In the morning we quickly reached for our dawn jackets.

Our kids had never been to Bodie before.

Memorial Day falls on the last Monday in May, which also unofficially marks the first day of the summer season — at least a lot of resorts and attractions open around then, or extend their hours. It's also a weekend when a majority of people gather enough resolve to venture somewhere outdoors, a few even camping. We had stayed at home, or rather, camped for one night in our nearby Pinnacles on the previous year, as snow fell in the mountains. This year the forecast looked more accommodating, hence we booked horses at Leavitt Meadows, and drove out to the east on Saturday.

We considered possible camp sites on the way. Our favorite Cottonwood is located at nine thousand feet of elevation, and after all the forecast was not too good — we did not feel like sleeping in a tent while it would be freezing outside. We thought of Buckeye, which is lower and offers hot springs — but it's quite far from Leavitt Meadows and Walker — and crowds would most likely amass there. And so we wondered and pondered, while driving down from Sonora Pass; a dirty turn-off stood out in a curve ahead just above Leavitt Meadows. We tried it and discovered a beautiful camp site — much closer to the highway than our usual Cottonwood, but still devoid of people and only five minutes by car from the pack station. We ran through the neighborhood a bit, found a creek and rocks, erected our tent, and drove down to Leavitt Meadows.

Chemist's in Bodie.

On the stoops.

The pack station crew does not change much; Mike was first to emerge from their house, then Craig showed up and the majority of cowboys we know. Only some horses leave. Lisa's favorite Large Marge had died over the winter, which Mike hesitated mention, and instead he told her that she was on a pasture. Well, I would have to explain it to my daughter; Large Marge was a grandma horse (thirty years is quite a lot for a horse), and after all, dying is a part of life.

We agreed to show up on Monday as early as possible, and drove away to make another friendly visit, to Walker and Jeff's barbeque. The wind turned pretty cold before we got back to our camp site, and so we took extra sleeping bags to our tent, to cover the kids with a double layer. The night did not turn out as cold as the forecasters had threatened, although we were quite glad of our dawn jackets in the morning.

And once we started driving around familiar places, we could not miss a breakfast at Hays Street Cafe in Bridgeport. Pancakes and toasts with fruit and whipped cream certainly don't meet high dietetic standards, but they're so awesome that you can't hold back — especially on a holiday.

A living room in Bodie.

General Store.

Our children had probably never been to Bodie, a gold mining town abandoned in the thirties of the last century. Bodie preserves a long gone lifestyle. There is dust-covered wallpaper in the houses, sometimes you find a forgotten piece of clothing hanging on a hook, dishes laying about. People had simply left with only what they could carry. Tom showed interest in mining equipment and technical antiquities, Lisa had delighted in reading from a guide pamphlet. Bodie enjoys a reputation of a town with crazy weather — and it kept it for us. At times, we were huddling in our dawn jackets, and other times we stripped down to t-shirts — depending whether the desert sun scorched us, or a wind from the hills blew.

With time, crowds of tourists seemed to thicken — and honestly, for how long can you keep checking out a finite number of abandoned households and businesses, before it start to depress and tire you? Thus we traded the scenery for the shores of Mono Lake, making a lunching picnic there. Kids soon ran away to the playground, refusing to accompany us on a walk to the tufas. Perhaps they had had enough of interpretive signs for one day — Hippo and I left them to their swings. In the afternoon we hiked a bit on a hill above Walker — an old gold mine can be found there — followed by a dinner at Jeff's (for a change).

Kids at a playground near Mono Lake.

On a hill above Walker.

After a relatively lazy Sunday, a morning full of action awaited us: we had booked horses for nine thirty at Leavitt. Thanks to camping just a stone's throw from the pack station, we could linger in our sleeping bags for a while, before the sun would disperse the morning chill, but even so dawn jackets were in order. We kept them for the ride as well, even adding some gloves. The end of May at two and half thousand meters means variable spring weather.

I was issued Jenna; we had quickly agreed on who was in charge, and as long I was the boss, I would in turn not harass her without cause — and my ride went on smoothly (Jenna is a typical mare who always feels like having everything under control and being in charge, so she would love to make decisions for her rider, and other horses and mules on the trail).

We chose the loop to Secret Lake, and it took us longer than the planned two hours, and I think that it was just about enough for the kids. In fact — now that I had been riding less, my legs hurt me, and I had had enough as well. As it is common in the Sierra, the skies got darker after eleven, and we still had to pack our camp.

We made it just when the first drops of rain started falling, and we drove out into showers that turned into snow in the pass. Fortunately it was still several degrees above freezing, and the flakes did not last, and we did not have to put on our snow chains; instead, we passed without incident to the other side of the range.

To the river.

Around Leavitt Meadows.

Children had two last weeks left till school end and I have to say that we were all counting every day. For some reason the school had left all possible events till the very last moment, and a complete chaos ensued — I don't get how could anyone come up with the idea to merge a Hawaiian Day with a Field Day — so girls would arrive wearing Hawaiian skirts, and later they were supposed to deliver athletic performance. Not to mention that an afternoon filled with sports was followed in a few days by an Olympic Day (with about same activities). There were occasional parties, a class celebration of Lisa's birthday (which otherwise falls on end of July); I felt like a hunted fugitive — kids kept bringing me letters and notes from the school about what they were supposed to have for this or that, and I never managed to orient myself in them.

At last the Friday of June 7 had arrived, and I picked up my kids from their shortened class at noon, we recovered only a little at home, and headed with friends to Castle Rock. Tom has three mainstay friends; Bryce, Nicolas and Raphael, who have great moms Rumiko, Tara and Iris, respectively (and Raphael has a younger brother, Joachim), willing and able to celebrate the end of the school by rock climbing.

I was taking a huge back-pack with climbing gear to Castle Rock — rope, quick-draws, some slings, harnesses and shoes; so my children were issued a backpack with their snacks and water. Other kids had an argument over who could carry this supply bag, and we had to instantiate and strict system of taking turns (I always remember Tom Sawyer and his fence-painting chore).

It's snowing in the Pass.

Rock climbing in celebration of the school year end.

I anchored a top rope on California Ridge, and subsequently hung all children and moms in this route. Kids likely regarded climbing as a secondary thing, and spent most of the time collectively running around in the woods, once again confirming my theory that children do not necessitate playgrounds and toys where simple freedom would suffice. It also takes parents able to provide such freedom, who don't collapse to the ground in horror when hearing "Mommy, look how high I am!" (when the children decided to cheer the climbers from the anchor at the top of the rock). Such parents, upon hearing, "Who wants to see a snake, follow me.", simply respond with a calm query, "Does the snake have a rattler?" (it did not; Tom had spotted a California Mountain Snake, which is exquisitely striped, but not poisonous).

From these rocks we drove back down into the civilized Valley, straight to have a Vietnamese dinner. There, we established a new rule — a separate junior and adult table. The required condition to play being self-sufficient is naturally good manners and adequate table skills. The result was a relatively decent illusion of an adult visit to a restaurant WITHOUT the children.

If the last day of school should portent the nature of the vacations, it could be quite manageable.