A green Ford Ranchero, a black lab mixed mutt, an ice chest, utensils, and a length of good road.  The perfect recipe for a wonderful day.

My dog Earl and I climb into the back of the Ranchero and settle against the back of the cab.  Earl loves to lean his head over the driver's side.  We drive north out of Ojai up the winding road to and past Wheeler Springs. 

It's beautiful up here.  The trees are so thick they almost cover the road.  You can hear them rustle even over the noise of the wind rushing through your ears in the back of the pick up.  If we slow to let someone pull off into one of the many turn-outs, you can hear water.  It's a wonderful feeling.

At one turnout or another we pull over and climb from the truck.  While mom makes sandwiches or dad grills burgers to put on Francisco sourdough bread, Earl crashes through the wooded areas and I jump through the water from rock to rock trying, but not very hard, not to get wet.

Dad comes to the edge of the water and shows me a pool.  He selects a perfect rock and demonstrates how to perfectly skip a rock across the surface.  I try and fail.  I try again.  He tells me to choose a flatter stone and adjusts how I hold it.  I manage a single skip.  I'm pleased but there isn't time to try again.  Dinner is ready.  Ranch Style beans are hot in their can, the burgers are done, and it's time to smother them in salad dressing (never REAL mayo), mustard, ketchup, and relish.  That's how we eat them.  With relish.

I wade and watch the water skimmers.  Dad lays back on the blanket, hands behind his head, "resting his eyes."  You know, I can't remember what mom did?  She probably cleaned up the mess, put it all in the truck, and then...  I don't know.  What a selfish child I was.  It never even occurred to me to see. Did I ever offer to help?  Did she ever get to put her feet up and rest?  Did she ever sit near the edge of the stream, dangle her feet in the cooling water, and smoke one of her cigarettes in total relaxed bliss?  I hope so. 

When it grew dark, we'd climb back into the Ranchero and work our way back down the hill.  Near the bar in Wheeler Springs, we'd pull over to the side of the road and fill many water jugs with the stream water from a spigot.  I never knew if we went up every time we ran out or not.  I don't think so.  Surely we drank more water than that.  However, once home, it was bedtime.  Usually past bedtime and in a house where bedtime was nearly sacred, this was a big deal.

I slept well those nights.  I slept well most nights but on nights after Wheeler Springs, I slept and dreamt of rustling leaves, skipping rocks, water skimmers, and dragonflies.  Now I dream of them in a different way.  What was once a dream of contentment and appreciation is now a dream of nostalgia and longing.