In the yard of the Mission San Juan Bautista (photo by Vicky).

July has hit me with the verve of a natural disaster. We exiled our ailing granny into isolation, which canceled all plans for a little rest and some serious climbing. Kids would go to their preschool till mid-month, but I noticed some unavoidable chores piling up. Like getting our little house ready for a double of the normal fill of people. Granny's bedroom won't accommodate four beds, not even in a dream; it was clear that some of our visitors would have to camp in our living room. So there was not only cleaning up granny's bedroom, finding adequate mattresses and bedding, but also sorting out an area that mostly functions as a kids playroom (we had canceled TV, and so there's not much to watch), and pacify heaps of toys. I have also brought a bunch of kids' drawings and other creations from their preschool, most of which will need to be sorted out, but so far have been surviving in our bedroom (along with another Everest of everything that used to lay about at granny's).

Our favorite beach at Point Lobos

Vicky and family were scheduled to arrive on Saturday the eighteenth. We have been friends since 1991 (if I count correctly). She used to go with me to summer camps and river raftings, we went together to Brazil, I lived in her place in England for a few weeks -- simply a friend whom I know for so long that her niece, whom I baby-sat when she was a baby, is currently choosing a college.

I have last seen Vicky in 2003. Back then, she had a husband named Holger, and an eight months old son Oliver. We were aware of Tommy for a few day then, in the form of two lines on a pregnancy test. Well, now Vicky's family (extended by another son, Nicolas) was about to show up for visit.

As a matter of my internet routine I checked arrivals from Vancouver, where they switched planes on their way from London -- and I stumbled upon a note about Terminal 3. Domestic terminals at SFO are numbered, international ones have letters; (my) logic suggested something was not right. A call to Air Canada confirmed it - really - flights from Canada are domestic. It caught even Duerers unprepared -- they did not expect to immigrate into United States on Canadian soil, and had almost missed their connection. But important was we found each other, and soon I was taking my dear visitors home.

Poorhouse kids - notice Tom's shoes.

Mentally we were prepared for a brutal jet lag, but the boys actually got up after six a.m.; Lisa was the only complication, as she quietly wept in her bed, being up and waiting for the number seven showing up on her alarm clock, which was not coming, while many other were already having fun and breakfast in the kitchen. It's interesting that other times Lisa does not hesitate to bend the rules according to her whims, but this time she tried to abide by the rule, until I let her go.

Nico hoping to douse his brother Oliver.

Duerers remembered our evening suggestions and fixed their own breakfast according their preferences and tastes, which was a great relief for me. We always co-existed with Vicky this way, and it's a system very close to my heart. One's role of a host thus shrinks into agreeable extent and time remains for own family and some fun program (i.e. something more fun than cooking a three course dinner). Sticking to this logic, we drove out to Felton, to see redwoods and the steam engine, followed by our favorite Thai restaurant, Sabieng in Santa Cruz, and then -- to the beach.

There were no visible sea stars laying about at Davenport Landing, but the kids did not mind as much. The boys dug in the sand and threw water at each other, later Tom conspired with Nico against Oliver and they chased the oldest of them with buckets full of water. Lisa splashed in the ocean, but then she began feeling cold and spent the rest of the afternoon wrapped in a blanket. She would have probably been just as content in a living room -- apparently natural wonders don't always enchant little children as much as a blanket wrap can.

Meet the gang our household grew into (and Sid is taking the picture and thus not on it).

On Monday, the Duerers went to San Francisco. We took them to the train station and rode along a few stops -- Tom would not have missed a Caltrain opportunity for anything. His summer break has just started, just as I planned it so that my poor kids could enjoy being with their mom (the pre-school operates year-around). I must say that later came moments when I considered resenting my decision as immature, even perhaps made in a sudden lapse of sanity; still, on that Monday I was fully savoring the presence of both juniors without the yoke of pre-school schedule and the pick-up deadlines.

Lisa with a crank in Children's Discovery Museum.

