A full-scale gallbladder attack is awful. I’ve had two babies and believe me when I say I’d rather be in labor than have a gallbladder attack, and not just because labor nets you a baby and a tax write-off. GB attacks involve intense pain that starts in the middle of your back and wraps around like a steel band giving you a mean, mean hug that doesn’t abate and makes it hard to breathe. Sitting, standing, lying on your back, belly, side, other side, pillow, or dog makes absolutely no difference. And while you feel like your insides are burning/exploding, you’re also nauseous, probably vomiting, and experiencing other unpleasant instincts of expulsion. The reason I’d rather be in labor than suffer a GB attack? Labor contractions are only every 2 minutes or so! Cakewalk! A gallbladder attack will make you beg for 2 minutes of relief, just… two… minutes…. GOD. Also, attacks can last for hours and hours, with no cute babies or adorable tax write-offs at the end.

Take heart though (but not a heart attack, don’t get confused), because the prevention of gallbladder attacks is simple: utter boredom and misery. I’m sorry, I meant to say: a very high fiber, very low-fat diet. I haven’t had dessert in a month. I used to brush my teeth with dessert. I haven’t had cheese in a month, either. If you’ve heard about the dairy industry going belly up lately, it’s because its main buyer was diagnosed as having gallstones. (ME! I’m famous, Ma!) No syrup on my waffle, no butter on my toast, and waffle and toast must be whole grain. I mainline apples now, snack on celery, accessorize everything with flaxseed, and wander the cookie aisle at the grocery store muttering incoherently and frightening customers. I can’t skip meals, but I can’t grab anything at a fast food establishment if I’m out and about without fibrous sustenance. I have to start every day with a mug of hot lemon water to stimulate my bile production, and I love it because lemon goes SO well with toothpaste and that’s just a bunch of giggles right there. If my stones get wily and start to work up an attack, I have to drink apple cider vinegar (telling yourself ‘it’s just salad dressing’ doesn’t work) and an ocean of water and sit propped up on pillows for a half hour or more until order is restored. This is not conducive to my lifestyle, as my toddler lacks the language capacity for me to explain the intricacies of inhibited bile production in the pre-middle-aged mama. As bad as he is about offering sympathy and time to sit still and harness my chi, you should see the 4 month old. I tell her I’m having a gallbladder attack and she just stares at me and poops her pants.

To treat gallstones, the medical world will yank out your whole darn gallbladder (laproscopically, of course) and send you on your way. It’s not something you need to survive, like…say…. your brain, or cheese, or Milky Way bars. It ranks somewhere below your appendix and somewhere above your extra kidney in the cast of ‘ORGANS: Who Needs ‘Em?!’ You’ll likely be fine and can add a little bit of fat and normalcy back into your diet. Or you’ll have chronic diarrhea! Roll the dice. (Or the stones, if you’re twisted.)

Perhaps the worst part about having gallstones, even for a cheese- and sugar-fiend such as myself, is the aforementioned ridiculousness of it all. Gall is “something bitter or severe,” audacity, impudence, effrontery. If you have gallstones, you certainly feel severe bitterness, but without the weightiness of a serious medical condition. If you turn down a slice of cake at a birthday party, but the hostess keeps insisting, you can’t really say, “I can’t- I have gallstones” and receive the same sympathy as something who can’t because they have diabetes, or even the understanding of someone who can’t because they’re trying to lose weight. If you have house guests and you’re experiencing a gallbladder attack, going to lie down in the bedroom isn’t as woeful as closing yourself in to ride out a migraine. What do you say, especially when you’re only 30 years old? “My gallbladder is acting up”? You sound silly, like a sketch comedy character- Hypochondriac Senior Citizen Girl.

To be fair, gallstones shouldn’t be considered the way diabetes and migraines are; they’re largely treatable and attacks are generally avoidable. And frankly, there are people in the world with cancer, Parkinson’s and MS. My chief complaint is that I don’t get to whine about it, and even when I do, I can’t have cheese with my whine. (and I can’t drink as much wine) Though, I’ll admit that it is a tiny bit fun to declare, “I am under attack!!”

