Big Trees, Big Rock Faces, Small Towns: The Central Valley and Its Vistas

Photographing the spillway at Lake McSwain rushing into the Merced River

As our week in San Luis Obispo was nearing its end, Brent called his friend Pete to wish him a happy birthday. After chatting for a few minutes, Pete asked where we were off to next and whether we might be able to join them at the KOA in Visalia for a few nights. The beauty of our lifestyle is that we could answer, "Sure!"

So, we left the coast and drove inland in our little caravan, me making one last stop at Mr. Pickles in SLO to grab sandwiches and drop a few of Evelyn's thank you cards at the post office downtown before hitting the highway. Brent and Evelyn were a half hour ahead of me in the truck, rocking out to Weird Al, no doubt. Kailyn and I rolled along in the Suburban, enjoying our own cruising music and the scenery.

Though the steep, rocky, green hills of the coast had settled out of sight in our rear view mirror, soft rolling green hills frosted in blankets of fluffy yellow flowers stretched out all around us. More and more Happy Cows speckled the hillsides and our highway narrowed from four lanes to two. The temperature rose the farther inland we drove and by the time we passed the turn-out for the Hearst Castle Winery, we were feeling the rural flavor of the land envelope us.

Kailyn and I eventually caught up to the truck and trailer to give the rest of the family their Mr. Pickles sandwiches, and we continued on together toward Visalia. I can't say I wasn't a little disappointed in the dry, flat nature of the agricultural heart of California. Gone were the hills, waves, and greenery of the coast and in its place out our windows appeared row after row of the fields that feed families: pistachios, almonds, strawberries, onions, lettuce. The issues and priorities of farmland California blazoned signs along the highway: "Build Dams Not Trains" and "Is Feeding Families Wasting Water?"  I found that I missed the snug embrace of nearby hillsides in contrast to the sprawling flat land of the valley; I couldn't yet see the distant but towering High Sierras 70 miles to the east.

The KOA in Visalia was a welcome destination after a fairly short journey of 3 hours for this Moving Day. I parked near the office and climbed into the backseat to nurse Kailyn, waiting for Brent to arrive and peering out the windows wondering if our friends were already here. It didn't take long to get my answer. A minivan pulled in two stalls over and out piled familiar faces: Pete, his wife, and his 7 year old son with three teenagers I didn't recognize. They didn't see me in the car, so I watched them go into the office to check in and with perfect timing, I saw home come rolling into the park and into the registration area.

It was a warm and welcome reunion in the office. We hadn't seen Pete and his family in a year-- since Evelyn's fourth birthday party and here she was a week away from turning five. We were introduced to the teenagers, two Chinese exchange students Pete and Jean affectionately introduced as their "sons", and a Chinese exchange student-become-resident girlfriend to one of the boys. After all the smiles and open arms, the woman behind the counter was caught up in the pleasantries and proudly told us she'd worked out that we were together and placed us in the nearest and largest RV space to the cabin they would be staying in.

It was a treat to share beers, bubbles, and a campfire with friends-- a stop that felt more like a vacation than lifestyle for once. The kids played in Evelyn's loft and we took turns walking them to the playground. Pete's family was there to see the sights: King's Canyon, the Sequoias, Yosemite. We would join what we could, but we did have the matters of life to attend to. I had to work, afterall, and we needed to find a Target to fill our pantry and use the laundry room to fill our dresser drawers once again.

A view from the road to Sequoia National Park

Pete's family would be driving to King's Canyon the first day into the weekend. We stayed behind to tend to daily life, but in the afternoon, we made the hour and a half drive up past flat agriculture land to winding roads through green and lavender hillsides and then into narrow lanes through towering pine-laden mountain tops. Snow appeared at the roadside and then more generously in the landscape outside our windows the farther up we traveled.

We entered Sequoia National Park and were immediately welcomed by our first sighting of an enormous, thick, seemingly prehistoric gem of a tree inside the park entrance. Awestruck, we gaped out our windows rolling onward into the park. Evelyn spotted a row of baby deer traipsing through the snow above us on a hill to our left. We had to press our noses to the windows and peer nearly straight up to see them, and nearby we spotted another robust Sequoia.

We found Pete and his family at the Visitor Center, where we were stopping for a Junior Ranger booklet. It is Evelyn's quest to earn a badge at every park we visit. They were just wrapping up their day, but we had an hour or two left of daylight and had big plans to see big trees in that time, so we promised to see them back around the campfire and continued on our way.