For Tuesday, all kids were promised Discovery Museum. Oliver with Nico had earlier visited a similar museum in Minnesota and were quite looking forward to see ours. It was quite fun, for the Discovery was currently holding an exhibit of Curious George (monkey cartoon character), on loan from Minnesota, and so the boys have found a familiar scene. Fortunately, George represented only a small portion of the whole range of things the museum offers, and it was pleasant to find new things and also enjoy something they knew from two years ago.

My kids asked for bubbles, and so we separated and subsequently spent perhaps three quarters of hour with giant bubble makers. Tom and Lisa are quite grown and reasonable -- when I needed a bathroom break, they simply stayed with the bubbles with no difficulty. I hope this signals a definite end to my endless jogging behind an escaping toddler (or as it may be, two toddlers).

Nico and Tom collaborate at one of many interactive exhibits of Children's Discovery Museum.

On Wednesday I took Vicky and the kids (both men went to work) to Monterey by way of Mission San Juan Bautista. Lisa donned her new, reflective pink, enamel shoes (they were on sale), and so first I had to convince my daughter that these would suffer greatly by running around the mission and later a beach, and that she should opt for a more reasonable footwear. Alas, I did not think of checking Tom, who mentioned in the middle of our journey that his shoes were each different. Really: on his left foot he put a new sneaker (shoes bought on account of his old right sneaker developing a gaping rubber mouth), and wore the old gaping shoe on his right foot. In these situations, I really don't know whether to laugh or whether to cry. We weren't going to turn back just on account of shoes, so he spent the rest of the trip like a poorhouse kid, with torn and mismatched footwear.

Kids a the museum - the aprons are supposed to prevent getting wet.

This being a weekday, it was no problem to find a parking spot in San Juan down town. I have a feeling that Tom and Lisa were both most impressed by wild blackberries growing on bushes along the San Andreas fault. Oliver, who is almost seven, apparently paid attention to the actual mission, since he later named it the most interesting thing of the day. Our kids were wearing identical pre-school t-shirts on this trip; given the fact that the pre-school falls under the Episcopal church, it has a cross in its logo and thus their clothes were in accord with our destination (although I'm not sure what Catholics have to say about Episcopalians).

It seems that the Christian education leaves its traces in the kids. When we were looking through a glass at a high-class living room equipped with period furniture, Lisa said that a princess probably lived there. Tom immediately corrected her with a reference to some saint's painting, saying that Jesus lives in the room. The second highpoint of the visit followed shortly -- near restrooms in the mission's park, a bunch of chickens were hiding, and the smaller kids endeavored to follow the fowl.

Vicky and I had agreed that this was enough culture for the juniors, and time had come to go to Point Lobos beach. Granny has been awaiting us there, who was still recovering from shingles. We were hoping that seeing granny outdoors would limit the kids' urges to crawl all over her, decreasing the chance of smallpox infections (at the time of this writing, we were still going to see if our hopes were correct). Heroic digging in the sand ensued, and castle building, and similar benefits. Eventually we dropped Vicky and the boys off at their hotel, where they were to be joined by Holger; while we took granny out to a dinner at Baan Thai in Seaside and then drove home.

Lisa with granny at Monterey Aquarium.

I was expecting Thursday with a bit of fear. During a routine exam a week ago, our dentist had found a cavity in Lisa's molar, which we had guessed to be there, but an X-ray exposed hidden cavities between Tom's teeth. Drilling was on order for both juniors. There was some crying, but eventually they subsided under the promise of a toy-store visit. Tom chose a train (how else?) and Lisa picked Snow-white, and I hope that such beautiful things overshadowed trauma from injection and drilling.

In the evening Hippo and I started planning our weekend trip with our visitors to the Sierra. Forecast was threatening with forties at Bridgeport, and thus I began to look for a campground where Vicky and her family would not expire by heat (i.e. something at about eight thousand feet elevation), and the online list of available slots popped up one at Tuolumne Meadows. Sid yelled that I must book it immediately, and so I did. It would seem I had accomplished a heroic deed -- Tuolumne Meadows are part of perhaps most famous American park (Yosemite), and campsites get regularly booked one year in advance. It must have been a pure accident that I happened over some reservation canceled in the last moment.

