Rancho San Antonio.

The kids had begged for yet another visit at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk.

For the first twelve days in August, we proceeded at a leisurely pace. We threw in some trips with Regina and her boys, for example to Rancho San Antonio. I was a bit worried that Tom would perhaps find the walk boring, its highpoint being "to see chickens and other animals". We spiced it up by stopping at a playground and tossing frisbee, and by a picnic in a barn, and in the end Tom took the chickens into the mix just fine; the greatest attraction turned out to be the creek.

On the way back, Regina and I crossed the bridge, while the children hopped over stones and formed a team to build a system of dams and sluices. They kept at it for well over an hour, and were both obnoxious mothers not pushing them to go home, they would have probably stayed there still. The older boys were utterly fascinated by the effect of the dam built of gravel releasing a CLEAN water, and I took the opportunity to lecture them on water treatment and filtration.

With our teeth firmly clenched, we gave in to kids' request for a Santa Cruz Boardwalk visit. Hippo and Tom had the good fortune to snatch a seat in the very first row on a historic roller coaster ride, returning deeply green in faces; perhaps we may be free from this type of entertainment for several months. Boardwalk meant a heavy financial blow for us — gone are the days when a carousel or roller coaster ride set you back a dollar or two — current prices begin at five bucks, and in combination with a four-member family it represents a noticeable drain on our budget in the space of mere minutes.

Petrified redwoods are indeed majestic.

We had found the geyser somewhat overpriced.

Similarly, our nearest geyser got pricey. We ventured to Calistoga to check out our local petrified forest, which is remarkable in how large the trees there are — for they are the petrified casts of giant redwoods (the trees themselves are not petrified, only volcanic ash and mineral under pressure had slowly replaced disintegrating wood in essence cell-by-cell, which had preserved the texture of the tree). Here I would like to point out a gross injustice — while Regina and Slávek had spotted already three mountain lions during their nine months stay in California (of which one was in this Petrified Forest), we did not see even one in thirteen (Hippo nineteen) years!

Having viewed the rocky exhibits, and received our reiterated assurances that we REALLY would not be buying anything in the visitor center and souvenirs shoppe, the children insisted on stopping by the geyser. We were relatively positively inclined, as it's a long and cumbersome way to Calistoga, and we were thinking what we could check off this experience for next few years again. Alas, entry fee of forty four dollars is really steep; so maybe this was the last time our poor offspring had an opportunity to see this natural phenomenon. If they would at least serve beer or any other refreshments there for tired parents!

On August 12, a moment that was planned for almost a year had arrived — my friend Vicky came to visit with her family. If I start counting years past, I get that we had known each other longer than half of my life. Yet, in the last two five-year-plan cycles, our visits were not such a hot topic — after all, it's across one ocean and one whole continent, and that's more complicated (and pricey) than across a few European mini-states and one channel. Still, despite a four year gap, not many things had changed, only all our children had grown a bit taller — eleven-year old Oliver is on a good path to outgrow his parents.

With English visitors in Felton.

Caves in Pinnacles.

The plan for their visit was rather plain. Sid would still spend weekdays at work in his office, just like Holger, who would only trade the English Google campus for the original headquarters. Vicky, kids and I would be on vacations.

Our first trip together went to Felton and contained a mildly dramatic interlude. Children rushed out for the attractions, while Vicky and I shuffled behind at a dignified pace. When Oliver came back running with the news that Tom had fallen and scraped his knee, I did not try to interfere. Especially since Tom continued running around for some time after his fall — he only got scared later by blood flowing into his socks. Putting a bandage on and washing helped; as soon as his wound DISAPPEARED from sight, the pain was gone, too; Tom began running around again.

Vicky and I not sure about our trip to Pinnacles mostly because of heat, but then we concluded that caves would solve the problem. The park was (understandably) empty, and the children did rumble a bit at the beginning (especially Lisa), but an early appearance of a tunnel on a trail had improved morals of the troops, and Bear Gulch Caves, which you must walk through with the help of a head lamp, were a clear success. On the way back the kids organized themselves into a detail under the command of Oliver; Lisa (being the only member unable to attain an at-attention posture, and on top of it talking back to the superior officer) was assigned a rank of medic.

To get a little change after the heat in Pinnacles, we chose the coast for the following day. Strangely enough, the summer fog so common at the ocean was not there, and the kids could jump for hours on a sunlit beach, splashing in the icy Pacific. We could only lure them out of the sea by the promise of a lunch. Our lunches were typically with separated junior and adult tables, and I must say our offspring chose wisely; perhaps Oliver and Nicolas had infected our kids with their appetite reminding of miners rescued after a week in a caved-in hole.

An ocean can keep the children entertained for an arbitrary long time.

At Jeff's, exceptionally at a single table.

On Friday we had sent our visitors out across the Sierra right in the morning; Sid still had to go to work and we followed them after noon. Exodus from the Valley was already dramatic, and we had picked up quite a delay. So much in fact that we were worried about making it in time to Jeff's, who closes at eight. How big was our surprise when we reached the camp site only half an hour after Vicky — our poor Englishmen got trapped in a highway jam around a turned-over truck (no exit in sight, and they just stood there for hours). A dinner and beer had lifted the gloom and back at the camp site had proven again that a combination of juniors, a forest, and a creek, is quite sufficient to provide entertainment.

