I know I’m putting a lot of videos up here lately, but man, you want to see this:

More amazing animal videos here.

Last week, I voted, ate lobster, interviewed the woman who did the voice of Jem, celebrated my husband’s promotion at work, and went to the California Academy of Sciences with Marcia. My life is odd. Also: awesome.

My pictures of the museum didn’t turn out, but luckily Marcia’s did. Although the museum if kind of pricey to get into, it is well worth it because of the center core of it where you walk up three stories looking down into a fish aquarium while butterflies flap around you and light on people’s hands. It’s small for a museum of its type, but everything is well-chosen and interesting to look at. I particularly liked the Ghost Shrimp, shrimp that is completely see-through.

Here are some of Marcia’s pictures:

This last one is of the museum’s living roof, which I will be writing for the Pacific Sun in the near future…

My birthday is next month. Please buy me a baby hippo. Thank you.

The next day, I was really sore from the hike and sleeping on the ground. We drove to a cinder cone that formed in the 1700s. It was by something called the Fantastic Lava Flows, and they were indeed fantastic—piles and piles of black volcanic rocks that looked like someone had pushed them there with a bulldozer. I saw this little creature. I don’t know what it is. At first I thought it was a baby chipmunk, but it doesn’t look like it. Some sort of chipmunk-colored mouse?

We started down the path to hike the cinder cone. Problem was, it was covered with this ground volcanic ash, so it was like hiking on sand. The two-mile hike quickly started to seem a like more to my tired muscles and sore back. I was trying to be tough and suck it up, but I am not tough or good at sucking it up.

Then the cinder cone came into view.

It looked like a giant pyramid. You could see the tiny people on the top. I thought, I do not want to climb that. As we approached, I realized that there was a steep, sandy path going right up the side of the cone.

I let Justin, Stephanie, and Kyle climb to the top and I went back to a lake and edited sort stories. Apparently there was a huge crater and pretty views at the top. Here are the pictures Kyle took:

View.

Crater.

Three kinds of terrain.

Another view

As amazing as that is, I was glad I didn’t push myself to go on the rest of that hike. If I hadn’t been so sore, I would have done it, but as it was, I was happier editing short stories. After all, look what that hike did to Justin and Stephanie:

Purple lakes. Boiling puddles. Black pyramid-like cinder cones. Sound like crazy land? No! This is what I saw on my camping trip to Lassen Volcanic National Park a couple of weekends ago, which I went on with Kyle, Justin, and Stephanie. (Justin and Stephanie have already written about the trip here, here, and here.)

Although I had heard about this park all my life–my sixth grade class went there for a class trip (I didn’t go)–I didn’t know that Mount Lassen is an active volcano. As such, it’s a geological wonderland full of weird and cool sights to see. The first day, we hiked up Bumpass Hell, a place full of all the things described in the first paragraph: boiling mud pits, exhalation of steam, bleached landscapes, etc.

The park warns you not to step off the path because you could easily die or lose a limb. That’s what happened to Bumpass, the fellow who originally owned part of the park–he stepped into a mud puddle boiling at 240 degrees and lost his leg. The knowledge of this added a life-and-death component to the hike that was pretty cool.

So cool, in fact, that we decided to hike on to a cold boiling lake. Doesn’t that sound awesome? A lake that boils, but is still cold? It is not awesome, in fact. It is a mud puddle that bubbles somewhat. Luckily, it was beside a real lake that was just lovely, although perhaps not worth the extra four-mile hike to get there and back. Well, nothing is perfect, I suppose.

Pictures:

Picture of the park with a big rock

Bumpass Hell with a random guy in the shot

Close-up of the steam. It smelled like rotten eggs. The smell didn’t actually bother me unless I happened to be in the middle of one of the steam blasts. Then it was kind of like being farted on.

Purple mud–apparently it is purple because of pyrite bubbling to the surface.

At the end of the trail was this bright blue puddle of water that I thought was pretty.

Speaking of puddle, here is the boiling “lake.”

Luckily it was by a real lake, so it wasn’t a total loss.

Summer Activities List (Updated):

Hiking
Tennis
Camping
Blackberry picking
Listening to live music
Canoeing/kayaking
Picnics
Something involving a fire on a beach and hot dogs
Going on a boat
Wine tasting
Art galleries
Daytrips (Gualala/Mammoth Lake)

So I decided to go blackberry picking today. I drove out to the country and started to pick berries from the bushes on the side of the road… and quickly discovered that this was a dumb idea. Picking the berries was messy and tedious. Every time a car drove by I felt exposed and shy. And then, a big spider scared me.

I decided to go home instead.

On Sunday, Kyle and I were sitting in our backyard, staring at the ivy. It is Afghanistan Ivy. Some brilliant person planted it back there 20-30 years ago, thinking it would make a reliable, drought-resistant ground cover. And boy is it ever.

See, in California, Afghanistan Ivy is an invasive species. It just loves it here. Nothing eats it. It spreads by root and by vine, both creeping under the soil and up every surface above ground. It winds around other trees like a boa constrictor and chokes them. And, when it gets very old, it grows into a tree and begins to make berries to further propagate itself.

We had two such ivy trees in our backyard, and subsequently, our yard is covered with ivy.

