A swarm of bees.

Lineup for compulsories.

During the time we would sweep with Lisa through one doctor's office after another, Tom had come up with an idea of an aquarium. About a year earlier, we were fish-sitting for our neighbors, and Tom figured that his desk deserves a fish in a bowl. And since I believe that everybody should have something to enjoy in life, and since it is the first hobby which Tom has invoked all by himself, and since we reckoned that he would need a bit of attention, we approved the fish.

My idea took, however, a form of "a round bowl with a single little fish". Tom had carefully read aquarist forums and advices, and destructed that idea. He did not want a beta, for it is not lively enough; even beta would do better in a bigger, say, ten-gallon tank, so that poor fishy would not suffer. When he began to propose that twenty gallons were ideal for entry level, I had to stop him in his tracks. Ten gallons was maximum that would fit on Tom's desk. Anything greater would have to be given room in some other spot in the house, yet much of our space (including the kitchen and Tom's bedroom) has hardwood floors. Our work and living room would be difficult to re-arrange, and the aquarium would occupy our common space, out of Tom's immediate control and reach; it would end up being my chore for sure.

Thus we bought a ten-gallon set, with a filter, lamp and so on. We put the whole circus in operation and waited for water indicators to settle down, so that some fish could be seeded in it. When the settling was not happening, we obtained at least a moss ball which Lisa promptly named Alex, claiming it a neutral name. After two days, the tank has ruptured and drained, which reinforced my position regarding NEVER wanting any such thing in rooms with hardwood. Tom was devastated — we had returned the faulty tank and bought another, from a different maker.

This competition was on barrel only.

Alice in Wonderland.

After a week of filtering and testing, the water was still not in an ideal state, and Tom was the worse for it; yet we managed to add two platys to Alex. One yellow with a Mickey Mouse on its tail and the other orange-red. After a week we added two leopard catfish. Another drama ensued, for one catfish died within two days. Tom tested and changed water again, trying to figure out what was the problem, while the little fish stiffened in a bag in our freezer. Eventually we lost patience, exchanged the expired fish for a new one, so that the remaining live one would not be sad and lonely. Fish got merry again, and over time Tom got merrier, too, when we managed to explain that if the fish dies this quickly, it's likely already bad from the store, or perhaps could not cope with the change.

Give the fact that I know nothing about fish, I consulted our trouble with our local expert. She countered with stories about ruptured hundred-gallon aquaria, fish poisoned by oil from filter mechanisms, and similar horrors. I remembered this friend when a bee swarm appeared in the stables, exactly on the day when our children underwent state tests (kids still attend a state-run school, thus must pass tests — which consists of the virtual school renting some classrooms and children show up for testing). To my question "do you want bees?" she answered laconically "yup", followed by a complicated chase for her husband, who drove home from work to fetch a bee-keeping suit and a box. Meanwhile, the bees flew away, but showed elsewhere two days later, and this time the capture was successful.

Mercer cavern is mostly vertical.

A chimney.

When tiny little fishes appeared in the aquarium one day, we repeated the drill — minus bee-keeping suit and husband — and disposed of eleven surviving platys. As various forums claim that fish in a new aquarium won't breed for many months, I dare to say that our aquarium and fish are in top shape. Still, such activity gave us a pause. It also led us to discovery that our platys were a couple, and that we would need an extra female. Tom wanted a blue platy, and now our aquarium looks truly merry.

Lisa had gradually stabilized medically and began to add on to her vaulting training. Still we were glad that her April competition only involved barrels and no horse. When they moved the beginning of the performances to eleven in the morning on account of rain, it was entirely civilized. Weather for a change held to the forecast and not a drop fell after eleven. Lisa ran on adrenalin again, kept jumping and organized trials and tests. We had to stay till the very end so that she could see all her team mates complete their program, and she subsequently whimpered in the car that she was tired.

Karstic hoarfrost..

Claire, a girl one year older than Lisa, made appearance in the competition. She signed up with the club only this spring, and thus missed a chance to fit in a team program. And because Lisa was deprived of pas-de-deux program with her being ill, I thought that they could get together and thus satisfy their desire for greater involvement in the competitions. We pay for team training on a horse, but if the girls practice something on their own, without a horse, they can still perform with it on a barrel. I was surprised by the verve they applied — choosing a theme, music, coming up with a costume — and figuring a choreography — all this they fit into half-hours after regular training. I was also enticed by the atmosphere in the team — watchers would happen sometimes — both of experts, but also of small beginners — and the girls would absorb all advice and put the show together. Similar atmosphere permeated club trials — during final photography "big girls" demanded that someone also accompany them and their horse, and the mixture was perfect. Which brings me to a question, to what extent the strict school class separation by age is actually beneficial.

Cash and Ned are reluctant friends.

In a club containing girls (not to mention three boys) in the age between six and young adult, I have never registered bullying, denigrating or bossing, but instead I noticed almost sentimental willingness to help the weaker ones — but even acceptance of advice and critique from the weaker ones. At a school, especially middle school, kids seem to me little bloodthirsty monsters figuratively climbing up to the sunny spot over dead bodies of others. Perhaps the natural authority of an older is absent there, and respect of the older to the potential and abilities of the younger is missing?