We parked the car and bundled up. We had left 80 degree weather in Visalia to find ourselves surrounded by snow and engulfed by misty clouds that embraced the towering trees. After snuggling, wrapping, and zipping ourselves into layers of clothing, we left the dogs to snooze in the back seat and marched onward toward our destination, our necks craning upward more and more the closer we got.

Majestic royalty of nature, the Sequoias astounded us and silenced us into reverie. It felt we had stepped into a land of fantasy or of another time. The heavy fog of dreamlike clouds crawled amongst the soaring treetops, urging us onward in a silvery tour of the hillside. Its ghostly beckoning breathed us in and we followed the creeping mist into turn after turn of stunning beauty. Trees who have witnessed thousands of years perched in place smiled down on our tiny forms as we explored their home.

Evelyn played in the snow, gathering snowballs to hurl at Brent and Kailyn screwed up her face, protesting the cold air and layers of clothing that kept her warm. We explored trees that had turned on their sides and read signs about men who had lived in these fallen trees. We observed the scorched insides of trees who had lived on through countless wildfires and grown only stronger in their stature and wisdom through the peril.

Brent held Evelyn up over his shoulders inside a fallen Sequoia so she could peek out a hole in its side. She appeared a tiny speck through the abrasion and while I giggled and snapped a picture, I had no idea Brent's arms were extended fully above his head inside to help her reach that height.

Where is Evelyn?

The temperature was dropping and our noses were cold, so we rounded the hiking loop and returned to the car to find it cozy with sleeping dogs, and we hiked up the heater to thaw ourselves out. Though there was much, much more to see in the park, we didn't have much time left in the day and were very happy with what we had seen. We decided to drive home down the other route back to Visalia. There are two winding roads up to the park that were open; the second route would take a bit longer but since we had already seen the one route, we opted for new sights on the way home. 

Our choice was truly a winding one. Evelyn even moaned about her tummy hurting only half way down the road, a bout of car sickness setting in. We rolled down windows and coached her in deep breathing exercises, though we did eventually just have to find a spot to pull over in front of a ranch where a bull and two horses were penned near the roadside. The bull announced our presence to all the cows in the valley with echoing bellows that reverberated through the small valley in which we'd stopped and rounded the bends from which we had come. Cows from nearby hillsides and other ranches, out of sight but not earshot, replied in calls that agreed our being there was weird-- very weird indeed. This seemed to settle the bull and he eventually quieted but kept his eye on us as he paced and strutted past. We let the dogs out to stretch their legs, but Heidi yelped out a panicked bark when she laid eyes on the bull in an unconvincing display of dominance, while Emmy growled more menacingly, her only nemesis large animals, we've learned. Both were returned to the back seat, Heidi more eagerly than Emmy.

We waited as long as we could, but there was a lot of winding road left to travel and we had miles and miles of cows on green hillsides and next to babbling streams and under gnarled trees still waiting for us along the way. Despite Evelyn's groaning from the back seat, Brent and I couldn't help but smile at what we were seeing outside our windows. It was easy to forget we were in California. The serenity, the solitude, the scenery was unlike anything we knew in Southern California, where the land is dry and the weather most often hot and the cows are penned with hundreds of others in limited space, covered to their knees in their own filth day and night.

The Badger: a market forgotten

When the path flattened and we reached a fork in the road, the correct turn from which

The Whispering Ranch

would lead us back down to the dry valley of Visalia, we stopped at the roadside again to let Evelyn plant her feet on solid ground once more. The dogs enjoyed the stop, as well, exploring a forgotten market from another era. An abandoned ranch across the road whispered in lonely tunes of a purpose once served and called to me with intimations of an alternate existence for our family should we abandon our own bustling life and take up residence in its velvety, rich hillside, breathing life into its future and ours. It's hard not to imagine these options for destiny. It's easier to be drawn in by these summons the more we see outside of our familiar home base.

I stopped and stared at this ranch for a long time, daydreaming and smiling on at its beckoning, returning its "what ifs" with my own versions of the vision. 

Finally, and to Evelyn's chagrin, it was time to buckle back up and get home to our friends and the campfire. We journeyed on down into the valley once again, but not first without more quiet, hidden, and impressive landscape smiling at us from outside our windows.

Peaceful, green valleys and nestled homesteads through the valleys.

The sunlight slipped from the grasp of the hillside, little by little, until it has finally escaped and disappeared into the approaching night sky.