So what if I have to keep apple juice boxes in my car in case of emergency and I stash a bottle of vinegar in my glove box? It’s not like I have to instruct my child on how to stab mama with an epi pen in case a tree nut blows by. I’ll probably have my GD GB removed one of these days and tango with those ‘chronic diarrhea’ odds. If I lose out on side-effect roulette and have to maintain a restricted diet, I can at least have a sexier excuse for stuff: “I can’t- you see, I had to have an organ removed and the recovery has been rather difficult.” Place hand to forehead, flutter eyelids, and… scene. I totally have the stones to pull it off.

I know it sounds cliche, but I loved Yosemite and it really is unparalleled. Please go. Oh, and I attempted- nay, executed!- this trip when I was totally out of shape and about 4 months pregnant, and the latter involved insomnia and restless leg syndrome, so don’t tell me you can’t make the Gaylor Lakes climb unless you have a note from your doctor.

Here’s the piece, though I suggest reading it over at the NPM site for the gorgeous pictures.

HIDDEN YOSEMITE

If you’ve visited Yosemite National Park without ever venturing beyond its famous valley, then you’ve sold it short. That’s like traveling to the Louvre Museum in Paris, looking at the Mona Lisa, and immediately leaving without glancing at the other 34,999 works of art. No Venus de Milo, and nothing by Rembrandt or Michelangelo. Your experience would be so limited you could hardly say you’d been there at all. There’s so much more to Yosemite that, frankly, you owe yourself another trip.

I owed myself a trip, period. I love camping, but I’m not hardcore; I just like sitting in a lovely outdoor setting and devouring the marshmallows I’m supposed to be roasting. But, I was ashamed of myself for being a fiercely loyal Californian without a solid knowledge of dear Yosemite, so I bribe

d two pals who’d never been and we began to plan.

We lacked the fitness, equipment, and general chutzpah for the more alternative Yosemite offerings and thus made a simple goal of “not the valley.” We headed straight to the high country in late July, coming from the east over Tioga Pass, through snow-speckled mountains and past mirrored lakes and galloping waterfalls before we even reached the park’s borders. We were scenery-saturated and we’d yet to see what Yosemite officially had to offer.

Take Tuolumne Meadows, for instance. This is the meadowy panorama where Maria von Trapp wishes she could have spun around. All eight-plus miles are as storybook and idyllic as anything one’s dreams of paradise could craft. Yosemite’s signature peaks and domes surround the meadows, but instead of craning our necks to scope their sheer height, we could simply look out in any direction and commit it all to everlasting memory.

The Tuolumne River winds its way through the meadow, and on a day ending in “y” you might see grazing mule deer, industrious pika, sunbathing marmots, and winking wildflowers. Summer thunderheads offered fantasy sunsets, and the scene was so halcyon we wondered what heaven has to offer that Tuolumne doesn’t already have in spades. We (metaphorically) drank in the carbonated water bubbling from the ground at Soda Springs en route to Parsons Memorial Lodge, where we were treated to a visiting storyteller and illustrator. Other visitors might find conservationists, musicians, and writers on hand for an engaging dose of culture in the midst of highly concentrated nature. The historic stone building, with its intimate fireplace, is a cozy welcome once the sun dips behind the mountains and is an amble from the river’s picturesque wooden footbridge. To prove the high country is not just for high-intensity activities, Tuolumne Meadows beckons guests to snooze on its riverbank, picnic on a comfy boulder, or set up an easel and see if they can tear their eyes from the horizon long enough to put paint on the brush. It is both a reprieve for mountain adventurers and a casual adventure for the leisurely set.

We planted ourselves in the Tuolumne Meadows Campground, a 304-site conglomeration of reservations and walk-ins, retirees in RVs, and hikers who slipped in at sundown and vanished before first light. Volunteer Bill gave us the bear talk, and we pledged to keep all temptations hidden away

in the locker; we were safely bear-bare, despite our fish dinner. The campground offers evening campfire programs for fans of singing and storytelling and, on clear nights, star programs for fans of celestial twinkles. Making no attempt to match the food courts, galleries, and shopping of Yosemite Valley, the Tuolumne area boasts a store for when you run out of firewood, a grill for when you tire of trail mix, and a post office for sending your boss a Half Dome postcard announcing that your final paycheck should be directed to “Yosemite Park, Tuolumne Campsite #119.” There’s also a 24-hour gas station and the Yosemite Mountaineering School, which offers rental equipment, classes for all levels of climbers, and private guided climbs.

