I read Cormac McCarthy’s The Road over the Summer, or maybe sometime during the Spring (for some reason, I often forget when things happen, sometimes not even being able to pin down certain events to specific years). I got the book for free, thanks to a railroad engineer from Indiana who liked the list of authors I’d posted on my Myspace site (Algernon Blackwood, in particular). We did a few trades, me sending him cdrs (mostly literature related recordings), and he sending me some original art. Not really a fair trade, since I got something unique (and quite good too), but what’s done is done. In one of his letters, he mentioned The Road, and in return I said it sounded intriguing. Before long, he’d sent me an extra copy he’d had on hand. Very nice of him! It has been awhile since we’ve communicated. I’d like to find out if he has seen the just-released film version.

Today I went with Jeanine to see the film, and I must say the film does the book justice. Sure, it adds a little, perhaps unnecessary, backstory to the mix, but I found that I didn’t mind. The music, by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis, (I recently missed seeing Ellis’ band, The Dirty Three, play. Damn.) is haunting enough that I’m going to have to shell out some funds for the soundtrack. The visuals are washed out and gritty, smothering the viewer in unremitting grayness – in other words, perfect!

At the heart of it, it’s a heartwarming father/son story, stripped of all the societal fluff and psychological fat layered on by human society. The story leaves us with nothing but the animal need to survive, the need to carry on down the road, but at the same time, it’s a very human story. It’s the story of a father doing everything he can to prepare his son for life on his own. This is what good parents do anyway, but most of us don’t do it with the sense of urgency and desperation felt by the characters in the story. We’re not living in a dead world. We’re not picking though the ash covered remains of civilization, scrabbling for survival in an unchanging twilight brought on by some off stage cataclysm.

As I watched the film, I found myself wondering (and not for the first time) why I find depictions of the total collapse of human society so compelling. It’s partially due to the same aesthetic sense that allows me to enjoy abandoned, leaning barns and rusty railroad tracks smothered in returning plant life. In this case though, there is no returning plant life. All of the plants are dead, and the characters are in constant danger from toppling trees. I think also that this kind of scenario signals an abrupt end to all complacency, and to all of the needless complexities we’ve cocooned ourselves with. Ironically though, if it did happen, it wouldn’t signal the beginning of truly living, but one of mere survival (a distinction made by one of the characters in the story, and one I’ve often seen elsewhere). I say “ironically” because I don’t think many people in our present-day society truly live. Sure, we all more-or-less function, but we’re often so weighted down by fluff and nonsense that we can’t break out of our little routines and habits long enough to actually reflect on our individual situations. Instead, we plug in video games, watch lots of bad tv, check our various e-mail accounts and go shopping online (guilty!), commute, clock in, clock out, watch the clock, listen to the clock as it wakes us up every morning at the same time, worry about what happens if we don’t hear the clock, worry about what happens if a deadline is missed, worry about getting older, worry about not getting older, worry about worrying too much… the list goes on and on down the road. We’re too trapped in the electronic trenches we’ve dug for ourselves to really see the fields beyond the field, or so it seems sometimes. Of course, in this scenario, the fields are all brittle brown and covered in layers of ash and dust, and beyond it there is just the road, stretching south like the path that Little Red Riding Hood must follow to grandma’s house. Except grandma is probably a corpse in a cooking pot, because the wolves are all dead, replaced by roving bands of cannibals who aren’t just lurking in the woods. They’re patrolling the road. So much for being safe if you don’t stray from the path. This isn’t your parents’ fairy tale.

Of course, I realize that the end of civilization would mean more than just a break in our routines. I don’t even think it would inspire the survivors to shine in any particular way. More likely, as the story depicts, most people would simply look for the easiest way out – suicide and cannibalism. Maybe that’s why this story is so touching – because this one father fights against this kind of defeatism. He does absolutely everything he can to see that his son survives. I find that moving and inspiring. It makes me want to be more selfless.

