The hiking trips of my youth are what I remember most about growing up. Mother was studying geology and I remember many many trips into the woods with camping, tents, smoky fire pits and best of all, the very great outdoors.

I attribute my love of nature and the out-of-doors to these expeditions and thank my folks internally every time I look upon with supreme satisfaction at the beauty of this place. I like it, the colors are just right and the simplicity of nature’s creatures continually astounds me into mild jealousy. Wouldn’t it be nice to gather nuts, year after year, and frolic amongst the tree tops of the Sierra Nevada? Wouldn’t it be nice to prance and eat grass around wildflower strewn meadows high in the Stanislaus? And wouldn’t it be nice to have, as your single largest priority, a little nest to build in a granite crack along the shores of Crater Lake?

I say yes. Oh, it might be boring. That uncooked acorn might get to be a little tart on the palette. But your brain would be smaller so it wouldn’t really matter all that much..

One particular trip – I’m not sure where – we scampered along a shadowed and bright trail in the forest just after a recent rain. The wide trail had pockets of puddles that reflected mirrors back at the sky and I remember jumping and splashing, joyous to have nothing to do but breathe deep and contemplate the wonder.

I would hunker at the edge of some pools - letting mom, dad and sister wander a little ways ahead – and root around in them, looking for something interesting. All sorts of fun things are in pools of water if you look.

And I loved to look. The memory is burned into my brain like an indelible footprint and I remember a huge dragonfly, brilliant blue-green and chrome iridescence, desperately trying to free itself from the muddy water in one of these pools. Its wings had gotten wet and almost its entire body was submerged, making it dangerously close to drowning.

I put my little finger under this creature’s nose and watched in fascination as it crawled, seemingly grateful, onto the tip. Standing up and with eyes glued to my finger I began walking, hypnotized by the massive eyes on this winged insect.

It splayed its gorgeous wings and let the mellow forest wind dry them. After what seemed like hours my arm started to hurt so I put it on my hat, just on the tip of the bill. The dragonfly stayed there for a very long time, well past the time necessary for complete wing-drying.

I think it liked me. I certainly liked it. And from that day on I can say with complete confidence that my attitude towards insects changed forever. I don’t kill them. I save them if I can.

Little microcosms of life exist within them. We all should respect that (unless they suck your blood, in which case they are fair game for squashing).

Editor’s note: Spiders don’t suck your blood.

Up Up and Away
Like most students, I was very poor. I drove a 1955 Ford sedan, that Ken kept running using his superior automotive knowledge and regular runs to the "junk yard" for parts. One day, after checking the oil and water, I forgot to latch the hood down completely, and when driving down the road, the hood flew up and smacked into the windshield. Scared me to bits, but we manage to wrestle the hood back down and get home. Not being able to afford a replacement hood, from then on I drove the car with a seriously bent hood, tied down with rope. This allowed water to get into the hood hinge area and without our knowledge, rusted the hinges to the point of failure.

I have tried to learn from mistakes, but sometimes it takes making the same mistake more than once to get the idea. So, one day I again forgot to tie the hood down with the rope. I was driving south on Junipero Serra Blvd, just south of Hicky Blvd, when the hood came loose. I was doing about 50 or 6 MPH as I had not yet managed to lighten up my lead foot. Since there were no hinges for it to pivot on, the entire hood became airborne, and traveled along at the same speed as the car. As I watched in horror and fascination, the entire hood lifted up about a foot above the car, and just hovered there for a few seconds. Very slowly then, the hood began to bank, lift, and ultimately just sailed away over a backyard fence.

Since I had no insurance of any kind, and was terrified of consequences, I just continued on my way in shock. Ken's face when I got home was amazing. We poured over the local newspaper for days afterwards hoping that we would not find a story about a home owner decapitated by a flying car hood, a crushed pet, or worse. Nothing ever came to light in the papers or radio/TV news, but I can imagine the poor homeowner who found a bent car hood, with a rope still attached to the front, laying in their back yard. I'll bet that story is part of their family legacy.

Voice of command

When Alex was very young, maybe eighteen months old, he was visiting Grammie for the day. We went out for a walk in the neighborhood. We met a neighbor outside in her yard and stopped to talk. The neighbor had a young labrador retriever who was still learning obedience commands and was very frisky. Alex was waiting patiently for us to finish our conversation, but the dog was jumping around a lot. The neighbor finally turned in exasperation and said to the dog with a loud voice "sit". We were both extremely amused to see two young butts hit the sidewalk simultaneously. Alex clearly knew the voice of command when he heard it, and was soon sitting on the sidewalk next to the dog, both of them looking a little worried.