We didn't do anything more adventurous from our Visalia base the remainder of our four days there. We watched Pete's family leave for daily explorations, but we stayed behind to tend to daily responsibilities. This is, afterall, our life, rather than a vacation. So I worked and Brent took the girls on errands in town and when Pete's family returned, the kids played and the adults chatted and laughed. Evelyn asked if she could "go to Ian's house" and we watched as she sprinted across the lawn to his cabin. Even at home, she didn't have friends in the neighborhood. This was the first glimpse of an ideal we'd love for her-- friends in a neighborhood that she can play with-- part of a dream future and for the time being, a welcome reality.

These two ran, played, laughed, and imagined together
throughout the weekend. It was so nice having a friend
to play with!

Evelyn cried when our camping trip with our friends reached its end. As she often does, she desperately asked when we would see them again and pleaded for a playdate when we have our own house again someday. These are the hardest times and the times my heart hurts and doubt plagues me. Are we doing the right thing for Evelyn? Are these awesome sights and adventures better than staying in one place and seeing friends regularly? But then, we wouldn't have had this trip with Pete's family and she wouldn't have known of her new friend, Ian, had we been home. Realistically, we don't, never did, and likely wouldn't have made a habit of making memories like these or reaching out to friends like these if we weren't shaking up our norm. Logic is easy to win over for an adult, but for a kid it's hardly relevant. Evelyn cried for some time after we parted ways. We couldn't even promise her a vision of what we'd see next; we had no idea where we'd land the next day, though we knew we wanted to get closer to Yosemite.

So we rolled onward, back through dry commercial farmland off the main highway and north toward Merced. It was windy and dry. The land growing America's food was starved for water; the drought was still apparent through this land despite the incredibly wet winter and Spring we'd been experiencing. I kept a vision of Yosmite in my head and daydreamed of the central coast in favor of settling into the bleak landscape rolling past outside. 

We often find ourselves in a situation like the one we experienced this particular Moving Day. We consulted our campground app briefly the night before, the chore always landing on Brent's head to figure which we should aim for the next day. Because this life comes with its share of distractions-- small living spaces, big messes, lots of details and maintenance, and of course, two kids and three dogs-- things get left undone in the planning department. It's usually not until we're hitched up and packed in that the app is consulted for a final call and we point our noses toward our mapped destination without a reservation or even more than a phone call asking if our rig will fit. 

In today's case, Brent assured we had multiple options where we were headed--campgrounds on reservoirs in rural areas outside of Merced. He called the campground of choice and was assured there were many spots available. That was our lead, and it was a good one, so we traveled the 3 hours through dry farmland to Merced. This stretch was acceptable and do-able... if only it had been the end of our journey. 

We joined Brent in a weedy asphalt lot behind a gas station to make sandwiches and let the dogs out to stretch before the next leg of the road toward our destination. This stretch led us through the more urban town of Merced and then past dwindling signs of city life toward and through endless acres of land on which roamed thousands and thousands of Happy Cows. Evelyn enthusiastically called out, "More Happy Cows!" each time we'd see a dozen or so lazily roaming the hills or drinking from streams along the way. We saw cows lounging on the ground and calves snuggling on their mothers and cows traveling in single lines across paths they had cut through the hillsides. 

Though our hearts were happy for these cows with lives so unlike those we witnessed back home, there was an impatience growing in the car as the hours stretched on. When would we get there? 

I had passed on ahead of Brent by a short stretch. He called and gave me direction to make a left turn onto a small road that would lead to the campground. He asked me to scope it out and get us checked in. The girls and I rolled forward in the late day sun and found ourselves four miles in at the entrance of a regional campground. We could see water down beyond the entrance and boats resting in the lake there. RVs were planted in place around the camping loops to our right. This seemed promising! But then I saw it-- a larger than life banner posted above the office at second story height so all travelers could see: the word "PETS" stamped over by an angry red circle with slash through the condemned word. NO PETS. They had failed to alert us to this rule when we'd called earlier seeking availability.

My stomach sank. We'd already been in the car four and a half hours. It was warm, we were restless, and we didn't yet have a place to stay for the night. 

I called back to Brent and he groaned. Back to the drawing board, but not to worry. There were at least three other campgrounds in the area. 

By the time I reached the main road again, Brent was just passing by, so he waved and I swung in behind him. After another 20 minutes, we arrived at the second campground, Barrett Cove-- a promising name for what turned out to be dry, hilly, overgrown campsites amongst narrow lanes, steep driveways, and low hanging trees that we couldn't navigate with our large rig. Luckily, we had all hopped into my car to explore the grounds while the trailer waited in an open lot near the entrance. Well, this wouldn't work. Another hour added to our journey and still nowhere to stay. 