Simulated surf at Monterey Aquarium.

On Friday we went back to Monterey. We had been diverting our children from its large Aquarium for several months now, planning to go there with Vicky. It must have been really long time since our last visit, for the aquarium grew in the meantime by two large exhibits - fresh water otters and sea horses. Granny went along again, and she is too soft-hearted. Against my explicit ban, Lisa has pulled our unsuspecting granny into a gift shop and made her buy a stuffed penguin. If I understand it correctly, Lisa made an argument that the penguin was waiting there for her; granny tried to appease me saying that she bought it only because Lisa was going to have a birthday. On account of being fair, granny then proceeded to buy Tommy some battery powered plastic penguins that can swim in a pool. This caused another complication as Lisa started crying that her penguin has no mommy, while there were two of Tom's penguins. It's interesting that in the moment when granny acceded to buying a stuffed penguin baby (to stop Lisa's penguin from being sad), Lisa turned around and chose a stuffed coral fish, Nemo. Well, it was cheaper than penguins, and we let it slide. Nevertheless the whole affair left me in a state of panic -- what if in a few years she moves from penguins to alligator skin hand bags? Where would we find a sponsor for such tastes?

This meadow at Elizabeth Lake was practically the only memorable spot of the whole trail.

Still I was glad that granny could be with us; she caught and tracked at least on of the children. After all, the Aquarium is much larger and confusing than the children's museum, and a kid can get easily lost there. Especially since a lot of the oceanic critters need darkness, causing even adult visitors to get disoriented. We lasted at the aquarium for a surprisingly long time -- some four hours, including a lunch break. Then I took off home with the kids, and Duerers went on to a beach, coming back to our home later that night.

Kids played at a ford.

On Saturday my Hippo went to work to compensate for time off he planned to take on Monday. The rest of the dwellers in our house went to Vasona park to ride on a kids' train and a merry-go-round, planning to eventually split into groups and run errands, mostly shopping for supplies on our upcoming three-day trip. Yet the kids demanded a playground -- I think that Oliver and Nico longed for simple children's pleasures -- and well, our kids weren't hard to convince to join them. This shifted shopping off to a later afternoon, since Tommy also desired after lunch to show off his favorite model trains in Santa Clara to the boys.

On Sunday the Duerers took off through Yosemite to Tuolumne Meadows, and we did the same, just through Sonora Pass to Cottonwood Creek, to camp in the loneliness of a National Forest. We visited Jeff and Michelle in our favorite restaurant. Jeff, having forgotten our order for kids' fried cheese sandwiches, insisted later on serving them at no charge, but we won (we need for this only respectable restaurant with a decent draft beer to continue staying in business).

In the morning we immersed ourselves in the mælstrøm of organized camping, to find Duerers. I must say that we really needed help from a friendly ranger at the entrance, and most importantly, a MAP. The campground is huge and sprawling over miles of forest. Duerers ended up with a decent deal -- their spot was at the very far end of the monster camp, in safe distance from motor home section with generators, and from group villages. Local campgrounds are relatively merciful in that their lots are large, giving one a comparative sense of privacy (as opposed to Czech campgrounds I remember from my canoeing era). Several hiking trails start directly at Tuolumne Meadows. We chose (more or less randomly and unfortunately) one going to Elizabeth Lake.

Landscape over Mono Lake has put on an unusually green garment this year (photo Vicky).