So, yeah. Maybe it is kind of a holiday movie after all. Be of good cheer. Help each other out. Don’t eat people. Eating people is wrong.

Fifty dollars later, and I have a new modem. I also have a slight cold, no doubt picked up at the coffee shop when my modemlessness dictated I find free wireless to check my e-mail. Ha.

What else? I think the water pipes in my apartment complex are rusty. The bath water turned an interesting shade of orange during Willow's bath a couple of days ago. It's happened before, but has never approached the hue on display this particular time. Since then, there has been no orange. The modem died the same way - in fits and starts, sometimes working properly and sometimes not.

I'm currently reading a novel I found in a box by the curb on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley. There were other books there as well, accompanied by a hand-lettered "free" sign, but I chose one by Andrew Vachss because I once read and enjoyed another book by him. There's a big appeal to finding things on the street and using them. Maybe more people should leave their unwanted items in boxes on the street. So many things gather dust in attics, garages, and storage spaces. For every one of these dust covered items, there is a user somewhere. People just hesitate to give things away for free. Why? Because we're taught to milk everything for money, and that money equals success. Too bad.

I’m still awaiting my end-of-the-month paycheck so I can go buy a new modem. My money cushion has evaporated over the last few months. Time to readjust my budgeting, I guess. It’s also time to start doing some substitute teaching work. I’m in no way distressed about my financial situation – instead, I feel energized at times like this because it forces me to get creative (sadly, sometimes I need to be forced).

I’m still modem-less, so once again I’m writing this as a Word document, to be posted later at a public venue with free wireless. This is almost starting to be a routine. It’s interesting to note that I feel more inspired to write when I can’t immediately post it. This also forces me to spend a bit more time than usual revising my writing. Why is that? Why do I need to be forced to write, or forced to spend more time editing my work? I think it’s because, when given the opportunity, I have a tendency to spend too much time compulsively surfing the internet. Maybe this is the first step towards breaking, or at least taming, that habit.

I just noticed that it’s raining. It looks like the forecasters were wrong again. The forecast called for a chance of rain tonight, but here it is, not even 10:30 in the morning, and the ground is wet. I just had to bring Willow’s bike in and dry it off. The sliding glass door is open to let in the smell of the rain. Very nice.

Fast forward. I'm now sitting inside Peet's Coffee, and it's still raining outside. It's just as crowded as it was yesterday, and the pumpkin spice latte is a bit too sweet. Otherwise, not bad. The one benefit of being here is that if affords me the opportunity to be a people watcher. Why is it though that I don't often have much good to report on that front? Take for instance the woman who scolds her toddler for flinging his cereal to the floor, but does nothing to clean up the mess. Who should be being scolded here? Then there's the dad who carries his baby in one of those plastic baby buckets. Great Mystery forbid that he actually have any physical contact with his offspring! Not all is bad, of course. It's just that, for some reason, it's more fun to write about our failings and inconsistencies (and no doubt more fun to read, as well) than it is to write about all of the good cheer. There is good cheer as well, of course. People are being pretty patient, even though the wait for caffeine is a long one.

Black Friday indeed! I just watched a video online of people actually getting into fist fights as they rushed into some big box store to buy electronics or something. Lots of tripping and falling too.

Happy Holidays.

Sometimes you have to step away from something to really get a good look at it. Take for instance a large painting, or sculpture. If you’re right up against it, it’s just form and color. From across the room, its true nature is revealed to the beholder.

Take the internet. My modem is broken right now. At least I think it’s the modem. I replaced the cable, and that didn’t change anything. The computer is working fine, but I can’t get online at home. It’s the end of the month, and with the newly added financial burden of having to start paying back my student loans, and the necessity of having to buy new tires, I can’t very well go out and buy a new modem until my next direct deposit magically appears in my bank account.

