What's in a name?

I recall that when I was young it seemed that everyone had or used a name other than their given name. My uncles and aunts in particular had different and strange appellations. On my mother's side there were uncles - Beadie (Bill), Muggs (Allen) and Buster (Tony). Mom was Sis. On my father's side there were uncles (in Spanish "titos") - Paco (Frank) and Nino (Manuel) and aunts (in Spanish "titas") - Carmen (never called anything but Carmen), Maizie (Maria), Josie (Josefina) and Babs (Dolores). In fact, we had two tita Carmens, each of whom was married to a tito Frank. One was a Ribera, the other a Perregrina. My maternal grandmother (Mary) was called Maggie by her family. My paternal grandmother (Consuelo) was just 'uelita, which is a close as I could come to abuelita, or little grandmother.



Our family name is not really Ribera, but Rivera. I heard several tales about how that change came about. Here is the one that was most often repeated and is possibly true. Grandpa Ribera, Francisco, who died 10 years before I was born, was a skilled carpenter in Spain. When he first came to the U.S. in 1915 he worked on many of the fine homes in Portola Valley and Hillsborough. To take care of his sizeable family (7 kids) he also worked in the local cement quarry where he contracted lung disease that made him an invalid for the final years of his life. At the quarry they paid the workers in alphabetical order and the story is he changed the spelling of his name so that he would get paid before the other men named Rivera. Well, that's just one story.



Not well known outside the affected families is the manner in which many Spaniards came to California in the early part of the 20th century. Because of the strict quotas on immigration of undesirables from Southern Europe, including Spain and Italy, many rejected the arduous path through Ellis Island and came across the Pacific and through the Hawaiian Islands. At that time Hawaii was a U.S. territory. A family could indenture (contract) themselves to a Hawaiian plantation owner for five years to work in the cane fields. At the end of the indentured period they would (1) be free of their labor commitment and (2) have established residency, which would permit them to relocate to the mainland without going through immigration. I've met many Californians of Spanish ancestry whose families had that same experience.

Silver Lake

Well, we did it again. four days camping, three days fishing and no fish! This time we went to Plasse's Resort on Silver Lake, just south of Kirkwood Ski Resort on Rte 88. Our first time was last year, but earlier, like in June. That time we were near a creek and were harassed by mosquitos. This time we had a nice campsite adjacent to a granite field that gradually sloped upward.



We hadn't noticed when making our reservations that there would be a full moon during our stay. The locals told us that they don't even try to fish during the day when there is a full moon. Apparently the fish are able to dine all night and have no incentive to leave the cooler depths to search for food or foes during the heat of the day.



The Lake had dropped considerably from where it was last year. It was difficult to get in and out of the mooring area because in some places the water was only a foot deep. Fortunately my motor has a "low water" setting that allows me to manuever in water as shallow as 6 inches.



One reason we liked Plasse's the year before was because they have a restaurant that serves breakfast on Saturdays and Sundays. It is so pleasant to sit out on the deck in the early morning and have coffee and breakfast. We were really looking forward to that only to learn that, because the restaurant would be hosting the 159th annual BBQ, breakfast would not be served on Saturday. So, we had to make do with bagels, bananas and instant coffee. We did, however, get breakfast on the patio on Sunday.





Another thing that makes our camping/fishing trips so much fun is the wonderful people we meet out there. The group camping next to us consisted of a mother and four teenage boys. Two were hers and they each had a friend. She cooked everything on a single burner back packing stove! Even Mac and Cheese! Her husband came up on Saturday. He shared with us some apricot distillate that he had made at home. Talk about moonshine! That stuff would remove chrome off a Buick bumper! It did, however, go real well when added to Mike's Hard Lemonade.

Where the Boys Are

Holy cow, Batman, August is almost gone and there were several new posts I had intended to get up that are still in gestation. Let's start with the annual Roberts' Grandkids camping trip. Starting in 2006, Jim and I started taking his daughter Jamie and her two boys, Sam and Jack, along with a friend or friends on a four-day camping and fishing trip. The first year we went to Camanche Lake, near Ione, CA and took one friend. In 2007 we went to Collins Lake, near Marysville, CA and took two friends. This year we went to Lake Don Pedro, and took three friends.



Our regular fishing trips start out at 5:00am, but with a mother and five teen age boys, we found 8:00am to be a more reasonable departure time. The first stop was for breakfast in Oakdale at (naturally) the Oakdale cafe. Lake Don Pedro is only 30 minutes or so out of Oakdale, so we were setting up camp by noon. The granddads, Jim and I, set up the base camp, which includes the kitchen and cook areas. The boys and Jamie set up there camp adjacent to, but at a comfortable distance from ours.



Setting up the old guys sleeping area was very easy as last year we purchased some folding Camptime Roll-O-Cots that are custom made for the pickup truck bed. With the side windows up and good sleeping pads, we were very well set up.

The heat at Don Pedro was in the 100's when we arrived, and took a lot out of me. I could barely breathe and had to constantly rest. When we went to launch the boat around 1:00pm, we stopped the store and bought a six-pack. I took one for the boat and found out later that Jim had finished the carton before he got back to the camp!

The boys are maturing and don't spend much time in camp. There is the lure of the camp stores and the young ladies who hang out there and the swimming lagoon or the lake itself. The surface temperature was in the high 70's.



Jim and I do all the cooking, specializing in large portions of everything. Friday night's dinner was catfish, pork and beans, and and salad. Saturday night was chicken, hashbrowns and salad, and Sunday night was new york steaks, leftover hashbrowns cooked with onions and bell peppers and salad. Jim and I shared a salmon steak because we don't eat red meat and Jamie had a Barco burger because she's a vegetarian.

Every evening the boys came up with some kind of gooey dessert based on marshmallows and Hershey bars. One evening, one of the boys, who has Puerto Rican ancestors, made "banana boats." He slit open the banana skin and inserted some Hershey bar sections then placed the banana on the grate until the chocolate melted.

For entertainment we had our boombox and MP3 players. I think the boys were really surprised when I pulled mine out and even more surprised when they heard the music on my playlist! We tend to favor the pop music of the 50's and 60's, but I also have a respectable selection of Rock and Latin music.

One phenomenon that we experience regularly on these extended (4-day) weekend jaunts, is how quiet it gets on Sunday night after everyone (but us) has left for home. On Sunday night we were all gathered up at the boy's camp sight, having smores and chatting when out the dark came two smokey rangers with flashlights. They said they could hear us up at the Camp Store and we were disturbing the other campers! We mildly complained that there wasn't anyone to disturb and they said we weren't the only ones. They pointed down the hill to where Jim and I were set up (we had left the radio playing low) and said with the confidence that only career law enforcement officers can muster up, when we get through with you we're going to go down and shut them up too! I sheepishly informed them that "them" was also us and trudged down to the camp to shut off the radio.



We relearned an old lesson the hard way. Don't stand up when the boat is moving unless you have something to hang on to. We were docking the boat on the last day and Jim was standing up with the anchor in his hand. I had already dropped the kedge (the anchor that holds the stern off the shore), but dropped it too soon. The nose started to drift and without thinking I put on some power to bring the nose around. Jim wasn't ready (neither was I apparently) and fell into the boat and on the anchor. Fortunately he did not hit anything vital, like an artery, but unfortunately we did not have a first aid kit in the boat. He got a pretty significant gash, that we were able to treat when we got up to the camp. Another plus/minus was when he fell Jim busted my oldest boat seat. As a result I had to buy a new one, and now they all match!