Weekend Shastafarians

We went up to Mt. Shasta for a quick weekend. It's always relaxing and beautiful and all that. A weekend is just about all you need. Any longer than that and you'll go batty because they are missing crucial services. Get this: there is no ice cream shop there. Not a one. I can't even live in a place like that.

Sadly, I forgot my real camera. So I had to snap a bunch of pictures with my phone. Ira still refuses to be still for photographs, so there are serveral flesh-colored blurs that are kind of shaped like my child, but you can't see the face, so I can't really be sure who it is. At any rate, there are just a couple of him from the weekend. And now you know why.




There were lots of animals where we were staying. One morning, I woke up to my ultimate dream come true. You think I'm exaggerating, but if you knew how much time I have spent Googling "pygmy goats," "baby goats," "goats playing," you would know how elated I was to find that two young goats had broken into the yard to feast on a breakfast of wild sweet pea flowers. My heart spontaneously melted. I wanted to cry. I think I ovulated. I fed those goats sweat peas and I'm sure I'll never participate in anything more precious.

Goats getting ready to dive off the dirt mound:


Having a spot of sweet pea:



Nose first in noms:


Heylove wants me to have a goat and all of the other things my heart desires. She's so sweet that way. But you know what? This poor dog! She is a hearty city beast, but country living got the best of her on this trip. She faced hungry farm dogs, annoyed horses 20 times her size and walked long gritty granite paths with tender paws. Poor thing was pretty nervous most of the time (those horses and farm dogs), but I think she was happier for having come along. She's relieved to be home and is almost back to normal.


Big horse face. This horse is some kind of fancy one, but I forgot what kind. His name is Jellybean, which tells me that he was probably surrendered by a horse girl (you know the kind) who found her horse-owning whim fading with age. Kind of depressing, or not?


Here he is again. He was actually totally dusty and when I pet him, my hand stirred up a horrifying two pounds of dust from his coat as fine as what you'd empty out of a vacuum cleaner. My hand was a terrible mess. I only did it once.



On our way out of town we took a short break in Dunsmuir and hiked down to Hedge Creek Falls. Although I was anxious to get home, the view of the falls were so worth it and I'm glad we took the detour.


It's hard to tell, but the cave under the falls was tall enough for an adult to walk in. The whole thing looked positively Tolkienian.


So glad to be home.