So, today I stepped back across the room and viewed my internet use from afar. Despite my attitude about the unfortunate omnipresence of electronic time wasters in modern day society, I waste a lot of time on the internet. Sometimes I’m just surfing online record stores, sometimes I’m reading blogs, or downloading music from mp3 blogs, sometimes I’m looking at pictures on Flickr, or checking e-mail, or farting around on Facebook… the list goes on.

I don’t count my own blogging as a waste of time. That’s me putting something out there for others to see (or me to access later). I’m currently typing this as a Word document, to be uploaded the next time I’m online. Perhaps I’ll swing by work tomorrow, or find myself at a coffee shop with free wireless internet.

For the time being though, it’s nice to step back and take a break. This is the lemonade I make from the lemon of my malfunctioning modem. The temporary closing of my little window to the electronically filtered internet world gives me something to think about too. I can turn my attention inward for a bit. I can ponder my habits for awhile.

Right now I’m happy. I have been seeing Jeanine for nearly three months now, and we’re having fun together. We took our girls up to Hidden Villa today, and wandered to our hearts’ content. Willow, for the first time, ended up being the one to initiate a hike beyond the farm and up over one of the hills. I guess the trick is to let it be her idea. If I had suggested it, the idea would have been met with stubborn resistance. Heels would have been dug in. Trails would have been left untrod. In fact, my main complaint with my lack of internet right now is the temporary halting of the back and forth e-mail banter that we share.

I’m off work this week, so Willow is staying over at my house tonight. Currently, she’s asleep next to me. I’m enjoying the change in routine.

Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and I have no plans with anybody. Due to the necessity of juggling schedules, I’ll be taking part in a modest feast on Saturday instead. I’ve never really seen the wisdom behind eating until the buttons pop off my shirt. I do see the wisdom in being thankful though. I sometimes tend to take things (and sometimes, it pains me to say, people) for granted, so it does me good to stop every so often and think about gratitude and thankfulness. I am fortunate in many ways –for the people (new and old) who are in my life, for my health, for… well, I won’t bore you with a list, but I am thinking about it.

I’ll leave it at that for now.

Wandering around camp at night, I was surprised by a loud animal cry from somewhere in the trees on the other side of the pool. It sounded sort of like something being stepped on, kind of plaintive and breathless, as if it were trying to say, "won't you please remove your foot from my sternum?". I crept closer, trying to imagine what could be making it. Then, the sound was answered by a more recognizable one - the call of a male Great Horned Owl. The two voices seemed to be in conversation, although in my mind I interpreted the Great Horned Owl to be trying to get the other voice to shut up.

A quick search on this site proved me wrong. The first voice was a female Great Horned Owl. I had no idea they sounded like that.

Listen here.

I've been trying to make it through the month with only one visit to the grocery store, but so far the fact that dairy products have expiration dates has mandated that I have to go at least twice a month, or risk having to eat the milk rather than drink it. I went today for that reason, plus a few other necessities, and to get some more ingredients to make hummus. Once there, I was tackled by the sample-table person and forced to buy some double gloucester. Okay, maybe not tackled, but double gloucester can be powerfully persuasive all on its own. Especially if it has chives in it.

Speaking of nourishment, the AEOE (Association for Environmental and Outdoor Education) northern conference was this weekend. In this case, nourishment for the spirit was provided. On the surface of it, the conference is an opportunity for outdoor educators to share ideas, but it runs a lot deeper than that. I always come away from the conferences re-inspired and reconnected with... well, with why I do this kind of work in the first place. This time out, I was happy to see my old friend (and environmental education mentor, if truth be told) Garth from Hidden Villa among the workshop presenters. His main contribution to my consciousness this weekend was the concept of a "sit spot", and idea he had gotten from author Jon Young. It's a pretty simple idea. Choose a convenient spot in some "natural" area, and visit it as often as possible, in all kinds of weather, and during all times of the day. Once there, sit. Observe. Reconnect. His sit spot anecdotes were amazing. I'm tempted to share them here, but I think I'll wait until I have some of my own. That got me thinking though. Maybe I should have two sit spots, with the second one in a suburban area - just to see the contrast. It might make for some funny posts here, at least.