On Saturday morning we only slowly woke up and exhumed, and since we were obliged to celebrate Oliver's eleventh birthday, we chose a brunch at a dignified venue — Hays Street Cafe. The kids had naturally refused to share a table with us boring adults, although Nico had an ear out for our secret conversation regarding our present to Oliver. We thought it reasonable to consult our ideas with the parents of the targeted young man — to prevent a family schism and to avoid giving Oliver something he already had or would not care for. After all, he's more than a year older than Tom, and had been entering grammar school, and is no little boy anymore.

Eastern skies were darkening, but it did not rain.

We were quite a line-up.

I don't know if we managed to keep our conversation completely secret, but Nico had certainly not leaked anything. Perhaps because right after the meal we moved on to Leavitt Meadows and filled the next three hours with a horse-ride to Secret Lake. Last time Holger had sat on a horse, he was some three years old (it was a pony at a faire or something), the boys had had some riding camps before, although with English saddles. Vicky had ridden intensely in times when we used to be young and beautiful — now we are just beautiful; fortunately one cannot forget how to ride a horse — and apparently her horse was quite aware of that, for he operated like a well-oiled machine.

I had enjoyed most of the ride hanging behind; Jenna has tendencies to harass some horses and egg them on, while being at the tail we happily walked behind the dust clouds, and I could take pictures of the whole expedition. Tom was issued Sid (the horse), who did not cooperate much. Lisa's spotted Bill was the best that she could get at this point — after an adrenaline-filled experience with Coconut, she ended up on a horse that was not horsing around — the last thing we could use was Lisa starting to be afraid.

Hill past the lake, near Bodie, are burning.

We were lucky to meet this friendly ranger.

Horses took our whole afternoon, so all that was left to do was roasting some sausages, drink some beer, and watch the head lamps whoosh through the woods. Juniors had organized some night game of their very own, which produced the desired effect of kids getting tired without any physical engagement by the parents. This pre-pubescent age has many advantages.

On Sunday we took our visitors to Mono Lake. A heavy smoke column could be seen on the far side, towards Bodie; we were quite worried about the fate of this wooden ghost town, but it seems that all ended well there. At the lake, we were lucky to meet a ranger who gave us a lecture and showed us special local shrimps, fly larvae used in the past by local Indians to make protein paste, did some special bird-spotting with us, and in the end took us to a small hot spring that bubbles on the edge of the lake. The visit turned quite educational even for us, despite having seen this strange lake many times before.

Offspring had categorically turned down an idea to go check out Mono Craters, and instead insisted on bathing in hot springs. I agree that natural hot springs are certainly more attractive than a lesson in geology, and it's something they don't have in England. We generally avoid the springs at Buckeye in the summer season on account of crowds; we were hoping that it may be more bearable on Sunday afternoon. And we were lucky again; a numerous group was just leaving the springs. The creek has less water at the end of summer, and its surface does not reach up to the pools, which are thus beautifully hot.

Buckeye hot springs.

Lawrence Hall of Science in Berkeley.

I think that we all welcomed a hot bath. This being a weekend afternoon, with many other people present we kept our swimsuits on, and thus could take pictures. Once we reached the proper level of steaminess and sogginess, we had to scramble up a ravine back to our cars and head back home.

On Tuesday I loaded Vicky and all the kids in the van, and we went to Lawrence Hall of Science in Berkeley. Our children love museums, and this one is very interactive, making it no problem at all staying there over three hours. Tom had found LEGO cars with motors, and Lisa had converged on a cobbler's workshop and various papers and decorations, and she devoted herself to shoe design. All that naturally besides all other attractions. Donna, another one of my English friend, whom I had not seen for fifteen years, had picked up Vicky and her boys by noon there. Too bad she lives so far away — well it's not too distant in miles along, but there are incredible traffic jams in this direction on a daily basis, and so I visit friends from these places only very infrequently.

Vicky's family slept at Donna's and on Wednesday, while our kids started school, they went camping to Big Sur. Her boys have a five-week vacations in August, and they still had a few days left in California, followed by a whole week to recover in England.

When the fog lifts in Berkeley, the view is spectacular.

Our children had quite looked forward to starting school again; eleven weeks of vacations is, after all, a long time. Our familiar cabin fever was in full swing, albeit moderated by presence of Oliver and Nicolas. Just like four years ago, Vicky and her family had fit in our house without problems, and part of it is certainly because her boys are really easy going. No annoyances over food, no talking back. Oliver is a "scientific" type, with whom Tom could seriously discuss technical issues, while Nico is more a run-around kid. Neither of the boys would heed Lisa's female tricks, which was a new experience for her. And she surely needed a lesson in meeting someone who does not fall for her being a cute blonde, but on the other hand does not ignore her. The boys did not let her lure them into her girly games, but Lisa always remained a welcome companion for baseball training or horsing around in the swimming pool.

Lulled by the smooth development of the visit, we finally received a gentle notice at their departure. When we were saying our good-byes by our entrance door, the children began to plan that when they get together again in four years, they would be four years older, and Nico said with gusto that Lisa would be twelve then and turn pretty. The idea of four teenagers, ages twelve, thirteen, fourteen and fifteen, invokes in me a feeling of subtle disquiet.