesday night at the Heritage Inn.
Wednesday morning, May 1st, we mailed a couple boxes of books at the post office. (Completely senseless not to put them on the moving truck, but I kept worrying that we would have too much weight.) The woman at the counter asked if I wanted insurance. I said "No, I don't really care if you lose them." (As it turned out, one of the boxes arrived in Boulder completely empty, so I guess the PO took me at my word.) We stopped at the house one more time, grabbed a few more things, and drove off into the desert (leaving Rocket Boy behind to finish cleaning the house).
The flowers in Death Valley were past their prime, but there were still many more
than I expected. I was kind of in a daze, and this was not helped by my GPS trying to
get me to go strange ways. I finally stopped and asked a ranger whether there was something I didn't know -- why did my GPS want me to take the Scotty's Castle road if I was headed for the Las Vegas airport? “Don't use your GPS in the desert," the ranger told me sternly. "GPS is OK in cities, but not here. We call it Death by GPS." I knew that.
We found my sister at the Las Vegas airport and drove on to Mesquite, Nevada, where we spent the night. The next day, we drove across Utah and into Colorado, where we stayed in Grand Junction. On Friday, May 3rd, we drove into Boulder. There was a bit of snow on the roof and the lawn. After four years away, we are home.
It's so green here, after the dull brown desert. I feel like Dorothy, moving from black and white Kansas to technicolor Oz. I'll come back here after I set up my new blog and give the URL. Until then...
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Packing Part 2
We have packed 110 boxes. By now we were supposed to have packed 130 boxes, but I am not complaining. Rocket Boy has FINALLY decided to help me pack, so it is going faster. I plan to do at least 20 boxes tomorrow. Maybe 30.
I'm so tired. And there are still so many things NOT in boxes. Two more days until the packers come (to pack the kitchen, mirrors and framed pictures, and whatever else they have time for).
We have sold our bedroom set. Sold the pack n plays. Given away two baby backpacks, the changing table, my old bike, and some other miscellany.
The little tortoise has moved three houses down the street. We took him over there this afternoon and then spent a long time watching him get acquainted. The yard he is in now has a lot of plants growing in it, and he got busy checking them all out. We had brought along a pie pan with his favorite weed in it (redstem filaree), but once he saw what was actually GROWING in the yard, he ignored the filaree. Fifteen minutes later, one of the other tortoises who lives in the yard, a big old guy, came up out of his burrow and spotted the dish. He hurried over and began wolfing down the filaree.
The TV is on most of the time and the twins are allowed to watch it as they please. I know this is horrible. I just can't think of any other way to keep them occupied while we pack. We don't have any nice friends who could take them to the park. Anyway, it's too hot to go to the park. The other thing they like to do is make mud pies in the front yard, but Rocket Boy doesn't approve of that. (I do, though.)
Must go to bed. So many things to do tomorrow. I'm so tired.
I'm so tired. And there are still so many things NOT in boxes. Two more days until the packers come (to pack the kitchen, mirrors and framed pictures, and whatever else they have time for).
We have sold our bedroom set. Sold the pack n plays. Given away two baby backpacks, the changing table, my old bike, and some other miscellany.
The little tortoise has moved three houses down the street. We took him over there this afternoon and then spent a long time watching him get acquainted. The yard he is in now has a lot of plants growing in it, and he got busy checking them all out. We had brought along a pie pan with his favorite weed in it (redstem filaree), but once he saw what was actually GROWING in the yard, he ignored the filaree. Fifteen minutes later, one of the other tortoises who lives in the yard, a big old guy, came up out of his burrow and spotted the dish. He hurried over and began wolfing down the filaree.
The TV is on most of the time and the twins are allowed to watch it as they please. I know this is horrible. I just can't think of any other way to keep them occupied while we pack. We don't have any nice friends who could take them to the park. Anyway, it's too hot to go to the park. The other thing they like to do is make mud pies in the front yard, but Rocket Boy doesn't approve of that. (I do, though.)
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Last week
The twins and I leave one week from today. I seriously can't believe it. I also can't believe how much packing I still have to do.
Last weekend the boys and I took one more trip to Los Angeles, to say goodbye to my relatives there. We had a really nice time with my niece and nephew and their spouses and kids and in-laws and and and (all of whom we refer to as the twins' "cousins" because it's too complicated to distinguish the relationships further).
The twins are particularly fond of their boy cousin who is two and a half years older than them. They insisted on sleeping in the same bed with him, even though his older sister had a sleepover our second night there, so her bed was available. "That's a GIRL'S bed," Baby A told me scornfully, when I suggested it. "We don't like PRETTY beds. We're BOYS." Here they are, all crammed together in the non-pretty boy's bed at story time.
My niece and I wonder whether they will remember this friendship. If we don't see each other for a year or two, will they forget all about each other?
I have some memories from the year I turned five. My family flew from California to New York to visit my uncle and aunt. I remember my aunt teaching me the alphabet. Then my mother, my little sister, and I drove all the way back across country in my uncle and aunt's camper. In South Dakota -- or was it Minnesota? -- I got a tick on my scalp and my mother's cousin removed it. I remember that. So maybe my boys will remember the fun they had at this young age.
One of the unexpected benefits of our visit last weekend was that it made me pay attention to what's been going on in Boston. I have to confess that the whole Boston Marathon tragedy didn't really penetrate my consciousness until I got away from all my boxes. Isn't that awful? Talk about self-absorbed. People are having their legs blown off and I'm fussing about dental problems and undone packing.
I think it's partly because it was too weird to process. Since last December, I've been so focused on gun control. Yes, guns were involved in this disaster, but they weren't the cause of most of the mayhem. What do we do now, ban pressure cookers? Or just keep on keeping on, waiting for the next awful thing to happen?
But when we arrived at my niece's house in LA on Friday, she and her husband were watching live coverage of the tracking and eventual capture of the surviving suspect. The kids ran off to play without glancing at the screen, and we were free to watch, spellbound. As I saw all the police officers, trying so hard to do good work, and then the Watertown residents cheering them, I felt a bond that I hadn't felt before. I've been to Boston a few times, I like Boston. I wanted to feel a bond with the people there, and finally I did.
Of course, as soon as we got back to Ridgecrest, all my attention went back to the packing and the dental problems. (More on that later -- I just can't write about the awfulness of today right now.) But I know that in a very short time all this will be over and we'll move on, essentially unscathed. Unlike so many people in Boston.
Last weekend the boys and I took one more trip to Los Angeles, to say goodbye to my relatives there. We had a really nice time with my niece and nephew and their spouses and kids and in-laws and and and (all of whom we refer to as the twins' "cousins" because it's too complicated to distinguish the relationships further).
The twins are particularly fond of their boy cousin who is two and a half years older than them. They insisted on sleeping in the same bed with him, even though his older sister had a sleepover our second night there, so her bed was available. "That's a GIRL'S bed," Baby A told me scornfully, when I suggested it. "We don't like PRETTY beds. We're BOYS." Here they are, all crammed together in the non-pretty boy's bed at story time.
I have some memories from the year I turned five. My family flew from California to New York to visit my uncle and aunt. I remember my aunt teaching me the alphabet. Then my mother, my little sister, and I drove all the way back across country in my uncle and aunt's camper. In South Dakota -- or was it Minnesota? -- I got a tick on my scalp and my mother's cousin removed it. I remember that. So maybe my boys will remember the fun they had at this young age.