This was on my mind as I slowly woke from my nap early this afternoon - in general, the whole idea of deeply observing the world around me. I was sleepily thinking of sound maps - about really noticing what I could hear nearby. Today, I could hear somebody thumping a plastic trash can across the street somewhere (that's what it sounded like, anyway) and the hum of the refrigerator. Strangely absent was the sound of dogs from the nearby dog park. Usually, that's pretty much the only sound that impacts upon my consciousness when I'm trying to sleep during the day. Now, I can hear them as I type. I can also hear the sound of city traffic, and of course, I can still hear the hum of the fridge. I can also hear a faint ringing in one of my ears. That one I could do without.

I think I know where my sit spot is going to be. We'll see.

The conference also gave me an opportunity to reconnect with other friends from out of the area. I taught a couple of workshops, and they were both well-received. A friend of mine won the Northern California environmental educator of the year award, something that was very well deserved. He had no idea he was going to be winning it, but somehow I did. I don't think anybody told me in advance, but I just couldn't imagine anybody more deserving of the honor. On Sunday, I picked up J9 on the way to the conference so we could go on an early morning bird walk (first time I've seen a crow dive bomb a raptor!). She stayed for the rest of the morning as well, which was really nice. We went to a workshop together (taught by a friend of mine from Yosemite Institute) and learned (appropriately enough, since it was at the end of the conference) some good closure activities to help enhance students' science camp experiences.

Suddenly, it's Tuesday, and all of the conference attendees are back at their own sites. We've got 6 different schools at camp this week, all private religious schools. I don't know quite what they're teaching in such schools these days, but one of the kids came into the Hub last night to report that he'd seen some large squirrels in the bathroom. Large Squirrels with ringed tails and masks. Sigh. The next kid knew what they were, thus renewing my faith in humanity. He plaintively asked if we had any bathrooms without Raccoons in them. I told him probably not, but when I went to check the bathroom, I discovered that the Raccoons had moved on.

I'm also waiting for the jury duty shoe to drop this week. I'm not sure if they're really going to want me, because I'd have to be there during a time when I'm normally asleep. That'll be me, the sleeping juror.

The wind is whipping in from the west, tossing little cotton balls of clouds through the moonlight, creating moonbows in a magical interaction of reflected light and airborne water droplets. The clouds are swirling and changing as they flee eastward. An elephant appeared for a moment, lifting its trunk in defiance as it drifted backward, pursued by three ever-changing disembodied heads.

It occurred to me as I stood there with my head thrown back, taking it all in - I'm getting paid to do this right now.

I love watching the trees on the uppermost slopes of the hills turn golden as they're bathed in the first light of the morning sun.

It's going to be quiet for another minute, and then I have to wake up 160 kids.

This morning, the phone in the camp office started ringing at 4:45. When I answered it there was nobody on the other end of the line. At that moment, somewhere outside in the darkness, coyotes began to howl.

That's when I knew what must have happened. Coyote crank call. Somewhere there was a coyote in a phone booth, nearly bursting with suppressed laughter.

They don't call them tricksters for nothing.

Now, at 5:45 AM, I can hear them howling again. I'm waiting for the phone to ring.

I'm listening to the wind toss the trees back and forth, and watching the orange light of evening slowly make its way across this particular corner of the world. Not that the world can have corners, it being spherical and all, but sometimes the words that fit aren't the most correct ones. Let's hear it for occasional incorrectness.

I'm taking the evening off work so J9 and I can go see Marissa Nadler and Alela Diane up in San Francisco. Looking forward to both the company and the music.

Autumn just seems to be the time when everything happens. Funny the difference a year makes.

