One can comfortably sleep in our wagon.

At eight o'clock in the morning, horses are lined up and saddled.

Because we had returned from our big trip earlier than planned, I managed to attend a farewell party for Zuzka. She has been one of the first Czechs I met here, and though we had not seen each other frequently, it had always been in good spirits. Lisa managed to attend a team party at the end of the vaulting season. It took place in a house of one of the former (now adult) vaulters, and they have a large swimming pool, which eventually swallowed most of the current vaulters, while adults were having a meeting. Luckily, it was a mercifully short meeting, and in the company of nice people, and thus we coped well.

School started on August twenty-third for our children, preceded by a tiresome hassle with forms and mandatory online meetings, and naturally, all kinds of problems and confusion. This, too, we had survived, and began to settle into a new regime. Summer camps had all finished up at the stables, which relaxed our goats, who could again walk out to pasture, and I stared adding Brownie to the mix again. Brownie had acted like a nut throughout the summer, running away from the herd, causing commotion with horses, and head-butting children. Minus the camps and uproar, the little herd became again peacefully orderly.

Autumn approaches.

Sunny wants to be left in peace.

Labor Day, a three-day week-end at the beginning of September, has found us unprepared this year. Family was grumbling that they had just returned from a big vacation trip and that they did not feel like going anywhere, so I gathered myself on Saturday afternoon, tossed my sleeping bag into our wagon, and drove up to Leavitt on my own. I should not have got surprised that wildfire had raged even in those parts, but I drove along highway 108, surrounded by a burned-down land from Strawberry to Kennedy Meadows. Forest turn-offs and campgrounds were generally closed, even the Dardanelle resort had been turned into sad ruins. Past Kennedy Meadows, woods were just colored red from air-sprayed retardant, and it looked better across the pass, and I relaxed a bit.

Alas, Craig told me that he would probably not have a horse available for me on Sunday, having too many customers, but if I could show up at eight in the morning, he would see what's left. I asked him about the fires — pack station was hit indirectly — thanks to two weeks during which the highway was closed, which meant customers could not come. That's a big deal for his kind of business — horses must eat whether people come or not.

Bulging shapes.

The pilot and her crew.

I went to see Ned, but he was all ready to be released into the big pen to his hay, and he paid much more attention to his horsey pals than to me. Although he wasn't the first one through the gate, he certainly was the first one to reach the hay, running from one feeder to the next, dabbing at each one, until he checked them all, ending up like the old hand he is, at the hindmost feeder. It makes me feel good to see him this happy. Ned is approaching an age category of "older horse", but apparently he does not consider himself old. Craig appears to support him in this illusion — he does not send Ned out to overly long hikes, and so Neddie can still think he is a very mighty steed.

I drove up to the upper campsite in the evening, ate a bit from my stores, and enjoyed not having to take care of anything. No erecting tents, cooking dinners, arranging sleeping mats. I just folded my seats and stretched out in the car. I woke up in the morning ahead of my alarm, brewed my coffee and had breakfast. It was not yet eight when I appeared at the pack station. Craig eventually declared that all horses would go on a trail with customers, but I could borrow a new mare, who was not yet trained for tourists, but who's said to be nice, and that I would manage; I would join the ride with his aunt and "girls". And he said I could give the mare a name. The aunt appeared willing, saying she had things to finish and then they would fetch me. So I watched on how groups of tourists were leaving, waiting for it all to get quiet again.

Dragon Moon.

Dawn Patrol line-up.

The new mare turned out to be a stout chestnut. I might go as far as calling her fat, but we don't say things like that among us girls, especially if everyone has pounds to lose. She was quite willing to walk and learned rather quickly — it usually sufficed to show or remind her of something twice, and for the third time she had already added it to her repertoire. She responded better to my legs and body position than to her bit, thus I truly had to "ride" and think about what I was doing. It was a new experience for both of us — the auntie swiped with us both on and off road to attractions she remembered since being young. Soon we left trails behind and crossed the meadow and through bushes and woods. In one moment we found ourselves in a swamp, which scared the poor mare and made her try to get out of such sticky situation as fast as possible. Another time, she jumped with me when her legs got tangled in low branches, but she let me explain that jumping was not a good solution, and for the rest of the trip she let me deal with situations. Similarly, she hesitated to just enter the stream when fording the first time; on second time, she paused just a little, and mastered out third and subsequent times across the river willingly — we had crossed the meandering stream and creeks perhaps ten times.

I named the mare Sunny — for she is dark orange (and round) like the sun. During our bathroom break, Sunny was nervous, stepped from foot to foot and kept turning around, and eventually I had to go to her. I petted her and talked to her and shared my apple with her, and she gently huffed in my face. Simply a darling. We made up a nice pair, both curvy and not too fit — since I really had to ride properly on her, my legs kept aching for several days afterwards — though the ride itself took about two hours. Sunny then huffed back to her run — moving as far as possible away from the gate. Apparently she, too, had had enough, and was hiding from somebody wanting her for any more work.