One of the unexpected benefits of our visit last weekend was that it made me pay attention to what's been going on in Boston. I have to confess that the whole Boston Marathon tragedy didn't really penetrate my consciousness until I got away from all my boxes. Isn't that awful? Talk about self-absorbed. People are having their legs blown off and I'm fussing about dental problems and undone packing.
I think it's partly because it was too weird to process. Since last December, I've been so focused on gun control. Yes, guns were involved in this disaster, but they weren't the cause of most of the mayhem. What do we do now, ban pressure cookers? Or just keep on keeping on, waiting for the next awful thing to happen?
But when we arrived at my niece's house in LA on Friday, she and her husband were watching live coverage of the tracking and eventual capture of the surviving suspect. The kids ran off to play without glancing at the screen, and we were free to watch, spellbound. As I saw all the police officers, trying so hard to do good work, and then the Watertown residents cheering them, I felt a bond that I hadn't felt before. I've been to Boston a few times, I like Boston. I wanted to feel a bond with the people there, and finally I did.
Of course, as soon as we got back to Ridgecrest, all my attention went back to the packing and the dental problems. (More on that later -- I just can't write about the awfulness of today right now.) But I know that in a very short time all this will be over and we'll move on, essentially unscathed. Unlike so many people in Boston.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
What we won't miss
I've got to tell this story, but where to begin...
Ridgecrest has some issues with medical and dental care. There are decent practitioners here, but there are also many who are not so good. At one point I got fed up with the incompetence and just stopped going. "That's it," I told Rocket Boy and anyone else who would listen. "No more doctors. No more dentists. I'll go when we move back to Boulder."
Unfortunately, our move to Boulder was postponed, and I've thus been paying for my decision -- seriously, PAYING, as in MAJOR MOOLAH, because I didn't go to the dentist for three years. When bad tooth pain finally forced me to go back, my mouth was a mess. In the past two months I've had a root canal, a filling, and two crowns. And they tell me I probably need at least one more crown. Since our health insurance covers almost no dental work, this has been expensive.
But the worst of it is that I said "No more," to the twins' stupid dentist too, about 18 months ago? Two years? I could look it up but I don't want to, because it'll make me feel bad. "When we get back to Boulder, we'll go to the dentist," I said, but then a couple of weeks ago, Baby A started complaining that one of his teeth hurt. Then he refused to eat because it hurt to chew. What to do? I didn't want to go back to his stupid dentist. Rocket Boy, always proactive, called the adult dentist he and I have been going to and asked if they ever saw children. Wonder of wonders they do! So yesterday we took Baby A in for a consult.
Unfortunately, the news was bad. He has a large, deep cavity in the molar that was hurting. It's approaching the nerve. Worse, the repair is beyond what our dentist can do (they don't have the equipment to do major operations on small children's teeth). "I'll send you to a pediatric dentist in Lancaster," he said. "You need to take care of this right away."
His receptionist made the call for us and set up an appointment with the Lancaster dentist for Baby A for Friday afternoon at 2 pm. (This was a bit of a problem, because Rocket Boy is busy at work on Friday and daycare is having an in-service day, so I would have to bring both boys, but you take what you can get.) She even filled out a cute little appointment card for him, which listed the dentist's name and address (the card had obviously been given to our dentist by the Lancaster dentist at some point).
The Lancaster dentist's office called us at home later that afternoon to tell us that they didn't accept our insurance. (Who doesn't take Blue Cross? But whatever.) I told her it really didn't matter, because our insurance pays a pittance anyway. "So you want to be a cash patient?" she asked, sounding surprised. "Sure," I said. "Whatever." She told me it would cost $75 and they would see us on Friday at 2 pm.
Today, RB called me at home to tell me that he'd called the dentist himself and gotten an appointment on Thursday afternoon instead, so that he could come with us. OK, I said, we can make that work. So he called them once more to confirm the change. During the conversation, the topic of their address came up. They said they were on Devonshire Street. RB had never heard of a Devonshire Street in Lancaster, only the San Fernando Valley, so he asked what the cross street was. Winnetka and De Soto entered the conversation. "Wait a minute," he said. "What city are you in?"
Turns out they were in Chatsworth, in the San Fernando Valley. Nearly an hour's drive from the address in Lancaster we had been given. They only see patients at the Lancaster office on Wednesdays. Not Thursdays. Not Fridays (the day of our original appointment). (How lovely it would have been if I had driven ALL THE WAY to Lancaster with both boys on Friday only to find the office closed. Rocket Boy would like me to note that it was HIS proactivity that saved me from this fate. He is right. Duly noted!) RB asked if we could possibly get an appointment today, Wednesday, and they squeezed us in at 2:30.
[An aside, to put this in perspective. Many doctors in Ridgecrest are only in town one day a week, or in some cases, one or two days a month. Our gastroenterologists, for example, practice in Lancaster, and come to Ridgecrest one day every other week. I once had to see an ear-nose-and-throat doctor who had the same set-up. But we were going to see an LA dentist who only comes to LANCASTER one day a week. What would they think of us?]
When RB called me back and reported this interesting new development, I remembered that there was a website for the Lancaster dentist on the little appointment card we'd been given, so I tried to look it up. However, it no longer exists. Concerned, I googled the dentist's name. Apparently he gave up his private practice in 2010 and now teaches at a dental school. So who, exactly, were we going to be seeing? After some more googling I figured out that the dentist had sold his practice (and his address and phone number) to another dentist.
We had to go through all sorts of contortions to get to Lancaster by 2:30 (it's a 90-minute drive from Ridgecrest). As we drove through Mojave, RB pulled out his cell phone and called our adult dentist, the one who had sent us to this Lancaster dentist (or rather, to the former Lancaster dentist who now teaches in a dental school). As politely as possible, he asked the receptionist whether she knew that the dentist they'd sent us to was no longer practicing. No, she most certainly did not. He was going to ask whether they thought THIS dentist was worth going to -- but lost the signal. Not much cell phone coverage out here on these desert highways.
So we found the office (see above), and had the appointment. We didn't care for the office set-up, but I suppose since they're only there one day a week, they don't put much money into it. We DID like the staff, especially the very nice hygienist who cleaned Baby A's teeth, and the dentist -- a young woman. She felt strongly that Baby A needed something called a "pulpotomy," so we made an appointment to come back for that NEXT Wednesday at 8:30 am (incidentally, exactly one week before the twins and I start our drive to Boulder). Which means, if you're doing the math at home, that Baby A and I will have to leave Ridgecrest at 7 am. Whatever.
On the way home, Rocket Boy said, "Did it seem to you that they thought we were hicks?"
It did. "The whole 'cash patient' thing," I said. "I suppose me being dressed in my packing clothes didn't help either." (I had been planning to spend the whole day packing boxes. Ha ha ha.)
"I got the impression they thought Baby A's teeth were bad because we don't know about things like brushing and flossing," Rocket Boy went on.
I can't get mad. If I do, I'll lose my mind.
I just keep telling myself we're getting out of here. Some things we won't miss.