This is the kind of sight that inspires me. The sky is a vast, ever changing canvas of light and moisture, and the interplay of the two can be awe inspiring. On days of bland blueness I find myself... maybe "depressed" is too strong a word, but at the very least, unmotivated. There's no expectant energy there when the sky is blue. On the other hand, when dark clouds come roiling in over the hills, it seems that anything is possible. It doesn't have to be clouds either. I can be a bit of perfectly placed fog, or a high, lonely contrail, or just a wisp - a promising little cowlick of vapor waiting for its big dark friends to join in the fun there at the invisible air-mass boundary.

Let it rain! Or at least let it look like it's going to rain!

Yesterday, Willow and I spent a couple of hours playing at Oak Meadow and Vasona Parks, which are pretty much the same park, except that you have to pay to drive into Vasona. It goes without saying that we always park at Oak Meadow, although I'll have to start paying to park there too when I renew my license (my present license has my old address, showing that I'm a park-approved Los Gatos resident).

But I digress. What I meant to write about is the incredible feeling of Autumn inspired nostalgia that hit me as we rode the small steam train, splashed in the creek, and wandered through the park(s). It had something to do with the falling leaves and the autumnal smell wafting through the air - a smell that transported me right back to a childhood spent in creeks and drainage ditches. It was just the right combination of plant smells, humidity, and mud. If I could figure it out, I could bottle childhood! It's funny how memories of scents are stored forever, with near perfect recall.

Mmmmm! Blustery, power-flickery, gusty, drippy, torrential RAIN! I love it when the moan of the wind and rain is punctuated by the staccato noise of items crashing to the ground outside.

The power at work went out at about 6:30 this morning, causing the generator to kick in. The power at home flickered on and off earlier, and just to the west of me, streetlights are out.

Currently listening to the sound of the rain, which meshes perfectly with Mountains "Choral" cd.

The wind is gusting up to 36 mph outside. I know this because they finally fixed the wind gauge/weather station affixed to the wall of the building I'm sitting inside. I also know this because I can hear things being blown about camp, and the wind is howling. There isn't a lot of rain yet. Hopefully that will come soon.

Also, hopefully nobody else will throw up tonight. Rain is good. Vomit is not.

My counterpart at our other site saw a Mountain Lion tonight. Some people have all the luck. All I saw was a pair of frogs. Still, frogs are cool too.

The sky is gray and still, with rain perhaps a few hours away. Tomorrow, it's supposed to storm on us, with much anticipated wind and rain finally giving the parched hillsides a chance to swell with moisture. I am more than looking forward to it - I'm fairly singing with anticipation.

This weekend, I went on another long hike up at Almaden Quicksilver park, visiting Hidalgo cemetery, an abandoned rotary furnace, and finding yet another old car in a ravine. The cemetery was perhaps the most interesting, despite the fact that all of the grave markers have succumbed to time and vanished. Wooden markers tend to do that, I guess. The white picket fence, also made of wood, that surrounds the cemetery, will no doubt also vanish in time. That will probably be replaced. It's interesting that nobody thought to do that with the original grave markers though. Did all of those families cease to exist?

I also found a squished tarantula, which made me sad. The poor little guy was struck down while in the process of looking for a mate, so that one death also cut short a whole line of descendants. I just hope that he wasn't killed on purpose. people need to deal with their fears in a more constructive fashion.

Before the hike, I watched Willow's soccer team wipe the field with their opponents. Willow is so fun to watch - she literally dances with excitement sometimes out there on the field. Sophie spent the whole game braiding my hair, which was funny. I'm not sure when she learned to braid. I feel like I'm missing out on her life these days, but on the bright side, it makes the time I do have with her (and her brothers) all the more precious.

Friday night, I went on a very nice date up to San Francisco to experience some music. I'm very happy about the way things are progressing on this front.

I also got a rare chance to lead a field class last week, which in some ways explains why I haven't updated this blog in a while. I've gotten used to having my days free, so when they're suddenly filled, I don't blog as much.