The trail wasn't bad, but quite monotonous; we kept on huffing and puffing uphill through ever more the same forest, without a view or interesting spot. I kept promising Lisa that we'll get to her lake; Tom scaled every boulder and fallen log, but even so it was rather long. Poor Oliver was probably not acclimatized yet, got a bit green and complained about various aches. Finally (!) we had reached a beautiful mountain meadow with a creek. Juniors roared with delight and proceeded to build clever dams and splash in the water. Lisa build castles instead -- princesses don't need dams to live in. Naturally it was she who fell in the stream and naturally, we as parents are impossible and did not bring along enough spare clothes, hence she then had to descend back to the camp wearing swimsuit and a sweatshirt.

Lisa enjoyed snow fight very much.

Back at the camp we roasted some sausages and marshmallows and then got back into our bus and sped off to our lonely night-stand. I have to say that I was so much longing to be back in our tent, surrounded by a mere nature where not other human can be seen or heard. Somehow all these Yosemite crowds get on my nerve, destroying my joy of wilderness.

In the morning we were to meet at Hays Street Cafe in Bridgeport, which is kind of half way between Tuolumne and Cottonwood. We ate heartily, and I squashed my (considerable) coffee deficit; we drove off to Virginia Lakes. Our whole family has accomplished this hike several times already, and none of it would rob it of its beauty. In contrast to Elizabeth Lake, its trail winds along many attractions. We saw a beaver dam, crossed a rock slide slope (and if you think that three boys consider a pile of rocks boring, you're mistaken), then the boys dammed a small creek, we jumped over a swamp, ate snack by an old prospectors hut, watched cowboys pulling a team of freight mules, and eventually reached remnants of a snow field at the base of another lake, where we had a snowball fight. All this in a wondrous, stunning alpine landscape, at ten thousand feet elevation.

A part of our expedition (right) above Blue Lake on Virginia Lakes cascade, is watching a horse and mule team descending through the rock slide slope (left).

In time juniors began to ask for another snack, but I began to get nervous. Dark clouds were piling up above the mountain peaks, and we heard an occasional thunder. We quickly fed all members of the expedition and hurried back downhill, to avoid being caught in an open country near the lakes. It started to rain and lightning flashed here and there, kids were plugging their ears and were frightened a bit, but before we reached another open section, the storm was (fortunately) over.

This fresh snow in July fell in elevations upwards of 9000 feet.

We changed all the clothes we could at our car and sped off to Cottonwood. Alas, we had thought in the morning that leaving our tent standing the whole day would help it to vent and DRY UP. Before we crossed the few miles, the storm rolled over us and we were packing during a light rain. So much for planning and commanding the rain and sleet. The biggest shock came when we drove out of our grove. We were looking at a SNOW-COVERED Sonora Pass straight ahead of us, through which we were to drive. There were no signs about closure and we risked it. Snow ploughs drove past us in the opposite direction, descending from the pass, which made us a bit more worried. Then again, we thought of it as a good sign that the ploughs were already returning, and more importantly, that they were so quick -- no more than two hours had elapsed since the last storm. Driving up into the pass, we realized what the ploughs were needed for. There was wasn't even an inch of snow, but a quick storm has filled all creeks, turning waterfalls into mud-falls, and recently dry gulches spewed dirt and rocks onto the blacktop -- and it was the mud and the gravel that the ploughs had moved off to the side.

Our journey turned out quite unproblematic in the end. Duerers slept one more night at Tuolumne, getting rained on and finding a puddle of water in their incorrectly zipped-up tent, but they got visited by a bear in the morning. Yosemite's furry predators get often used to enter large campgrounds, as with such a great concentration of humanity there is a large probability of someone not quite following or outright ignoring the safety rules; bears then wreak havoc in poorly packed garbage or unlocked food. Fortunately, only relatively small black bears live in California, and they can be chased away (grizzly bears would be much more dangerous).

A week later, some other friends of ours had sighted a bear at Tuolumne, hence we remain among the few who did not spot one this time. Not only had we camped in a place which utterly lacks garbage bins and cannot pride itself by hundreds of people roasting steaks on their grills, but Cottonwood Creek lay in the mountain belt separated from Sierra Nevada proper by several miles of high desert, which, as we hope, presents a serious bear turn-off.