Ridgecrest has some issues with medical and dental care. There are decent practitioners here, but there are also many who are not so good. At one point I got fed up with the incompetence and just stopped going. "That's it," I told Rocket Boy and anyone else who would listen. "No more doctors. No more dentists. I'll go when we move back to Boulder."
Unfortunately, our move to Boulder was postponed, and I've thus been paying for my decision -- seriously, PAYING, as in MAJOR MOOLAH, because I didn't go to the dentist for three years. When bad tooth pain finally forced me to go back, my mouth was a mess. In the past two months I've had a root canal, a filling, and two crowns. And they tell me I probably need at least one more crown. Since our health insurance covers almost no dental work, this has been expensive.
But the worst of it is that I said "No more," to the twins' stupid dentist too, about 18 months ago? Two years? I could look it up but I don't want to, because it'll make me feel bad. "When we get back to Boulder, we'll go to the dentist," I said, but then a couple of weeks ago, Baby A started complaining that one of his teeth hurt. Then he refused to eat because it hurt to chew. What to do? I didn't want to go back to his stupid dentist. Rocket Boy, always proactive, called the adult dentist he and I have been going to and asked if they ever saw children. Wonder of wonders they do! So yesterday we took Baby A in for a consult.
Unfortunately, the news was bad. He has a large, deep cavity in the molar that was hurting. It's approaching the nerve. Worse, the repair is beyond what our dentist can do (they don't have the equipment to do major operations on small children's teeth). "I'll send you to a pediatric dentist in Lancaster," he said. "You need to take care of this right away."
His receptionist made the call for us and set up an appointment with the Lancaster dentist for Baby A for Friday afternoon at 2 pm. (This was a bit of a problem, because Rocket Boy is busy at work on Friday and daycare is having an in-service day, so I would have to bring both boys, but you take what you can get.) She even filled out a cute little appointment card for him, which listed the dentist's name and address (the card had obviously been given to our dentist by the Lancaster dentist at some point).
Today, RB called me at home to tell me that he'd called the dentist himself and gotten an appointment on Thursday afternoon instead, so that he could come with us. OK, I said, we can make that work. So he called them once more to confirm the change. During the conversation, the topic of their address came up. They said they were on Devonshire Street. RB had never heard of a Devonshire Street in Lancaster, only the San Fernando Valley, so he asked what the cross street was. Winnetka and De Soto entered the conversation. "Wait a minute," he said. "What city are you in?"
Turns out they were in Chatsworth, in the San Fernando Valley. Nearly an hour's drive from the address in Lancaster we had been given. They only see patients at the Lancaster office on Wednesdays. Not Thursdays. Not Fridays (the day of our original appointment). (How lovely it would have been if I had driven ALL THE WAY to Lancaster with both boys on Friday only to find the office closed. Rocket Boy would like me to note that it was HIS proactivity that saved me from this fate. He is right. Duly noted!) RB asked if we could possibly get an appointment today, Wednesday, and they squeezed us in at 2:30.
[An aside, to put this in perspective. Many doctors in Ridgecrest are only in town one day a week, or in some cases, one or two days a month. Our gastroenterologists, for example, practice in Lancaster, and come to Ridgecrest one day every other week. I once had to see an ear-nose-and-throat doctor who had the same set-up. But we were going to see an LA dentist who only comes to LANCASTER one day a week. What would they think of us?]
When RB called me back and reported this interesting new development, I remembered that there was a website for the Lancaster dentist on the little appointment card we'd been given, so I tried to look it up. However, it no longer exists. Concerned, I googled the dentist's name. Apparently he gave up his private practice in 2010 and now teaches at a dental school. So who, exactly, were we going to be seeing? After some more googling I figured out that the dentist had sold his practice (and his address and phone number) to another dentist.
We had to go through all sorts of contortions to get to Lancaster by 2:30 (it's a 90-minute drive from Ridgecrest). As we drove through Mojave, RB pulled out his cell phone and called our adult dentist, the one who had sent us to this Lancaster dentist (or rather, to the former Lancaster dentist who now teaches in a dental school). As politely as possible, he asked the receptionist whether she knew that the dentist they'd sent us to was no longer practicing. No, she most certainly did not. He was going to ask whether they thought THIS dentist was worth going to -- but lost the signal. Not much cell phone coverage out here on these desert highways.
On the way home, Rocket Boy said, "Did it seem to you that they thought we were hicks?"
It did. "The whole 'cash patient' thing," I said. "I suppose me being dressed in my packing clothes didn't help either." (I had been planning to spend the whole day packing boxes. Ha ha ha.)
"I got the impression they thought Baby A's teeth were bad because we don't know about things like brushing and flossing," Rocket Boy went on.
I can't get mad. If I do, I'll lose my mind.
I just keep telling myself we're getting out of here. Some things we won't miss.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Once more into the desert
The Wildflower Festival was this weekend, so I spent several hours on Saturday sitting at the booths for my various clubs (while Rocket Boy lost his mind trying to take care of the twins). But despite all the boxes that still need to be packed, we set aside today for a field trip. We're going to be leaving this area so soon!
Both RB and I really wanted to get out in the desert once more, so I suggested Surprise Canyon, in the Panamint Valley. When we visited there back in January we agreed that we should come back when the wildflowers were in bloom. Of course, nothing much is in bloom this year, but we thought maybe...
It's a bit of a drive out there -- through Poison Canyon to Trona, Searles Valley to Panamint Valley, the road to Ballarat, Indian Ranch Road to Surprise Canyon Road -- which is such a rough, narrow, rocky road.
Classic desert. I got almost teary as we drove along, thinking of leaving this strange world we've come to know. "You know," I said to Rocket Boy, "Once the twins start school in August, it's going to be thirteen years before we can come here again."
"How's that?" he asked, puzzled.
"Well, the only time we'll be able to come out here will be in the summer, and it's too hot to come out to the desert in the summer."
"There's spring break," RB argued. "And winter break."
"Yeah, but what are the chances we'd come to Surprise Canyon if we had one week to come out to the desert for a visit? We'd visit the relatives, we'd see the major sights. We wouldn't go to Surprise Canyon."
"Hm," said Rocket Boy.
When we reached Surprise Canyon, we found other cars parked there, and even a tent set up. Probably the guys camping there were hoping for a little peace and quiet. (And then we arrived.) We walked up the trail a little ways until we found a place to sit down and have a small picnic. Then we took the picnic stuff back to the car and headed up the trail in earnest. We were hoping to do some serious hiking...
...but after 15 minutes, the trail started crossing over the stream that runs through the canyon, and over, and over, and pretty soon the trail WAS the stream. Our shoes were soaking wet, and of course I hadn't brought anything to change into. So we decided to go back down. Oh well!
Surprise Canyon wasn't the wildflower paradise I'd expected. Too early? Or just not enough rain, despite the running water? Still, we did see flowers. When they aren't all over everywhere, you look more closely. And sometimes you find surprises.
This, I'm almost positive, is Stream Orchid, which my book says is "only occasionally found in the Mojave Desert." So we were psyched to find it.
There were bushes of this all over, and I thought it was a kind of primrose. But after studying my book more carefully, I have decided it is Rock Nettle. It's quite attractive, with all those pale yellow flowers.
And this! All alone amid the rocks near the stream. I'm pretty sure it's a Phacelia, though not sure which kind. I never would have seen this if there'd been wildflowers all over.