The week was great though. The kids were from four different private schools - all catholic schools, I think. This means that, for the most part, they were well behaved. The cabin leader who hiked with me had been up the week before, so he was more experienced than some, which is always good.

This was the first time I'd led a whole field class for a week since I started working nights a couple of years ago, so of course it was also the first time I've led a field class as a newly credentialed teacher. I did consider creating lesson plans for everything, but ended up not doing it in the end. I've taught all of these lessons many times before, so I just went with what I've always done, with a few little tweaks and variations thrown in. I perhaps spent a little more time focusing on the journal writing aspect of things, and I paid a little more attention to the skill levels of individual students than I used to. They were all pretty evenly matched though, with maybe one or two exceptions. Still, I felt there was a freshness to the week because it's no longer part of my weekly routine. The classroom teachers even commented on my obvious excitement. Of course, we had to visit the Rattlesnake family up in the chaparral. I recently read an article on Rattlesnake parental care brought to my attention by one of my Flickr friends. Apparently the babies usually stay with the mom until the first shed. Of course, the babies I showed my field class are still with their mom, even though they've already shed. I took one of the shed skins and laminated it with a photo of the snakes, making some pretty cool prize bookmarks to give away during the end-of-the-week review on Friday. We also found a ton of small Bullfrogs (as well as a couple of toads) up at Lake Ranch Reservoir. The kids were extremely excited by this. Just imagine 19 sixth graders all screaming and laughing as frogs go leaping everywhere. The cool thing was that they were under rocks near the shore, so we could easily catch them. Some rocks had nearly a dozen frogs hiding underneath. Talk about hands-on outdoor education! It was the first time that a lot of the kids had ever gotten to do something like that. I think that they'll remember it fondly. They didn't even complain about the nearly 5 mile round trip it took to get to where the frogs were.

That said, one of my favorite moments of the whole week was when we came upon a Youth Science Institute group on the trail, and I quickly realized that it was Sophie's class. I hadn't even realized that she had a field trip on that day. The odds against me running into her on the trail are pretty big. First, there are a lot of trails, and second, I'm not usually hiking them these days. We were very happy to see each other.

This week, I'm back in the camp office at night, just in time for the torrential rains to hit.

Things have cooled off a bit, and there's a nice breeze. This makes it much more bearable when I'm sitting out on a sunny field watching Willow play soccer. It also prevents Willow from turning an alarming shade of pink from exerting herself in the heat.

Today, after soccer (damn, I feel like such a soccer dad all of a sudden - I'm still not a fan of organized sports, but the exercise and teamwork is good for Willow, so I'm a fan of that aspect of it at least) we went to the Children's Discovery Museum, a place which is singularly important in that Willow owes her very existence to it. It's where I met her mom, back when I was an employee there.

Nowadays, they still let me in for free, and it's nice to see those among my old coworkers who are still there. One such old coworker was leading a "make a play" workshop, during which participants got to alter an existing story ("The Three Little Pigs", in this case) and act it out. Willow played the brick seller. The three little pigs became two little dragons, and the big bad wolf became the big bad princess. Fun was had.

This coming week, I get a rare chance to be back in the field at work. I traded schedules with a coworker, so he (the appropriately named Bat) will work the nights, and I get to lead a field class. I've got to dig out all of my naturalist teaching supplies, but I'm looking forward to mixing things up a little.

The moon, ghost white
Leaks light through cracked clouds

I woke up this morning to clouds, and now I can hear the trees rustling as a slight breeze passes through. Tomorrow, the temperature has been forecast to stay below 70 degrees, but of course a week ago they were saying it was going to rain. Yesterday, the forecasters were predicting rain for the following Tuesday, but now they've changed their minds. I don't know why I even bother looking at the forecast.

