Family Time

We planned to meet my family for a week “vacation from the rv” and stay in a rented house near Lake Tahoe in mid-September. We kept a close watch on the developing wildfires in the Tahoe area and decided to make the call to cancel only about two weeks out. This led to a mad online search for a new place that could accommodate our large group on short notice. We decided to avoid any risk of fire and head to the coast, which is how we ended up in Manchester.

The KOA in Manchester is where we landed the week before the house rental after escaping an icky situation in Nice (see previous post for details), so we had an early introduction to what our week with family would be like. The coastline is gorgeous in this part of California - huge rocks jut skyward out of the water, dramatic cliffs take a beating from the constant, crashing waves, and the sky transitions unpredictably from dense fog to brilliant sunshine in the blink of an eye. Luckily, the scenery is nothing if not fascinating; there is little else to do in the area but take it all in.

We were overjoyed to have my parents, Dave and Laurie, and my grandma, Adele, join us in Manchester for a whole week. Our Airbnb host allowed us to park the RV on her front lawn (I’m sure the neighbors were thrilled), which meant we could keep our stuff close by and not even have to defrost the freezer!

The saga that was backing into the yard was up there among our most stressful RV-related situations of the trip so far. This yard was lined with a 6-foot-high fence and a sliding gate that only opened 10 feet or so, which meant Alex had to steer the truck and RV carefully through the fence from the narrow road, which ran perpendicular and only a few feet from the start of the fence. Not only that, but the driveway dipped down from the road and dropped off on both sides about two feet down to the dirt. The angles were not promising. I had my doubts that it would work out.

As I’ve mentioned, I’m not the most helpful with the backup process on a normal day, so this attempt had me pacing in the yard and threatening to just shut my eyes and walk away. Alex, however, was not deterred. These are the types of situations where I ask myself – is he really that confident? Or is he just so stubborn that he can’t not try? Is there a difference?

THANKFULLY, after no less than 10 attempts, we (he) got the RV down the driveway slope, through the fence opening, and safely on the grass (don’t worry, it wasn’t nice grass) next to the driveway. I can’t believe we didn’t take a picture or video to remember the occasion!

Just a few minutes after we settled in there came a knock at the door, followed by a girl stampede, bear hugs, tears, and lots of jumping up and down. It had been two and a half months since we had seen them! Well, not nana, but grandpa and grammy! When you’re used to seeing people weekly, that’s a long time.

Eager to get to the ocean, the next morning we all trekked down a steep – like ridiculously steep – neighborhood road to the closest beach access. There I stood, melting in the glorious sunshine, eyes closed, listening to the waves rise and fall like the in and out of the girls’ sound machine when they open and close their bedroom door. In the background I heard giggles and shrieks of delight. I couldn’t help but smile, in large part because I knew the girls were under the watchful eyes of trusted relatives and I didn’t have to open my eyes to check on them. After a while we realized that not everyone would be able to make it back up the crazy steep hill and back to the house. I was quickly tasked with running back to grab the car. Done. You don’t have to ask me twice to run alone alongside the ocean.

We somehow managed to keep up with schoolwork that week. It helped to have more adult teachers than pupils. After school time, we visited nearby attractions like the small towns of Elk, which had the cutest general store around, and Point Arena, where I shopped at the local co-op.

Other days we caravanned down a secluded and narrow road to visit the Point Arena lighthouse and hiked to Bowling Ball Beach. What a marvel that was! Not only were there small, spherical rocks that indeed looked just like bowling balls, but somehow the earth had carved what looked like bowling lanes into the sand with rock formations serving as bumpers. Incredible.

Mid-week we drove up the coast an hour or so to Fort Bragg where we rode the Skunk Train inland and learned about how and why this part of the state developed. At the turn around point we hiked in a newer redwood forest and imagined ourselves as travelers from a century ago, spending the entire day bumping through the winding forest on the stinky steam train in search of life beyond the logging camp.