And we saw frogs! Can you spot this one? He's right in the middle of the picture, but you can't see his head. Baby B also said he saw a snake, but he went tearing up the trail to tell us and then tearing back down again to show us, and of course it was gone by the time he got back. He said it was orange, so we're guessing it was a Red Racer (Coachwhip), because those are very common out here (and not poisonous). Wish we'd seen it.
Since our hike ended so early, we decided to drive further across the Panamint Valley, and then take Wildrose Canyon Road to Wildrose Station. There's an enormous cool wildflower called a Panamint Daisy that you can sometimes see on that road (we saw it once), but not this year. Still, it was fun to wander around Wildrose Station. Apparently there were functioning stores and cabins for rent here until 1972 when the National Park Service got persnickety and closed it all down.
We had a little picnic (leftovers from lunch) at the picnic table that you can just barely see above and to the right of our car.
We went a little further and then turned around, in order to retrace our steps back to Ridgecrest. And on our way back down the road we saw the coolest thing -- quail! At least we thought they were quail. But they looked different. And they didn't have plumes. "What are they?" I shouted in desperation. "Oh, wait! Could they be Chukars?"
They were. (Sorry about the quality of the photo, but it was taken through a closed car window.) Three funny chukars (a type of partridge from India and thereabouts, imported here in the '30s and now happily settled all over the western US). I knew they were around, but I'd never seen one. So fun. And they were not very worried about us, walked right across the road in front of the car and on up the hill, instead of hiding in the bushes. Rocket Boy commented that they were the perfect game bird for lazy Ridgecrestians.
And then just down the road we saw one more interesting wildflower, which I would NEVER have seen if we hadn't been driving slowly, looking for more chukars.
I'm not 100% sure what this is, but I think it is Mojave Indigo Bush. It was just clinging to the side of the canyon walls (this photo is a zoom-in, taken from across the road).
On the way home, the twins were awful (tired, mostly), but Rocket Boy and I were pretty blissed out about the trip as a whole. And then as we approached Ridgecrest we noticed that the sky had changed color. No longer blue, now kind of whitish. And the wind was whipping the creosote bushes beside the road. A dust storm. You couldn't even see the mountains. I tried to take one more picture, but my camera's battery had died. "Just think," Rocket Boy said. "This may be our last dust storm in Ridgecrest."
Both RB and I really wanted to get out in the desert once more, so I suggested Surprise Canyon, in the Panamint Valley. When we visited there back in January we agreed that we should come back when the wildflowers were in bloom. Of course, nothing much is in bloom this year, but we thought maybe...
It's a bit of a drive out there -- through Poison Canyon to Trona, Searles Valley to Panamint Valley, the road to Ballarat, Indian Ranch Road to Surprise Canyon Road -- which is such a rough, narrow, rocky road.
"How's that?" he asked, puzzled.
"Well, the only time we'll be able to come out here will be in the summer, and it's too hot to come out to the desert in the summer."
"There's spring break," RB argued. "And winter break."
"Yeah, but what are the chances we'd come to Surprise Canyon if we had one week to come out to the desert for a visit? We'd visit the relatives, we'd see the major sights. We wouldn't go to Surprise Canyon."
"Hm," said Rocket Boy.
Surprise Canyon wasn't the wildflower paradise I'd expected. Too early? Or just not enough rain, despite the running water? Still, we did see flowers. When they aren't all over everywhere, you look more closely. And sometimes you find surprises.
Since our hike ended so early, we decided to drive further across the Panamint Valley, and then take Wildrose Canyon Road to Wildrose Station. There's an enormous cool wildflower called a Panamint Daisy that you can sometimes see on that road (we saw it once), but not this year. Still, it was fun to wander around Wildrose Station. Apparently there were functioning stores and cabins for rent here until 1972 when the National Park Service got persnickety and closed it all down.
We went a little further and then turned around, in order to retrace our steps back to Ridgecrest. And on our way back down the road we saw the coolest thing -- quail! At least we thought they were quail. But they looked different. And they didn't have plumes. "What are they?" I shouted in desperation. "Oh, wait! Could they be Chukars?"
And then just down the road we saw one more interesting wildflower, which I would NEVER have seen if we hadn't been driving slowly, looking for more chukars.
On the way home, the twins were awful (tired, mostly), but Rocket Boy and I were pretty blissed out about the trip as a whole. And then as we approached Ridgecrest we noticed that the sky had changed color. No longer blue, now kind of whitish. And the wind was whipping the creosote bushes beside the road. A dust storm. You couldn't even see the mountains. I tried to take one more picture, but my camera's battery had died. "Just think," Rocket Boy said. "This may be our last dust storm in Ridgecrest."
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Parenting on the road
You know the saying about wanting to be the person your dog thinks you are? I want to be the person an old lady in the Mojave Denny's thinks I am.
We took our next-to-last trip from Ridgecrest to Los Angeles this weekend, and once again I remembered that THOSE TRIPS ARE HARD. We got off to a pretty good start. There was a little fair in the park on Saturday and the kids had heard about it at preschool and wanted to go, so we let them go for an hour.
Of course, we had to drag them from the bounce house kicking and screaming, but that's par for the course. As we dragged Baby A past the shaved ice vendor, he decided he wanted that too, and screamed all the way to the car about how he wouldn't spill it, etc. I didn't yell at him, though. If I start yelling when we're still in Ridgecrest, we might as well cancel the trip.
An hour later we drove into the Mojave Denny's parking lot, and there we had our first real disaster. Rocket Boy had to get his fanny pack out of the back of my Subaru, and then he accidentally closed the rear "lift gate" on Baby A's head (who of course had his head stuck in the back to see what Dad was doing). My last-minute gasp caused RB to close it with less force than usual, otherwise we probably would have had to go to Urgent Care, but still it was awful. Baby A cried and cried.
No blood though, so, after a lot of kissing and comforting, we went into Denny's. I'm always on my best behavior in restaurants, probably because of all the attention we receive in them. Really, it might be better for all of us if we just lived at Denny's.
I took the kids to the restroom, and I was so good with them, helping them use the toilet and encouraging them to wash their hands and all that. As we were finishing up, an older woman came out of one of the stalls and said to me, "You are such a good mother! So sweet with those children, not nasty and sarcastic like so many mothers these days."
"Oh no," I said, thinking of the myriad ways in which I am not a good mother. "I can be nasty and sarcastic too."
"No, I know that's not true, because you didn't know you were being observed," the woman said, shaking a finger at me. "You're a wonderful mother. I just know it."
It seemed like too much trouble to explain about the transformation that takes place when I walk across the Denny's threshold, so I thanked her and took the twins back to our table. But later when we were paying, there she was again, telling the hostess what a good mother I am. "I'm really not," I said again. "But thank you." It was embarrassing, but at the same time cheering. I kept thinking how nice it would be if I really were a wonderful mother.
The trip continued. We had a low-stress visit with Cousin June, her daughter and son-in-law, and their two dogs. The twins did not break anything, though Baby B did fall down and scrape his knee and stub his big toe, requiring bandaids, and the more excitable dog chased Baby A around the backyard. No photos of the relatives, but this is Peanut, the calmer of the dogs. Everybody loves Peanut.