My work week kicks into gear in a few hours. Before that, I'm going to have dinner with Willow. I predict that she's going to want frozen peas. Strange kid. Won't eat them if they're cooked.

A couple of weeks ago now, Willow and I were standing in the middle of Los Gatos Creek, dropping leaves into the flowing water and watching them drift away downstream. Sometimes they would get caught on rocks. Sometimes they would hit the rapids and go bobbing off into the distance. It occurred to me at the time that there was a ritualistic aspect to what we were doing. I began imagining things that I would like to let go, and picture the leaves as an embodiment of those intangible sections of psyche. There was a great peacefulness to the process, and a great relief.

Flowing water is somehow magical, but only if you are open to it.

The one thing that I would most like to let go of is the anger I feel towards my ex-wife. There were some lies told to me at the end of our relationship, and despite the fact that I know, and to a certain extent, understand, the reasons for the lies, I am still angry about it. I still feel that it is a profound betrayal of trust, and it has colored every interaction I've had with her since, and in a way invalidated every previous thing she has said to me. Once I find out that somebody is capable of lying to me, especially somebody that I have opened up to - somebody who at the time I felt love for - I feel that everything they say and have said is immediately suspect.

So I watch leaves float away in the cold creek water.

This soccer season, her boyfriend - the one she started dating before telling me that she was filing for divorce - is coming to the games. I finally saw him, and to tell you the truth, had no real feelings about it one way or the other. One of the reasons I'd been avoiding being in the same place as him for so long is that I thought it might bring up some pretty serious negative feelings. I'm happy that it didn't, because I'm really bad at hiding how I feel if strong feelings are involved. Sure, I'm not interested in interacting with him on any level, but it was nice to not want to go drown him in the creek.

Much better to watch the leaves float away.

After the games, during which Willow ended up being almost as pink from the heat and exertion as her team shirt, and Nate ended up not playing much because he didn't feel well, I decided to go on a solo hike up in Almaden Quicksilver Park. I used a different park entrance than usual, and picked a trail that in retrospect was a poor choice. It wound steadily uphill on the sunny side of the hills, heating the water in my water bottle to the extent that it tasted like warm tea. Still, I ended up in the area of the park known as English Camp, in which several ancient buildings are barely standing. It's interesting to become steeped in the history of the area like this - feeling the silence and solitude of forgotten people and the weathered remnants of their works. Last week, I wandered through an 150 year old cemetery in Saratoga, so this was the second time in less than a week that I found myself reflecting on what life used to be like. People lived and died in these hills, tunneling into the hillsides in search of mercury, and leaving their decaying buildings behind. There were even a couple of old cars among the trees downhill from where I was hiking. One looked as if the tree had begun its life as a sapling in the shadow of the car, slowly displacing it as the years passed.

I almost went back up there today, but ended up staying home and making hummus instead, adding more garlic than was reasonable. I'll try not to breathe on you for a week or two.

In the middle of our annual open house at work, I was leading a hike for about 50 kids (mostly elementary school kids who will be coming to camp later this year) and their parents, when a couple of the girls said they wanted to find some snakes. Not one to disappoint, I took a quick detour to a nearby rock pile where I'd been seeing Rattlesnakes over the summer. I found the cutest little cluster of baby Rattlers there, looking like they'd just been born. I think I even managed to convince the most cautious of the parents that it was a good thing. I then stood between the snakes and the kids, and let them approach to where they could peek over the rock and see the snakes. After about 7 or 8 kids got to see them, the snakes crawled off one by one, heading for the cover of one of the rocks. The rest of the people had to be content with the quick, slightly out of focus photo I took, just like those of you reading this will have to be.

Strange thing though - even though I was standing right there, I miscounted the snakes. If you look very carefully at the photo, you can see there are 4, not 3, as I originally thought. It was almost as if they were remembering being inside their mom, so tightly clustered together they were.

Always know how many snakes you're actually dealing with.

Definitely another snake geek moment.