Casper had secured his new home long ago.

Pluto and Rocket were supposed to move with us; Rocket need more care and brothers cannot be separated.

Naturally, signed contracts to sell and buy, are still just pieces of paper, until money change hands and titles follow. Thus, we had a few more nervous weeks ahead of us — our old house sale was to close on third September, purchase of the new one on fifteenth. Such situation would be hellish enough, even if your husband were not paranoid did not possess imagination in abundance. After two weeks of stresses it was rather common to wake up perhaps at three in the morning and go through the options what we would do, if... Meanwhile we had to figure out the order in which to arrange, cancel, re-register, enlist, terminate, pay off — well, maybe you can imagine (and if not, don't try).

We also wanted to inform our friends and our community. Nobody at the stables was surprised, I never hid my desire to move somewhere I could have my goaties "in the house". Others were very surprised. Questions could be sorted into "why so suddenly", and alternatively "my God, why Wyoming". Neither category has a simple answer — we had been considering a move for years, first very theoretically, at an empty-talk-over-a-beer level, but it shifted us over time to a more serious frame of mind, which may not have been all that noticeable from outside. Wyoming is a compromise, even for us, but we've traveled the state, and accepted it with eyes open. And with a hope that we were moving to the United States of America, which got replaced in California by a collectivism a single party rule — and because of this hope we were picking very meticulously, it was not an impulse choice.

The boys got to like Trudy, and Trudy got to like the boys — and so the whole powerful trio stays together.

Brownie plays the fourth musketeer.

While still driving back from Wyoming, we tried to arrange a moving service. This turned out to be rather complicated. Some moving companies, like PODS, don't even go to Wyoming. After all, quite a few companies consider Wyoming such a white spot on the map, for a mere half million people are not worth the effort. In the end we found U-Pack, but they only had a trailer available on August 26, or September 14, nothing in-between. We took the latter date — in late August we would still have no money for our old house, and the whole affair could still collapse.

It was a good decision, because packing also turned out to be complicated. The first phase, in which we furiously discarded stuff into a dumpster container in our driveway, was simple enough. We were taken aback by the sheer volume of refuse we had accumulated over those eighteen years. Problems started with things we certainly did not want to move twelve hundred miles, but we felt bad about just throwing away. In normal times we would e.g. donate clothing to charities, but in abnormal times, charities are forbidden to collect used things like toys. Ditto used book stores. Fortunately we know a few people with small children who welcomed toy cars and books. Neighbors with little kids jumped at kiddie books, other friends took some grown-up books — we were packing only Czech originals, for we had long converted most English ones to e-readers. Still a part of those ended in landfill, which we were regretting, but we could only fill one trailer for one trip. Were we simply moving to a nearby neighborhood, we could make multiple trips; our move was a single shot.

California long stopped being what it used to.

A road next to a closed beach — is it possible Californians are not all lost?

Tom's aquaria represented a challenge. Even the ten-gallon one is impossible to just "grab and carry" to a car, never mind that the fishes need a stable environment. Besides such small one, Tom also had a thirty-gallon one. In the end we managed to sell the small aquarium outright, and our friends took the large one. Moving a tank is difficult even over just a few blocks. You need to pump the water out — and it needs to go along, so that the fishes could return to their element — you can't just pour new water in from a tap, the fishes would die of the chlorine. They also need the acidity and other chemicals balanced just right — a new aquarium gets primed for several weeks, before fishes can go in.
One must take the fishes out and place them in a plastic bag or a pickling jar. Then you must somehow move the plants and the sand and all the decorations and filters and heaters. And then the actual tank, which is a HEAVY, glassy (and therefore fragile) box. Bottom line, business for a half day, even though the move itself takes only ten minutes.
When we visited these particular friends, fishes looked happy and the aquarium fit very well into its new setting, and we were relieved. Fishes would not have survived our four day trip, and this was a merciful solution for every person and fish involved.

We are set to perform aquatic activities.

Element.

I had to say good-bye to my baby goats. Casper was very clear about his new mistress, but I counted on keeping Pluto and Rocket. First we could not find a new home for them due to the lock-downs, and over time it became obvious that Rocket would always need extra care, that he would never become a goat you can simply push out to graze. Rocket had never grown out of being a clumsy goat baby; he kept poor coordination, and possibly some neurological damage — sometimes, in the midst of running and jumping, he "misses" and falls down in a situation no longer happening to his siblings. This shocks him so much he freezes up and is unable to get out of it; he stays down, shocked. Such goat cannot simply go into the world, because it's not hundred percent healthy and able to take care of himself (e.g. run away from a predator). Rocket need to remain a pet, taken care of and pampered. And need his twin, Pluto, for they are used to each other and who won't terrorize him for his weakness. When Trudy came with the idea of keeping the twins together with Casper, I realized it was a big break for the boys. They would stay together, all three of them, in a place they know. Still even this rational justification could not make it easy for me.

At first, the boys lived at Trudy's, but soon cases emerged in the vicinity, of goats attacked by a mountain lion (extensive wildfires had chased wild life out into places they don't normally frequent), and so the baby goats went back to Los Gatos Farms. This made Brownie and Sheila very happy, who were literally mourning after my goats and the babies. Honestly, Sheila has probably never recovered from losing Hazel — and disappearance of Lickorice, Twilight and their kids was another blow. Baby goats returning gave her lots of joy and even some energy. Little cat Jay-Hugo has returned from his exile as well, and so I could again go out on a pasture with the goats and the cat.

At least somebody came to say good-bye.

When the wind turned the wrong way, we were engulfed in smoke again — the small dot in the middle is our eleven o'clock sun.