We stayed, as always, at the bowling alley hotel in Canoga Park, which has a pool and hot tub and PBS Kids on TV, all of which we made use of. Here we are watching Sesame Street.
I went to bed early, when the kids did, which was fortunate since I woke up at 5:18 am on Sunday with a leg cramp. Several hours later we went out for breakfast with our friends who also live in that area. Our friends, who I like very much, are childless, and therefore think that no one today, including us, is a very good parent, though we perhaps could be if we followed some of their suggestions. (I don't mean to be too snarky. I was exactly like them before I had my own children.)
So, as the kids misbehaved in the restaurant, and later ran wild on the lawn out in front, I had to listen to comments such as, "You need to discipline them more effectively," and "They'd be fine if you'd just set boundaries and enforce them."
Where was the Mojave Denny's lady when I needed her? I'm sure there are things that Rocket Boy and I do wrong with the twins. Lots and lots of things. Probably we need more effective discipline and more boundaries and more enforcement. And more liquor. No, seriously. But I'd like to leave the twins with our friends for a week, and see what happens. See who's alive at the end of the week, for instance.
OK, so then we began the long drive home. A stop at a store. The hour's drive to Palmdale. A stop at Trader Joe's and the coffee shop. And then there's still 90 miles to go until we get to Ridgecrest. Baby A managed to nap on the way to Palmdale, but Baby B didn't, and I think he really needed to. Anyway, he started kicking Baby A, who started screaming, and on and on, and eventually, after lots of threats, while still driving, I reached behind me into the back seat and pulled off Baby B's shoe (from the foot he was using to kick Baby A).
Of course, that action caused Baby B to lose it completely, and he screamed AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS until Rocket Boy finally gave the shoe back to him. At which point Baby B took the shoe and threw it at us (it landed on the floor of the front seat).
Right around then I was pulling into a gas station in Rosemond, so I parked the car, unfastened my seatbelt, reached over to get the shoe, and threw it back at Baby B. Yes, that's right, the Wonderful Mother threw a small Spiderman shoe at her beloved second son.
It hit him in the head, causing a nosebleed. And I thought, if the Mojave Denny's woman could only see me now.
Rocket Boy decided to sit in the back seat between the twins on the rest of the way home, which first caused Baby B to scream even more loudly, but eventually calmed everyone down. And now we're home, and no one is mad at anyone anymore, and life goes on. Somehow. But oh, I'm so glad we're moving back to Boulder. If we can just survive the drive!
We took our next-to-last trip from Ridgecrest to Los Angeles this weekend, and once again I remembered that THOSE TRIPS ARE HARD. We got off to a pretty good start. There was a little fair in the park on Saturday and the kids had heard about it at preschool and wanted to go, so we let them go for an hour.
An hour later we drove into the Mojave Denny's parking lot, and there we had our first real disaster. Rocket Boy had to get his fanny pack out of the back of my Subaru, and then he accidentally closed the rear "lift gate" on Baby A's head (who of course had his head stuck in the back to see what Dad was doing). My last-minute gasp caused RB to close it with less force than usual, otherwise we probably would have had to go to Urgent Care, but still it was awful. Baby A cried and cried.
No blood though, so, after a lot of kissing and comforting, we went into Denny's. I'm always on my best behavior in restaurants, probably because of all the attention we receive in them. Really, it might be better for all of us if we just lived at Denny's.
I took the kids to the restroom, and I was so good with them, helping them use the toilet and encouraging them to wash their hands and all that. As we were finishing up, an older woman came out of one of the stalls and said to me, "You are such a good mother! So sweet with those children, not nasty and sarcastic like so many mothers these days."
"Oh no," I said, thinking of the myriad ways in which I am not a good mother. "I can be nasty and sarcastic too."
"No, I know that's not true, because you didn't know you were being observed," the woman said, shaking a finger at me. "You're a wonderful mother. I just know it."
It seemed like too much trouble to explain about the transformation that takes place when I walk across the Denny's threshold, so I thanked her and took the twins back to our table. But later when we were paying, there she was again, telling the hostess what a good mother I am. "I'm really not," I said again. "But thank you." It was embarrassing, but at the same time cheering. I kept thinking how nice it would be if I really were a wonderful mother.
The trip continued. We had a low-stress visit with Cousin June, her daughter and son-in-law, and their two dogs. The twins did not break anything, though Baby B did fall down and scrape his knee and stub his big toe, requiring bandaids, and the more excitable dog chased Baby A around the backyard. No photos of the relatives, but this is Peanut, the calmer of the dogs. Everybody loves Peanut.
Where was the Mojave Denny's lady when I needed her? I'm sure there are things that Rocket Boy and I do wrong with the twins. Lots and lots of things. Probably we need more effective discipline and more boundaries and more enforcement. And more liquor. No, seriously. But I'd like to leave the twins with our friends for a week, and see what happens. See who's alive at the end of the week, for instance.
OK, so then we began the long drive home. A stop at a store. The hour's drive to Palmdale. A stop at Trader Joe's and the coffee shop. And then there's still 90 miles to go until we get to Ridgecrest. Baby A managed to nap on the way to Palmdale, but Baby B didn't, and I think he really needed to. Anyway, he started kicking Baby A, who started screaming, and on and on, and eventually, after lots of threats, while still driving, I reached behind me into the back seat and pulled off Baby B's shoe (from the foot he was using to kick Baby A).
Of course, that action caused Baby B to lose it completely, and he screamed AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS until Rocket Boy finally gave the shoe back to him. At which point Baby B took the shoe and threw it at us (it landed on the floor of the front seat).
Right around then I was pulling into a gas station in Rosemond, so I parked the car, unfastened my seatbelt, reached over to get the shoe, and threw it back at Baby B. Yes, that's right, the Wonderful Mother threw a small Spiderman shoe at her beloved second son.
It hit him in the head, causing a nosebleed. And I thought, if the Mojave Denny's woman could only see me now.
Rocket Boy decided to sit in the back seat between the twins on the rest of the way home, which first caused Baby B to scream even more loudly, but eventually calmed everyone down. And now we're home, and no one is mad at anyone anymore, and life goes on. Somehow. But oh, I'm so glad we're moving back to Boulder. If we can just survive the drive!
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Packing, Part 1
All the moving books and websites say to get your packing supplies together ahead of time. We already had the boxes, saved from our move out here and our move across town last year. (I've been told a good moving box can last 3 moves, so this will be it for our boxes.) They've been living in the rafters of the garage.
On Monday, Baby A had his kindergarten physical. My big boy! His doctor was fascinated by the Colorado medical forms, which I had printed off. Far fewer requirements than the California forms. I was just as glad. Baby A still had to get 3 shots, including the dreaded MMRV vaccine, which hurts going in and for a long time afterwards too. He was so brave, didn't cry. (I have a vivid memory of having a total meltdown at the doctor's office when I had to have a shot at around the same age.) He got lots of band-aids and stickers and two pencils as rewards. I took him home and gave him Tylenol and a cookie, but then he wanted to go to daycare, so I took him there.
Came back home to start packing. But first I had to be nervous for a couple of hours. That's kind of a hobby of mine. Then it was lunchtime (nice healthy meal, consisting mainly of chocolate ice cream). And then it was an hour and a half until I had to pick up the boos, so I began frantically packing. Got 4 boxes packed. Terrible. Behind already, and it was only the first day.