Meanwhile, a situation ensued with my horse. When you go to the stables in the morning, wondering where your horse will be bitten this time, it's really not much fun, now is it? Ned's new neighbors, two young thoroughbreds past their racing career, turned out to be the sabre-toothed ones. Ned does not suffer braggy young horses lightly, and it came to settling accounts. Alas, there did not seem to be a resolution in sight, things were getting escalated — and my patience expired with Net sporting a nastily split eyelid. An electric fence had to go between Ned and the thoroughbreds, to stop them from reaching across. I was not happy about it and Ned was very upset — he cannot reach ponies on the other side of his paddock either, and horses need a physical contact with buddies occasionally — but I cannot let my horse get damaged.

Lisa and Vanilla the chicken.

Tom and spotted chicken named Freckles.

Perhaps there's compensation in Cash, a twenty-nine years old quarter, with whom we sometimes ride out on a trail. Cash is relatively submissive and Ned pays back for his obedience by chasing turkeys and deer and coyote from our path, so that Cash won't be frightened. Cash's rider arrives only twice in a week, and we have her permission to borrow Cash to let him run in an arena. Both gentlehorses behave very properly, usually sniff each other's noses and each keep to themselves. But I think they are happy to have company.

This spring was very cold, and combined with Lisa's illnesses, we did not travel out much anywhere. Our only larger trip, a full day one, we made to Mercer Caverns. The cave is exactly in the most unpleasant distance — quite far for a one-day trip (three hours drive each way), but it doesn't offer enough to do there for a whole weekend (on the edge of Central Valley and Sierra Nevada, at the time closed for snow). Still we wanted to see it, and we chose this intermediate season between skiing and camping, just for such a trip. We missed a inconspicuous turn off in a small town of Murphys, and had to navigate for a while, but eventually found the caverns. A tour was being offered a whole hour later, but so many people arrived just after us that the rangers quickly inserted an extra tour right away to prevent crowding. In a combination with a beautiful cave, it has been a positive experience.

First competition on a real horse.

The owner of my goats' stables had procured five chicks and the kids have immediately adopted them as replacement for baby goats — and so we theoretically drive out to see our goats, but we really visit chicks. On the other hand — it's priceless to see pubescents roosting on stoops and gently petting half grown chickens. And it was interesting to watch how city kids cope with a task to catch a chicken without spooking it unduly. There's certainly something in our prehistoric genes, and there is also a three-year experience with our goaties. With prey animals, one has to be careful — various friends who visit the farm for their first time, still have to learn things.

Katniss.

We had visitors by the end of April — I picked up Tomáš and Jana at the airport, dropped them off at a motor-home rental place, and on the next day we sent them off on their discovery road trip. After mid-May they came back. Unfortunately they hit the weekend of our first big competition in Lisa's vaulting, one organized by her club to boot. We were bound to help out with such circus, and so our visitors were issued keys to our old bus, and sent away to tour nearby attractions. Luckily, they are experienced tourists, and we hope they did not begrudge the lack of our hospitable attention. I went helping with food stand on Friday evening, leading to my all-day shift the following day. I got up by six thirty aiming to have a decent breakfast, but Lisa devoured hers and pushed for early departure, so I poured coffee in a thermos and we were off.

Lisa as published in US Equestrian.

The morning drill consisted mostly of brewing coffee and cutting up lettuce for lunch salads. Meanwhile I had to do Lisa's hair — luckily I could send her to a friendly also-mother Pam for finishing of her bun — I had just prepped her braids. While attending to the food stand, I kept running off to monitor Lisa's shows — Lisa had an individual free style, pas de deux (a double) with Claire, a team compulsory on a horse, and eventually team free style. Naturally, launch times kept changing chaotically; yet other volunteers at the stand also had their children in other teams, and we could take turns. Lisa's team free style was the last show on the schedule, which held us there till five thirty. Perch, thus a team horse, had a cold and was quite slow, but at that hour everybody else was slow and tired too. Still Lisa's club all stayed until the end to cheer, and Lisa eventually got a second bouquet from my friend Monique, who takes care of Ned on weekends and who of all other families of friends lasted to the very end.

Alice on a horse.

Then there was also grilling with our visiting friends at home that night, and on Sunday I went back to the vaulting stables with Lisa — she wished to root for the bigger girls in return. And I happened to help out at the food stand again, but I could also finally watch those most interesting shows — advanced competitions were held on Sunday, and one's mind kept boggling, how such things were even possible to do on a horse. By noon I wanted to have a lunch with our visitors and the rest of my family — Lisa refused to leave the competition, and I left her in their clutches and went to be social at least for a moment with Tomáš and Jana, and not to just pass them on their way back home.

They went to see San Francisco on Monday, I took them quickly shopping on Tuesday, let them pack, shown them quickly our goaties, before Sid loaded them up and took them to the airport. We had three days left till our own departure for Memorial Weekend — a three day break that has been our camping season opener. It does not always work out, for weather in the mountains may change. With an outlook to a snow forecast we chose instead to book a hotel room in coastal Eureka, in the north of California, with the plan to visit redwoods and blooming rhododendrons. But that's a topic next time.