Following Brent through miles and miles of country road
while the sun blazed down on a long Moving Day.

The last option was two-in-one: Lake McClure and Lake McSwain were two reservoirs through one park entrance and it was our best and only remaining choice. We followed Google's map and neared the pin on the screen to arrive at a "Road Closed" sign a mile from the destination. As if it couldn't get to be a longer day on the road, we had to take a 25 minute detour to drive in another route, through a tiny rural town called Snelling. 

Six hours into this epic Moving Day, we lucked out finding an open spot in what was otherwise a fully booked campground at Lake McSwain by finding some spark of ingenuity in a mind dulled by the day's journey. Though an empty spot was marked "Reserved", their online reservation system showed it available. We counted on the fact that someone had canceled after the rangers had marked the plaquard and we parked based on that notion, leaving our payment in the Iron Ranger box at the entrance. It was dark by then. Phew. I was grumpy and I swore to Brent we'd never do that again (it wouldn't be our last time), and we all went to bed hoping no one would knock on our door wondering why we were parked in their spot.

A side road along Lake McClure, a long and roaming lake/
stream carrying water to the reservoir at Lake McSwain.

Daybreak arrived along with a cheerful ranger who brought us our tags and the promise that this site was available for the next seven days if we were so inclined to stay. He chatted with Brent about the full lake and the wide river bloated with water from the snow pack and rainfall in the mountains upstream. 

Evelyn's birthday was approaching-- this would be where we would celebrate. And we were ecstatic. Though the WiFi was unreliable, the grounds were peaceful and lovely. The hillsides were all green and Happy Cows peppered the greenery. We could hear the cows bellowing in the calm of the sunrise and wild turkeys gobbling in the brush near the shoreline. 

We were pleasantly surprised by our site at Lake McSwain!

Evelyn had been asking about fishing and somewhere along the line, Brent had picked up two small rods. He walked her down to the lake to plunk two hookless lines into the water. To her, fishing means enticing in a new pet or at least feeding hungry natives. So they sat and watched the geese paddling by and chatted and joked in wait of fish that would never bite, though the cheese did go missing from the end of line each time it was dragged in, so Evelyn called it a success.

Evelyn and Brent fishing at Lake McSwain

Ready to look for frogs

 In our seven days at Lake McSwain, we settled into the quiet, rural life around us. We drove through Snelling, a small town with a one room library. We enjoyed playgrounds and snapped pictures of the flowing river, swollen from rainfall of a wet winter. We passed signs advertising fresh farm eggs for $3 a dozen along the roadside. We walked the banks in the evening while Brent panned for gold in the cold water along the boat ramp by flashlight. Evelyn and I used our own dull flashlight beams to hunt for the frogs that were croaking from the brush of the banks, invisible in their camouflage right before our eyes.

We drove up to Yosemite that Saturday. It was a long journey what with all the other weekend traffic and a one lane fix on the highway up permitting about 10 cars at a time each way across the river and past an area where a landslide had covered about a third of a mile of the highway. It took us five hours to get there, but Yosemite didn't disappoint. It was larger than life and iconic in all its glory. We took requisite pictures from Tunnel View and we roamed the floor of the valley near Yosemite Falls. 

The drive home was peaceful, uneventful,and fast compared to the drive up.

It wouldn't be complete to describe our Yosemite venture without including Brent's acquisition of this lovely little retro bike. On the way up, we passed a property right off the highway housing a dilapidated garage, two older motorhomes, and a house in desperate need of repair and maintenance. The trees overhead were bare and glum looking, and several discarded items were leaning on sides of the garage and strewn around the yard, clearly visible from the highway. Brent's radar honed in on a Honda 70, a cute little retro bike he swears he's wanted forever, leaning against the wall of the garage in a state of hopelessness, having long since given up hope of repair or attention. Brent couldn't help himself. He parked us on the side of the road and decided to go ask if it might be for sale. I told him I'd be pissed if he got shot, and watched him approach the nearest domicile-- a rusty motorhome parked parallel to the road-- with trepidation. A few nail-biting moments passed where I waited with baited breath for a rifle barrel to poke out of a broken window on the house or to hear shouting and a dog being sent out on our well-meaning interloper. Luckily, none of those things happened; instead, an overweight man with white hair and a limp appeared from behind the motorhome with laundry in hand that he'd been hanging on the line stretching between his motorhome and the house. He seemed to welcome Brent and they walked together over the to the bike.