Today there were no appointments, nothing to distract me. I took the kids to daycare, came home to pack. But first I got on the computer and started making hotel reservations for our drive across the country. Sent some emails. Did a little daydreaming. Finally around 11 am I was ready to pack.
And then I couldn't find the tape. I'd used it the day before, so where was it? I turned the house upside down, but no tape. I ended up having to drive to the little packing store near us to buy another roll. Then I ate lunch. Finally at about 12:30 I was ready to pack. I packed like a madwoman. But the new tape that I'd bought did everything it could to thwart me. Absolutely awful stuff, kept sticking to the rest of the roll, and then when I'd try to pull it off, it would split into strands. Plus, it wouldn't stay stuck to the boxes. Much profanity could be heard (though only by the cat), but I got 6 boxes done, so I'm caught up.
Tonight after dinner I drove out to Staples and bought 3 big rolls of the good stuff, Scotch Moving & Storage packaging tape, "Long Lasting" variety. Plus another dispenser. Plus more Sharpie markers. Nothing's going to stop me from doing 5 more boxes tomorrow.
But first I've got to take Baby B to the doctor for HIS kindergarten physical. My sweet little boy!
I am going to survive this month. I am. I really am. But oh, I am so tired already. And it is only the second day.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Last Easter
At Christmas time I wrote about how it wasn't always much fun being the parent during major holidays (or for that matter, ever, but let's not go there). Easter, I would say, does not fall into that category. It's fun to be parents on Easter. First of all, it's not a very difficult holiday. I don't cook a fancy Easter dinner at home anymore -- we go out to eat! All we do for Easter is (1) dye hard-boiled eggs, and (2) hide baskets of candy and eggs around the house and yard for the kids to find. Nothing to it, especially since I reuse the baskets and stuffed animals and plastic eggs year after year. And it's fun to hide the eggs and it's fun to watch the kids look for them.
Though having to put on shoes before we go outside to hunt (because of the stupid goatshead stickers all over the yard) is not enjoyable. I have to remember that in Boulder it was probably too cold today to go outside barefoot!
After the initial finds (which were many -- we hid plastic eggs all over the house), Rocket Boy sneaked out and hid the hard-boiled eggs in the backyard, so then we had a second hunt. Great fun for all, though there was much discussion between the twins as to how a rabbit had (a) gotten into the house in the first place, and (b) managed to put eggs in places like the microwave and the butter compartment of the fridge. Belief in the Easter Bunny must not last very long, I'm thinking.
Then we went to visit an older couple we've known slightly for years (they're in a group we're in), who had invited us to come by on Easter. It took us almost an hour to find the house, WAY out in the boonies, but it was worth the effort -- a modest home, but a really fun desert garden, a potter's studio, an old swingset, interesting objects and art everywhere. On one wall we noticed a great bumper sticker: Friends don't let friends vote Republican. As they were showing us around I had a revelation: these people could have been our friends! They'd been friendly from the beginning, but an actual invitation had never been issued, just vague urgings along the lines of "you must come and see us sometime." Which we'd never followed up on, because the twins were so difficult, and we were sure no one REALLY wanted to have us come over (and destroy their home). Damn, I thought, as we walked around with them. These people really like us. These people could have been surrogate grandparents to the twins. These people could have been our friends.
So that was a bit overwhelming. And they were so disappointed when we reminded them we were leaving in a month. Damn.
Then we drove to Olancha and had a late lunch at the Ranch House Cafe. Baby A wouldn't even order anything, much less eat. Too many jelly beans. Oh dear, I knew I shouldn't have bought that second bag. Baby B did better, drank a glass of milk and ate one-fourth of a hot dog. Oh, and some of my salad. Oh, and Baby A did eat some olives from my salad. And some meringue from my pie. But that was all.
It was supposed to be cloudy and windy today -- it was windy, but the clouds in the sky were the white, puffy kind. Just gorgeous. The Eastern Sierra in general was spectacular today. The way it will always be in my dreams.
Weekend jaunts
A quick post, since Easter is almost here (and yes, the Easter Bunny has already come to our house, with many many jelly beans).
Friday was a day off for the boos and Dad (due to Good Friday and Flex Friday, respectively), so we went to Edwards Air Force Base to the museums there, which were not open the last time we tried. You can't get on that base without at least one person in your party having what Rocket Boy calls a "cack" card (I don't even know how to spell it), so I'm sure that'll be our last visit there.
Part of Edwards is actually NASA, and the NASA museum is very small, but they do have an extensive gift shop, plus a nice place to eat lunch. We bought some little things (emphasis on little, remember we're moving in a month) and ate lunch. We also looked at the planes they have on display outside, such as this lifting body.
Then we drove over to the Air Force part of the base and went to their museum, which is much bigger (though still not very big). It has some very attractive displays...
I liked this wall of aircraft, as did Baby A.
But pretty soon the boys got tired of it all and we drove back to Ridgecrest and dyed eggs -- and I don't have any photos of that activity because it's VERY MESSY. I brought the camera out and everything, but almost immediately my hands were covered with dye and that was the end of that.
Today (Saturday, that is) we decided to go for a hike. In the morning the boos were being JUST AWFUL, so we took them to the park... I know that sounds like we're rewarding them for being awful, but we really all needed to get out of the house.
Then we went home for lunch, which they wouldn't eat, and after lunch they continued to be awful, running away down the street when I told them not to leave our property, making messes with water in the bathroom and the backyard, taking all the blankets and pillows off their bed and piling them in the hallway, and laughing every time I scolded them. We thought maybe some of the naughtiness had to do with Easter coming, and some of it might be nervousness about the upcoming move, which we keep discussing the logistics of, and some of it I don't know... maybe just spring, the sap running in the veins and all that?
Finally we packed up and drove to Short Canyon, which is quite nearby, just past the intersection of Highways 14 and 395. The road from the highway is rough and hard to follow, and the first part of the trail is steep. But once you get over the hump you're in a delightful place.
It was very dry and there were very few wildflowers, but we did see some. It might be a bit early, though this is clearly not going to be a good year. We saw Indian paintbrush, thistle, apricot mallow...
and I think this is Brittlebush:
After 30 or 40 minutes I decided to turn back. Baby B wanted to go with me, but Baby A wanted to keep hiking with Dad. So I handed over the camera and later was rewarded with shots like this one:
which I was glad I had not experienced in person!
Baby B and I had to wait for the others for over an hour, but we had water and snacks, and it wasn't a terribly hot day, so we coped.
Once we were all reunited, we drove back to the highway and continued up 395 to Pearsonville Park, where we had a barbecue (veggie burgers, marinated vegetables on skewers, chips, olives, hard-boiled eggs).
I can't tell you how much better behaved and generally more pleasant to be around the twins were in both these settings (canyon and park). I think little kids are meant to be out in nature, not cooped up in houses and small yards. Ours certainly respond to it with joy.
Friday was a day off for the boos and Dad (due to Good Friday and Flex Friday, respectively), so we went to Edwards Air Force Base to the museums there, which were not open the last time we tried. You can't get on that base without at least one person in your party having what Rocket Boy calls a "cack" card (I don't even know how to spell it), so I'm sure that'll be our last visit there.