Naughty girl
I was not what you would call a "good little girl". I was frequently up to some devilment, and usually involved my brother in the plans whenever possible. On one occasion, the family had been out and apparently I had been sufficiently naughty to warrant a spanking "when I got home". I must have been about 4 years old at the time. We had a four door car, and always parked it in the garage. When we got into the garage, I lingered in the car until everyone else had gotten out and shut the doors. I then quickly clicked all four door locks, and since my Dad always left the keys in the ignition, was now unreachable and safe. My Mom fled up the stairs laughing as my Dad tried to get me to unlock the doors. She said she lingered by the upper door giggling as she heard him try "now Joanie, open the doors", "now Joanie, it's just going to be worse", to no avail. I don't know why he didn't just go upstairs and leave me in the car, I'm sure I would have come out sooner or later. But he didn't want to leave me there alone, so spent a long time patiently coaxing me into finally unlocking the car door.

Jim is a Daddy
Jim has always been a full time, caring Daddy for Kiva, but it always takes a while to learn many of the tricks of parenthood. When Kiva was a tiny infant, he was wondering if she needed a diaper change. He nonchalantly poked a finger into her diaper from the top, above her little butt to see if she was wet. Unfortunately she was "more than wet" and I would give a lot for a photo of Jim's face when his finger encountered more than he had expected.

The best Lisa story
When Lisa was little, she was very much like Kiva. After the three boisterous boys, it was amazing to have a quiet, easily directed child. However, Lisa was not without spirit, and when she was around five years old I did something (I wish I could remember what) that really really made her mad. Lisa was a tiny little thing, but she stood in front of me just trembling with rage, tears glistening in her eyes, glaring at me. She then announced "when I grow up, I'm going to get some big, big boots, and then I'm going to kick your ass". I was first speechless, then howling with laughter, which didn't help assuage her anger at all. It is no mystery where she got the language with three older brothers and attending kindergarten, but it was extremely unusual for Lisa to react this way. I can assure you I watched my step around her after that :-)

See's candy
See's chocolate candy has a long history in our family, and I can remember as a small child my mother having some occasionally. At some point, when Joy was about 4 or so, Mom had a one pound box of chocolates in the refrigerator (where I prefer to keep chocolates to this day). Joy asked if she could have some, and Mom said "yes, you can have one". Later, when Mom looked into the box, it was clear that far more than "one" had been removed. Reminding Joy that she had been told she could have only one, Joy looked at her solemnly and replied carefully "well, I only took one at a time". This became one of our favorite Joy family legends.

Jim's admirers
My first beautiful baby grew up to be a mighty handsome man, and when he was in Junior High School, the girls began to notice. Actually they did more than notice, they began to call, and call, and call, and call..... This was before cell phones, and before phones in every room. It's hard to believe, but we had one phone, in the living room. The phone calls rapidly became more numerous, until every time we wanted to make call, we had to nag Jim to get off the phone, and retrieve the phone from where the cord snaked under his bedroom door. We received no phone calls, since the line was always busy. In a stroke of genius (we thought) we got Jim his own phone to free up the family line. This worked for perhaps two days of blessed quiet on our line, until we began getting calls on "our" phone....."would you take a message for Jim" the plaintive young voice would say...."his line is busy". Finally we got completely hard hearted, and refused to even take messages on our phone, telling the sad, sweet girls "you will have to call him on his line" "But his line is always busy" "I know, but just keep trying" "Can't you tell him Jennifer (or Julie, or April, or Amber or...) is trying to reach him and give him my phone number". "No, I'm sorry, you will have to call him on his phone" "click"

Men are from Mars
Yeah I know, I have spent a lifetime pursuing the philosophy that women should have all the opportunities that men have, and that some women can do almost anything some men can. But, really, when women have contests, they do something sane, like compare whose hair is curlier, who got the better grades, who has the cutest kids ( I WIN!!!), or who is wearing the smaller jeans. Men on the other hand, have fart contests. Or, in the case of our immediate family one Easter, when it must have been a very slow weekend, Ken, and the kids began to experiment with who could fit a whole (peeled) hard boiled egg in their mouth. It wasn't long before it escalated (you know these weapons races go), and ultimately Ken was declared the overall winner. Now you have not seen anything, until you have seen your beloved husband with three (yes three!) peeled hard boiled eggs in his mouth at one time. Closed his lips and everything. One egg in each cheek and one between his teeth. I count myself extremely lucky that no one strangled to death on an egg that day.