Flight before dawn.

Wildfire smoke colored a beautiful sky.

All I had to do was jump in my car and drive those two hundred miles back home. Fortunately that day being in the middle of holiday, there was not much traffic on the roads. I had a few days in the house to re-pack, and on Thursday we were again speeding across the Sierra — this time to Reno to a balloon race. We took the Kirkwood route — though by number of miles it seems to be a detour, it takes us away from jams around Sacramento, and we can have a tasty dinner in Minden. When we were driving down the eastern slopes of the range, we saw — for a change — smoke. News told us later that the fire was raging near Leavitt Meadows turn-off, and for several ensuing days we watched tensely how it would develop. Craig wrote that they were alright, and with the pack station situated between the river and the highway, flames should not jump there — but all the neighboring roads were closed again, including the main north-south direction — highway 395.

If one could find anything positive about these wildfires, then it was beautiful coloring of the sky during the ballooning race. Orange sunrises and mysterious haze looks much more impressive on pictures than the harsh, hard-to-breathe reality. This years races proceeded very smoothly, though. Weather cooperated, there was no wind, and everybody was flying by the schedule and without exciting events. We stayed at our usual hotel, visited familiar places, even our traditional dinner at Pinocchio restaurant in Sparks took place. Actually, it should have made us suspicious, and we should have expected something to happen...

During sunrise and National Anthem being played, balloons take off, bearing National and State flags.

Mass ascent.

When Tom whimpered about not feeling well, during our getting up at three forty five in the morning, we dismissed it as signs of jet-lag — being simply drowsy from a shift in time. When he whimpered while watching morning balloons, I sent him off to lie down in the car and eat some breakfast to rouse from stupor, and went to help with our balloon. A text message came from Tom at the parking lot, saying he got sick. So I waved Dragon Moon off to Dawn Patrol, sent Sid and Lisa to chase the balloon, and drove Tom to our hotel. A closer inspection showed he had a fever, hence he was installed in his bed, fed Ibuprofen, and equipped with a bucket in case he would not be able to make it to the bathroom. And back I went to the field, for we still had to crew the mass ascent, and also I had to get our wheels back to the rest of the family.

I made it back to the balloons just in time to witness the final act of a drama — after untold years, somebody finally told one of the self-invited helpers among our crew, to get lost. It would seem that she was mortally offended, promising to never join us again; let's hope she can keep her word, for in the end it is about pilot's responsibility for the lives of others. Whenever somebody else argues, in critical moments, with the pilot, disrupting well tested routines and re-organizing a functional system (e.g. kicking people away from tasks they know, or interfering with them), and all the while this know-it-all behaves arrogantly, it really upsets things — even a NICE fool with initiative is asking to be slapped; when the fool is not only ambitious but also rude and unpleasant, it's a problem. I should probably not feel relieved when such person is ejected — one's circle of associates is thus diminished — but this was an associate who we tried to stay away from, every time we discovered her being present at the same event as we were.

A quizzical little elephant.

Last landing - we're packing and heading home.

After good news, we had to deal with the bad ones — like a problem, how to transport our sick, vomiting, Tom across some 280 miles back home. Eventually we did it in sections, stopping twice and letting Tom lie down in the car for a while — because even just sitting tired him out and compressing his stomach would make him sick. We made it home without using a barf-bag, but I was really commiserating with Tom — the way home must have been a little hell for him. And of course he did not stay sick alone — soon, Lisa got it, too, and then Sid — his midnight vomiting was so loud he woke up the whole family, going back to bed in the middle cheering and rooting by our offspring. Both were giving him advice how to best overcome the virus, assuring him that after the first and worst 24 hours, he will be only mildly inconvenienced by fever. I did not leave this development to any chance, and medicated myself preemptively with Fernet. I still went down with a virus, but at least I got to keep all the food I ate.

Our serial falling ill took almost two weeks, and with our departure to Europe inching closer, I missed most opportunities to freak out and worry about flying; I was somehow content with my fate. Thus I mostly managed just to go visit my goaties. Lisa's vaulting had started again — so far only six weeks of free-style program as a warm-up, with technical tests at the end of October leading to teams forming for next season. Tom had attended his first laboratory classes — to get credits accepted when applying to college, he must physically attend at a biology lab. I was worried at first how it all would work out, especially since the lab is located in relatively far Fremont, about thirty miles away through crazy traffic jams — but fortunately the class is scheduled to ten thirty just to accommodate commuters from various corners of middle California; teacher seems very reasonable. And Tom is glad to meet his classmates in the real world for a change.