Part of Edwards is actually NASA, and the NASA museum is very small, but they do have an extensive gift shop, plus a nice place to eat lunch. We bought some little things (emphasis on little, remember we're moving in a month) and ate lunch. We also looked at the planes they have on display outside, such as this lifting body.
But pretty soon the boys got tired of it all and we drove back to Ridgecrest and dyed eggs -- and I don't have any photos of that activity because it's VERY MESSY. I brought the camera out and everything, but almost immediately my hands were covered with dye and that was the end of that.
Today (Saturday, that is) we decided to go for a hike. In the morning the boos were being JUST AWFUL, so we took them to the park... I know that sounds like we're rewarding them for being awful, but we really all needed to get out of the house.
Then we went home for lunch, which they wouldn't eat, and after lunch they continued to be awful, running away down the street when I told them not to leave our property, making messes with water in the bathroom and the backyard, taking all the blankets and pillows off their bed and piling them in the hallway, and laughing every time I scolded them. We thought maybe some of the naughtiness had to do with Easter coming, and some of it might be nervousness about the upcoming move, which we keep discussing the logistics of, and some of it I don't know... maybe just spring, the sap running in the veins and all that?
Finally we packed up and drove to Short Canyon, which is quite nearby, just past the intersection of Highways 14 and 395. The road from the highway is rough and hard to follow, and the first part of the trail is steep. But once you get over the hump you're in a delightful place.
Baby B and I had to wait for the others for over an hour, but we had water and snacks, and it wasn't a terribly hot day, so we coped.
Once we were all reunited, we drove back to the highway and continued up 395 to Pearsonville Park, where we had a barbecue (veggie burgers, marinated vegetables on skewers, chips, olives, hard-boiled eggs).
Sunday, March 24, 2013
The Long Goodbye
We're very conscious that the goodbyes have started. We have FIVE weekends left in Ridgecrest (after this one). What do we want to do, where do we want to go, while there's still time? At least one, possibly two of those weekends we'll go to Los Angeles to say goodbye to family and friends there. The last weekend we probably won't go much of anywhere, we'll just be packing. One weekend includes Easter. One is the Ridgecrest Wildflower Festival. There's just no time left. It's hard to comprehend.
Rocket Boy and I keep asking each other: what do you want to do? What do you want to see one last time? Yesterday we decided to go to the Desert Tortoise Natural Area near California City. We've gone there a couple times each year we've been here. Yesterday may have been our last visit -- ever? What are the chances we would go there again if we came back here on a visit? Questions like that one make me shiver.
It was a lovely day for a visit -- warm, but not hot, and not windy. Unfortunately, the DTNA looks as though it didn't get any rain at all this year. We went on the Plant Loop Trail first, and Rocket Boy had the idea of photographing the plants that have numbers next to them and saving our copy of the trail brochure, so that we could study and finally memorize the names of important desert shrubs. (Why we need to do this now, when we are leaving the desert, is not clear.) It didn't occur to us that this early in the season, especially with no rain, the plants would look very much alike. Here's Baby A with a creosote bush (the only bush we ALWAYS recognize):
Here's a cheesebush, the only plants that were showing much green:
This is an Anderson's thornbush:
And here are the twins with a paperbag bush:
You get the idea. Dry spiky bush after dry spiky bush. I don't think we're going to learn much from studying these photos.
From the choice of photos you may be assuming that we did not see any tortoises on this trip... and you would be right, although the naturalist said someone saw one the day before on the Animal Loop Trail. Rocket Boy sneaked off the trails and with his GPS located the spots where he found tortoises last year, but no dice. No tortoises, that is. Well, it is early. Our own backyard tortoise is just barely up.
We had a bit of excitement on the trip, because the twins ran ahead of us on the plant trail and then back down the main trail to the kiosk area. "I'll go get them," Rocket Boy said. "You go on ahead." So I started down the animal trail. After a bit, Rocket Boy caught up to me -- with Baby B. Baby A had wanted to stay by the car. "You mean he's all by himself?" I asked. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"
You have to understand, though -- this is a big flat open space with hardly any people in it. The nice friendly naturalist was near the parking lot. It was very UNLIKELY that anything would happen to Baby A, despite being separated from his family and only five years old. But it was very LIKELY that he would suddenly start freaking out. And by this time we were halfway along the animal trail, a long way from the car. I hurried Baby B as much as I could, but it was still probably 15-20 minutes before we met up with Baby A again. He was walking toward us on the main trail, holding the hand of an older woman who we'd seen on the trail earlier. "He got scared and was running in the opposite direction from the trails," she explained, as they neared us. "I was afraid he might meet up with a Mojave Green (rattlesnake) or just get lost, so I went and got him."
"Thank you very much," I said to the woman, about eleven times, as Baby A's hand was transferred to mine. There were many other things I wanted to say, such as, "I'm not usually this bad of a mother," and "It was all my husband's fault," but I supposed she wouldn't believe me.
"You know, we can't ever do that (i.e., leave one of them all alone in a wild place) in Colorado, because of the mountain lions," I said to Rocket Boy, as we drove away. And he agreed.
Today we had the "what do you want to see one last time?" conversation again, and after much debate ended up going to the Kern River Preserve, where we have only been a few times and always meant to go more often.
It's not a long drive, a little less than an hour, and on the way there we stopped at the Onyx Store, which I had always wanted to stop at. Nothing special, but they had an interesting collection of used cookbooks for sale, plus lots of unusual candies and snacks. We bought some snacks and headed on to the preserve. At the preserve we had a small snack-picnic and then visited the Visitor Center (above), which was unstaffed but open.
The preserve was pretty deserted, but we did meet some people who were visiting from Portland, Oregon, and gave them advice on where to camp in the area. Afterwards, Rocket Boy said to me, "I don't suppose we could fit a camping trip into one of our last weekends," and I said, "No, I don't think so."
Then we went for a hike... well, more of a stroll, really. But it was a trail, so maybe that counts as a hike.
When we came here a couple of years ago, the boos were too small to walk very far, and we ended up turning back after maybe a quarter of a mile -- if that. This time we did the whole main trail, and were tempted to take one or the other of the two trails branching off from it too. Nobody ran far away from anybody, perhaps chastened by the experience of the day before. Lovely day -- warm but not hot, not windy. It seemed very quiet in the preserve, not even many birds. I suppose it's still a bit early in the season.
"I wish we'd come here more often," Rocket Boy said, and I agreed. But the time for that is over now. The Kern River Preserve will belong to its other visitors and we'll have nice places to go in Colorado.
Rocket Boy and I keep asking each other: what do you want to do? What do you want to see one last time? Yesterday we decided to go to the Desert Tortoise Natural Area near California City. We've gone there a couple times each year we've been here. Yesterday may have been our last visit -- ever? What are the chances we would go there again if we came back here on a visit? Questions like that one make me shiver.
This is a burrobush:
And here are the twins with a paperbag bush:
From the choice of photos you may be assuming that we did not see any tortoises on this trip... and you would be right, although the naturalist said someone saw one the day before on the Animal Loop Trail. Rocket Boy sneaked off the trails and with his GPS located the spots where he found tortoises last year, but no dice. No tortoises, that is. Well, it is early. Our own backyard tortoise is just barely up.