(In this picture, the ivy is choking the tree next to it. I don’t have a picture of the ivy trees themselves, but it gives you an idea of the back fence before.)

I have been dutifully killing it, but it’s coming back already, its shiny new green leaves waving like plastic lily pads at me. So on Sunday, Kyle asked me if I wanted to take down the ivy trees, even though it meant we would have less privacy in our backyard for awhile. I said yes. Or rather, YES. He got out the chainsaw.

I knew that taking down these two large trees meant that I would have less privacy. I didn’t realize how much it would open up the space, or how much sunlight it would let into the backyard. The ivy was dark, heavy, and full of bugs. As the trees came down, my backyard suddenly seemed huge and sunny. For the first time, I liked it back there.

As for privacy, I plan to replace the ivy trees with another tree, maybe an olive or something that flowers. But the truth is, I will probably never get rid of the ivy altogether. Even if I manage to eradicate it from my yard, the house next door has at least two trees of it.

Seeing those hated trees come down limb by sneaky limb was satisfying, let me tell you.

After about 4 years, my spider plants are finally reproducing. I can’t get over how lovely spider plant blossoms are. They are like a cross between an orchid and a jasmine blossom.

The birds are crazy this year. I hear them all day long. This morning I had a dream that hummingbirds were building nests in my backyard, and then I woke up and realized it was because the birds outside my window were so loud they had invaded my dream. A few minutes ago, a little bird lighted on the screen of my window with a twig in its mouth. Every time I go outside, jays are perching in the branches of my baby fruit trees. Yesterday, a black bird flew into my kitchen window, but didn’t seem seriously hurt.

The neatest part of all this is that a red finch family has built a nest in my garage. Every time I go into the backyard, the female flies away and sits in the branches of the mystery tree in an attempt to distract me from her nest.

The other day I decided to read outside. When I went into the backyard, the female flitted to the tree as usual. As I sat out there for awhile, she grew bolder and flew back to her nest and hopped around the outside of it, looking at me. Right as she was about to get back in it, she flew away again. I looked over my shoulder and realized that my cat Quill had entered the backyard. As he meowed and rubbed against me, the female bird sat in the tree and looked worried. After awhile, the male bird joined her. He was just like her, except he had a bright red neck and face. Together, they flew to the roof about two feet from the nest and looked over at Quill, who was rolling on his back on the cement and chattering at them. They looked so upset that I took pity on them and left the yard, calling Quill with me so that they could have their little bird family in peace.

The down side to all these birds is that I am trying to grow a. raspberries, b. strawberries, and c. cherries. It’s going to be a battle to get any of these for myself. Already, my bean seedlings keep mysteriously disappearing as soon as they sprout. However, there are very few pill bugs this year. It’s a trade-off.

The first fruit of my labor: a radish.

This weekend, I went snow-shoeing in Yosemite. It was the first time I have:

Gone camping in a national park

Stayed in a cabin covered with canvas

Done any sort of winter sport

Seen people ski

Snow-shoed

Snow-shoed on an expert trail

Eaten hot dogs in the snow

I had been to Yosemite a lot, but never with friends, and never to stay the night before. The park is much less crowded in winter and just as gorgeous.

El Capitan

The first day, we drove up to the park, found our cabin, and looked around Yosemite. By the Ansel Adams Gallery, a herd of deer were eating leaves in the snow.

We stayed in a heated tent/cabin–a wooden cabin frame covered with canvas. Yosemite at night is nearly as impressive as it is in the daytime. The snow glows in the moonlight, making for dramatic views even in the dark.

Sun setting on Half Dome.

The next day, we went snow-shoeing. As mentioned before, I had never done anything in the snow. In fact, I’ve only been in snow a handful of times in my entire life.

LtoR: Marcia, me, Kyle, Stephanie, Justin

We hiked up to Dewey Point, a 7-8 mile round-trip. At first, snow-shoeing was a lot of fun. It was surreal to see all the landscape covered with snow and to know we were walking on top of bushes. We didn’t see any wildlife–except for a spider–but we saw lots of cross-country skiers, all of whom looked exhausted to me.

Kyle jumping off a rock in his snow-shoes

Unfortunately, the trail we ended up on was somehow an expert level, which was a lot for the first time snow-shoeing. Turns out going up steep hills in show shoes is hard. On top of that, we were in a hurry because we wanted to make sure to get to the top of Dewey Point and back in time to return our snow shoes. I had a hard time keeping up with everyone.

However, at the top of the hill, we had hot dogs in the snow. Justin cooked them on his camping stove, which is a nifty little gadget. Having a hot dog picnic cheered me up.

Justin cooking the hotdogs

Dewey Point is alarmingly high up and there is nothing to prevent you from falling to your death. Kyle was very concerned I would fall, but I thought it was all completely awesome.

A shot of the drop–I believe that circle in the middle is a meadow covered with snow.

On the way back, we took an easier trail, which was a relief for me. Still, this was one of the hardest hikes I’ve ever done. It felt like we did 15 miles instead of 8 miles. Despite this, I’m really glad we went. Thanks to Justin and Stephanie for arranging it all.

Kyle and me at the top of Dewey Point