After some inspecting and chatting, Brent returned with a smile. The man had told him he'd sell it for $100. The man's elderly father had taken to the engine casing with a wrench when he got it into his head that someone was trying to steal it from him, so that needs repair. In the same swing of the wrench, the headlight was broken and a few other cracks were left in the attack, as well.  All in all, it is a cute little piece of history with a will to rev its engine again someday. Brent returned the next day to buy it. The man scooped all the spare parts for it out of a microwave sitting in the garage and offered Brent the microwave for another $10, but Brent turned down the tempting add-on and returned only with the bike and a box of parts. The bike would sit with a new spirit for adventure hugged up behind the cab of the truck from that point on.


We returned to Lake McSwain to go about our business for the week. Snelling, the nearest town to McSwain was a tiny town with clear and quiet history. As we like to do, we stopped to play in the town's playground (we've sampled playgrounds all over the place, now!). Snelling's playground was tucked back behind the town's historical municipal court building and fire station. A cottage-sized structure neighbored the court house that we discovered was the town's functioning library! Brent and Evelyn played tetherball and Kailyn enjoyed the grass and shade nearby.

Tetherball by the courthouse

Sister snuggles

The Snelling Library

The WiFi at McSwain was good enough to do my work, but not reliable enough to teach a class or run meetings, so I had to journey into Merced one morning to find four bars of service for my jetpack. A 45 minute drive with Starbucks as my destination (surely, I'd find a signal near a Starbucks) found me with a latte in hand but a fluctuating one to four bars of service and since I was actually running the faculty meeting for the most part that day, that just wouldn't do! I frantically rolled up and down the streets of Merced, glancing down at my phone for bars. When four bars spiked near a AAA building, I found a shady spot in the employee parking area and set up office.

Another day, it was time to teach a class. I set off that morning again toward Merced, but I remembered that I had noticed four bars of service through random areas where there was nothing but roaming cows through twenty miles of two lane highway and hills. Since the cows had better bandwidth than Starbucks had proven to have, I figured I'd find a patch of grass flat enough to pull off the side of the highway where I could set up office and headed for the cows. Through Snelling, though, I kept better watch on my reception. I discovered four bars appear as I passed a tiny elementary school neighbored by an equally  tiny cemetery. Opting for kids and graves over roaming cows 15 miles out, I pulled onto the dirt in front of the elementary school right off the small two lane road (I figured parking in front of the school was less creepy than in front of the cemetery) and climbed into the back seat with my laptop and jetpack. Such is the life of a roaming virtual teacher!

Lake McSwain was a great treat. We enjoyed the quiet, the calling of cows, and the gobbling of wild turkeys. We chatted with friendly camper neighbors, one of which was another fulltime family. Evelyn played with their grand-daughter until they left a few days before we did. We played in nearby Henderson park, we walked the campground, we enjoyed our backyard-like campsite with pagoda. We sat in quiet watching the reflection of the opposite bank on the calm waters leading to the dam. We listened to the rushing waters of the overflow pouring out over the spillway. It was a true escape, and one we'd never have known to find or take had we not stumbled across it on our Epic Moving Day several days before.

From the shores of Lake McSwain. How many Happy Cows can you see?

Evelyn's birthday arrived while we were at Lake McSwain. We had thrown her big celebration with family and friends back in February before we left on this leg of our adventure, but her Big Day had appeared here at Lake McSwain. We had been out the day before to get her a few things she requested to make her day perfect, and I stayed up late the night before (the only way to do it with two night owl daughters!) and decorated the trailer so she'd have something special to wake up to.

She emerged from her room with a smile on her birthday, parting the streamers I'd hung over her door and taking in the banners overhead, the streamers arching under the slide openings, and gifts waiting on the table. We had cinnamon rolls for breakfast and spent the day blowing bubbles, swinging from the pergola, and swimming in the cold water of Lake McSwain on her "airplane inner tube". Other kids filtered down to the water with their families, a true gift midday on a Wednesday, and Evelyn enjoyed splashing and playing with new friends. We're blessed with this amazing soul-- carefree, friendly, imaginative-- and we can't believe she's five.

Evelyn's birthday was a magical day for a magical child. Kailyn smiled on from her view under the umbrella on the shore.

This lifestyle isn't easy and it's far from traditional, but it's our life and it's our adventure, and that makes it better than any other life imaginable. From big trees, to big rocks, to big personalities, we are living out memories for tomorrow with each small detail. The Central Valley of California was an unexpected retreat, and one we'll carry with us throughout this phase of our life and beyond. The vistas here will inspire us as we paint our future and seek to plant our roots again someday.

For more pictures not included in the cut for this entry: Central Valley Album