We had a bit of excitement on the trip, because the twins ran ahead of us on the plant trail and then back down the main trail to the kiosk area. "I'll go get them," Rocket Boy said. "You go on ahead." So I started down the animal trail. After a bit, Rocket Boy caught up to me -- with Baby B. Baby A had wanted to stay by the car. "You mean he's all by himself?" I asked. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"
You have to understand, though -- this is a big flat open space with hardly any people in it. The nice friendly naturalist was near the parking lot. It was very UNLIKELY that anything would happen to Baby A, despite being separated from his family and only five years old. But it was very LIKELY that he would suddenly start freaking out. And by this time we were halfway along the animal trail, a long way from the car. I hurried Baby B as much as I could, but it was still probably 15-20 minutes before we met up with Baby A again. He was walking toward us on the main trail, holding the hand of an older woman who we'd seen on the trail earlier. "He got scared and was running in the opposite direction from the trails," she explained, as they neared us. "I was afraid he might meet up with a Mojave Green (rattlesnake) or just get lost, so I went and got him."
"Thank you very much," I said to the woman, about eleven times, as Baby A's hand was transferred to mine. There were many other things I wanted to say, such as, "I'm not usually this bad of a mother," and "It was all my husband's fault," but I supposed she wouldn't believe me.
"You know, we can't ever do that (i.e., leave one of them all alone in a wild place) in Colorado, because of the mountain lions," I said to Rocket Boy, as we drove away. And he agreed.
Today we had the "what do you want to see one last time?" conversation again, and after much debate ended up going to the Kern River Preserve, where we have only been a few times and always meant to go more often.
The preserve was pretty deserted, but we did meet some people who were visiting from Portland, Oregon, and gave them advice on where to camp in the area. Afterwards, Rocket Boy said to me, "I don't suppose we could fit a camping trip into one of our last weekends," and I said, "No, I don't think so."
Then we went for a hike... well, more of a stroll, really. But it was a trail, so maybe that counts as a hike.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Hiking near Trona
A group that Rocket Boy belongs to had planned a day hike in the hills near Trona for Saturday, so we decided to go along. Of course, the group was meeting at 7:30 am, and we live half an hour away. At 7 am on a Saturday we... aren't up yet, to say the least.
Long story short, we got there somewhat late, as in hours late. But we figured we'd meet up with the group eventually.
We took the Trona Road past Trona. About a quarter mile past the turnoff to the golf course we turned at this sign,
and headed up that little wiggly white line of a road into the hills. We were headed toward Great Falls, where they used to get water for the Trona plant.
After some looking around we found an open area with some parked cars, and Great Falls itself, so we figured the trail was somewhere near there. Fortunately we also found a nice woman who had stayed behind, and she was able to point us in the direction of the trail. She told us that it was too much for her now, but in the old days it would take her about 40 minutes to get to the top, after which it gets easier.
Here we are, ready to start hiking.
And here we are on the only part of the trail that looked like a trail.
Most of the trail was just a rocky path, so narrow that we could barely squeeze past the cacti. In some cases we couldn't even do that. Baby B put his hand on a cactus at one point and I had to tweeze the spines out. Later that night we discovered that Baby A had spines in his hand too, that he hadn't told us about. Cactus spines are a real pain to get out of little hands.
When the hike was over, I looked back up the hill at the trail and couldn't see it. It just disappeared into the side of the hill.
On and on it went, on and on we climbed.
Finally, after almost exactly 40 minutes, we reached the top, and went over, and then it did get easier. We walked a ways further without seeing anyone. Of course, the rest of the group was hours ahead of us. But supposedly they were going to stop somewhere and dig for crystals. Rocket Boy decided that the best plan was to leave me and the kids in a sheltered area, since we were tired, and then he would go look for the rest of the group.
This is where he left us.
It was OK. There was a shaded area where we could crouch against the rocks and eat the snacks we'd brought. And there were little areas nearby to explore, with lots of wildflowers just getting started. This little carpet of flowers will probably be beautiful in a week or two:
But he was gone a long time. Over an hour. And that gave me plenty of time to think about something really creepy that I had recently read, about a group of German tourists who got lost in Death Valley in 1996 and whose remains were finally tracked down in 2009. It's here if you'd like to be totally creeped out too: http://www.otherhand.org/home-page/search-and-rescue/the-hunt-for-the-death-valley-germans/
Now granted, we were about 45 minutes from our car, which was about 15 minutes from the Trona Road. And a bunch of other people were on the trail too. And it's March, not July, and we were in the Searles Valley, not Death Valley, etc., etc., etc. We were not in danger. But we were in the desert and it felt really remote, and I could not stop thinking about the German mother and what she must have felt, dying in the desert with her four-year-old son. Seriously disturbing.
So when Rocket Boy returned I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Fortunately, he didn't want to stay much longer. He had found the other folks and they were ready to pack up and go, not having found many crystals. We packed up too and headed back down the trail, which was even harder to go down than it had been to go up. Rocket Boy was very sweet and patient with me, letting me hold on to the back of his pack as we crawled down the trail (the twins ran on ahead). "It's like old times," he said cheerfully.
Here we're looking down from the trail to where the cars are parked, and if you look closely you can see a little spot of blue and green about halfway down which is the twins (they ran on ahead).
When we finally made it down, we drove back to Trona and had a late lunch/dinner at Esparza's.
And then we drove back to Ridgecrest where we found a very happy surprise: our other tortoise was sticking his nose out of his burrow for the first time this year. I pulled him all the way out and kissed him, which I'm sure he didn't appreciate, and then put him down next to some little green weeds growing in his pen. He was not ready to eat anything yet, too sleepy. But he was very much alive.
Life in the desert. Gotta love it.
Long story short, we got there somewhat late, as in hours late. But we figured we'd meet up with the group eventually.
We took the Trona Road past Trona. About a quarter mile past the turnoff to the golf course we turned at this sign,
After some looking around we found an open area with some parked cars, and Great Falls itself, so we figured the trail was somewhere near there. Fortunately we also found a nice woman who had stayed behind, and she was able to point us in the direction of the trail. She told us that it was too much for her now, but in the old days it would take her about 40 minutes to get to the top, after which it gets easier.
Here we are, ready to start hiking.
On and on it went, on and on we climbed.
This is where he left us.
Now granted, we were about 45 minutes from our car, which was about 15 minutes from the Trona Road. And a bunch of other people were on the trail too. And it's March, not July, and we were in the Searles Valley, not Death Valley, etc., etc., etc. We were not in danger. But we were in the desert and it felt really remote, and I could not stop thinking about the German mother and what she must have felt, dying in the desert with her four-year-old son. Seriously disturbing.
So when Rocket Boy returned I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Fortunately, he didn't want to stay much longer. He had found the other folks and they were ready to pack up and go, not having found many crystals. We packed up too and headed back down the trail, which was even harder to go down than it had been to go up. Rocket Boy was very sweet and patient with me, letting me hold on to the back of his pack as we crawled down the trail (the twins ran on ahead). "It's like old times," he said cheerfully.
Here we're looking down from the trail to where the cars are parked, and if you look closely you can see a little spot of blue and green about halfway down which is the twins (they ran on ahead).
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