Nevertheless it was obvious the boys had never forgiven me taking away their moms — Sheila and Brownie kept heeding pretty much every command of mine, but the boys tended to ignore me, run away, and get lost. And then one day we were returning home, and Rocket started to bleat, gather scattered herd — and when I assured him we were all together, he did not care while calling loudly he ran AWAY from me. Because he heard Trudy in the stables, and ran to her. I felt incredibly relieved, as the most baby-like and most dependent goat demonstrated clearly that he has a new mistress, and it was suddenly much easier for me to "abandon" the boys.

I was afraid I would regret leaving California, but alas, even our saying good-by to the state was rather bitter. You can no longer freely visit Yosemite (a permit is required), the northern part of Sierra Nevada has seen several wildfires, and Courtright area fared similarly. Majority of Santa Cruz Mountains burned down, and became inaccessible due to cleanup of the wreckage (falling trees, ruined roads). Vast numbers of people had lost their homes, many of those, who's houses survived, were without power or water. We journeyed to the coast, for the last time, to enjoy our Pacific Ocean, before we find ourselves landlocked. Beaches were barricaded off with fences, with posted warnings that entry was forbidden. Because when a virus is rampant, that does not survive exposure to UV radiation, and when the best protection is strengthening your immunity and boosting vitamin D level, the most logical response it to forbid people going out on fresh air and sunshine, that much is clear.

Brownie and Sheila were happy to have the baby goats back.

One of the last vaulting practices.

We had, of course, trespassed onto the beach, together with lots of other people. Here, Californians had surprised me rather nicely, that some of them refuse to be obedient sheeple and venture to use their own brains. When Tom got splashed by a rogue wave, we had a justification — formally, you could enter the beach if you engaged in aquatic activity. Our wet Tom has obviously proven to meet such condition of contact with water. When we were departing, we had seen on our way armed rangers chasing people out of beaches along the highway. I felt sad, for I used to think that a regime, whose armed forces beat peaceful citizens back behind fences, had been buried long ago in our past.

Thus we were bound to make sure we put a distance as soon as possible between us and such fences and loyal enforcers of nonsensical diktats. I had planned to pack into boxes even before our trailer would arrive, but then I discovered that it was impractical. Temperatures outside remained above nineties, and thus we could not pack e.g. painting and skis, or even just books, and stack them up in our garage — it was hot like a sauna, and sensitive things would get damaged. Eventually we stacked the books in (many) boxes in the middle of our living room (instead of in bookcases), but we could not amass more inside the (air-conditioned) house. Dishes, beds, bedding — all those were still being used, and would be used at least until the moving trailer arrived.

Proven vaulting steed Jamie will be missed by Lisa, just as her team mates.

Saying good-bye to baby goats (Lisa & Pluto).

It was set up on Monday; on Tuesday morning, Eric came to help us load that part of our stuff that had made ready — books and some furniture. Rest of Tuesday and much of Wednesday was spent packing — then our friends came to help load it in the evening. Men generally hauled things from garage to the trailer, women helped me pack the kitchen. The same continued on Thursday, till it was dark. Then we had to give it up, fortunately ours are very good friends — they promised to return on Friday morning and give it a "coup de grâce". Thanks to them, Sid and I could spend even the last night in our own bed — our huge mattress got loaded as last, forming a "cork" in front of all our stuff. Trailer that we had rented, was originally meant to be filled only through its front seventeen feet of length, then a partition would be affixed, and U-Pack would fill the remaining space with cargo. In the end we filled the whole container — we might have fitted the two-thirds of the trailer, but it would mean stacking things up all the way to the ceiling, which we found a bit unhealthy. So on Friday by about ten o'clock in the morning it was done; trailer locked — and now we had to straighten out whatever remained in the house and stuff it in bags. New owner claimed that we could leave behind anything we did not want, that they would clear it out anyway, and had possibly made an error in judgment. There was much more left after us than one would expect. But by noon we were sitting in our respective cars and drove out to the east, to make it out of California borders by evening.

Even when California disappeared in my rear view mirror, no nostalgia would arrive; instead, a feeling of huge relief, having it all behind us. During the last few days I invoked the idea of a flamethrower multiple times, for I found it to possibly be much easier and less strenuous to just burn it all down to ashes, instead of packing, packing, throwing out, packing, organizing hand-off or donation of things that we would feel sorry to throw out, endlessly deal with government offices (where you can't go in person, because virus, and phone calls consume hours and hours, while internet forms consistently crash), then packing, packing, carrying...

Tom and Rocket — Pluto with Casper push each other on the crate.

Sheila and Vanilla come to say good-bye as well.

We had planned the journey to take four days. I drove the Subaru, accompanied by Tom; Sid and Lisa with rats rode the new bus. We left our old bus in California, having found a new home for it with car mechanic Daniel, who is likely to cajole it to serve some more and not be moody. Subaru had a cargo box attached to its roof rack, carrying our sleeping bags and mats; both cars hauled computers and originals of documents and other things we did not want to leave in the trailer to the tender mercies of the moving company. Subaru has become wheezy, and though one can drive Interstate 80 at eighty miles per house most of the time, I did not push it much — with the coffin in the wind, our poor wagon shook considerably, and we went barely the limit.

We spent our first night in Reno, Nevada; second night still in Nevada, in Elko. We crossed the whole state of Utah on the third day, and stopped for the night in Evanston — thus we got "home", to Wyoming. On Monday, September 21, exactly one month after signing our sales contract for our little house in California, we unlocked the entrance door to our new home, on MECHEWEAMI-ING, the Great Plain (allegedly original word of Delaware Indian language, from which the name Wyoming evolved).