On the shore near Fort Bragg we had a picnic lunch and visited Glass Beach, aptly named from the bits of worn down sea glass that litter the ground and serve as a reminder that the area used to be a garbage dump.

On the way home from Fort Bragg we stopped in Mendocino, which was adorable and full of beautifully preserved historic cottages, upscale shops, and curbside restaurants. The surrounding coastline was occupied almost exclusively by enticing bed and breakfasts and wineries. I could have spent an entire day there, but alas – my three little monkeys were still in the back seat!

In between sightseeing adventures, we relished in simple, happy togetherness. Elsie tried to teach gram how to do the floss, Audrey gave constant hugs and insisted on being picked up as much as possible, and Willa learned to prefer nana’s method of math instruction and grandpa’s willingness to supply snacks. There were duets on the keyboard, shared meals late into the night, and repeats of “the circuit”, which took us from the hot tub to the sauna to the cold plunge.

I have to say, though, one of the best parts of my family’s visit was the timing. They happened to come see us over Alex and my 10th wedding anniversary. Lucky us! That meant we had a real reason to bug out for a couple of days and score some time alone. What a glorious couple of days it was. Being with our kids constantly for the past several months has been (mostly) great, but we were ready to complete full sentences and have a full conversations while it was still light out, a task that is nearly impossible with our 3.

We left on Thursday afternoon and turned inland, back to Anderson Valley, where we had booked a room in an old but restored homestead near a winery. We decided to take the route through the mountains that we had been strongly advised against taking in the RV. THANK GOODNESS we took that advice initially. We would probably still be on Mountain View Road if we had attempted it in the RV.

It’s wild because the road starts off just fine, even as it ascends the mountain it felt like the preferred choice over any time on Highway 1. We started wondering out loud what the big deal was. After all, we were never close to the edge or even anywhere with a view. But as time went on and we lost cell service, the road became more and more curvy. It got to the point where we didn’t drive in a straight line for more than a few feet at a time. We would climb up and then come back down, round one bend, only to immediately turn and go back the other way. While there were no terrifying cliff drop-offs, our stomachs were on the proverbial edge the entire time.

It was only after I was SURE we were almost there that the road got really bad – so bad that even in the little rental car we hoped that there wasn’t a car around the corner because we weren’t sure if the narrow road could accommodate us both. Then the already tiny shoulder disappeared altogether, and the road alternated between asphalt, gravel, and destroyed asphalt that we wished was just gravel. When we finally arrived in Anderson Valley our stomachs were mush.

After settling our stomachs and then filling them with fabulous Mexican food, we stayed in a cozy, secluded cabin tucked among hundred-year-old redwoods. The next day we had scheduled tastings at three (or was it four?) wineries out of the dozens or so in the area. It was a lovely day – not a cloud in the sky as we hopped from patio to patio, reveling in our time together and remembering the celebration we had a decade ago.

When we returned to the rental house, we had just one more night together before we retraced our steps down Highway 1, through the narrow highway lined with redwoods, over the mountain range, and finally down an uneventful freeway. We all stayed one night in Vacaville, California, soaking up every last minute before we said our goodbyes.

As we zig zagged through much of Northern and Central California, both on this leg of the journey and others, we passed through a handful of towns that came out of nowhere and were not near anything particularly interesting or industrious. Nearly a hundred thousand people lived in these places, sometimes more! These were towns we had never heard of – Vacaville, Merced, Santa Rosa – but which were expansive concrete jungles of freeway overpasses and strip mall sprawl. We kept asking ourselves why these places cropped up and how so many people ended up there. Exurban development and population of this scale is something we aren’t used to in Minnesota.

When we think of California, typically we picture Los Angeles, San Francisco, maybe Orange County. But it turns out so, so many people live in obscure, middle-of-nowhere places! I wonder if their voices are even heard through the ostentatiousness of Hollywood and the other loud, self-important urban cores. As we keep traversing California we will see more of this as we try to figure out what this long and diverse state is all about.