For a loftier perspective on the surrounding country, consider taking the trail to the uppermost Gaylor Lakes—a moderate, four-mile round-trip hike over 860 feet of elevation change. The forest stones offer natural stairs, so the terrain is easily navigable even where it’s steep. Be sure to turn around periodically for sweeping views of the valley below you, like meadows nestled among the peaks and Mt. Dana and Mt. Gibbs stretching up to shake off any clinging clouds. At the top of the pass we caught our breath, glimpsing the lake below but unsure that anything could possibly compare to what we’d already seen. Descending the hill planted us right at the edge of Middle Gaylor Lake, a dish of mercury ringed by granite crests and fed by a snowmelt stream; a panorama of Yosemite’s western ranges peeked out from the vanishing shoreline. Putting aside the trail and following the stream to Upper Gaylor Lake took us out of time completely; there was no sense of Sunday, or of July. There was only a place empty of footprints and silent but for the occasional sound of snowpack settling under the sun. We munched our crumbled Pop Tarts before embarking on the last stretch of our Gaylor journey: rimming the lake and climbing the last hundred yards to the historic Great Sierra Mine. The ruins of its stone cabins dot the slope, a far cry from the silver riches the mine promised but never delivered.

If the Tuolumne Meadows trail is too mild for you but you’re disinclined to attempt anything involving the words “upper” or “climb,” consider splashing around in Tenaya Lake or taking the path around it. A popular stretch of the Sunrise Lakes trail is a flat, comfortable two miles that briefly requires crossing a shallow slice of Tenaya Creek, but it’s a cinch if you don’t drop your socks in the water. Feeling valiant after our Gaylor success, we promptly abandoned the trail and followed the creek instead, roaming over logs and boulders as we marveled at the rolling hills of granite underfoot. The high country is ideal for exploring glacier movement; it’s easy to envision the centuries of change and the forces at work over time. Tenaya Creek alternately lazes and races over the rocks, forming pools and falls and keeping the scenery from repeating itself. Kayakers and other water-tumbling enthusiasts can revel in the natural slides it forms as it works its way down to the valley, but casual paddlers should stick to the less vigorous lake.

The creek is easy to follow, but there’s just as much exploring to do around it as there is on its banks—keep it in your sight or sound and you’ll not need that trail of breadcrumbs to get back to the lake. The dry land allows for carefree scrambling and bouldering, which generously made us feel cleverer and more sure-footed than we really were. Walking along the huge, rounded expanses of granite feels like trespassing on the backs of slumbering behemoths, but they’re just the bare, sun-baked bones of the Earth, too busy holding California in place to be bothered by enraptured campers. Reunited with the trail, we found a tree that had been hugged by an enthusiastic bear and had lived to love another day; it was a darkly comic reminder that we were hardly the only ones roaming the Yosemite hills. We capped off the afternoon by driving west to Olmsted Point, a lookout offering views of Half Dome that turn positively enthralling under gathering thunderheads and coloring skies.

The high country is imperative for waterfall junkies, and July and August can be just as rewarding as the prime snowmelt season in late spring. Even if you go in a dry spell there are stunning, alternating vistas. Those willing to invest in a 16-mile hike or, for a (literal) change of pace, an all-day horseback ride will reap the payoff of three falls—Tuolumne, California, and LeConte—and the grand prize of Waterwheel. Waterwheel Falls is nature’s way of saying, “Look what I can do!” The exuberant falls carve deep rivets in the granite, creating a dish that sends the plunging water leaping out with so much gumption that it doubles back for another trip. This display of hydro-acrobatics strikes a balance between the heady beauty of nature and the relish of its eccentricity.

When we were finished barely scratching the surface of the Tuolumne Meadows and Tenaya Lake areas, we made our way west to camp in Tamarack Flat. This “first come, first served” campground is accessible only by foot or by rough, unpaved road and claims no flushing toilets or water faucets. Sites have picnic tables, fire pits, and access to Tamarack Creek, so if you’re looking for a slightly rougher camping experience without forgoing all the niceties, this is your place. The vehicle-juggler of an entrance road discourages RVs, so the 52 sites are strictly for the tent types who don’t mind boiling creek water for their morning coffee. The campground is spacious and affords plenty of exploring among surrounding pines and boulders. Had we known the dastardly road we’d braved to get there was historic Old Big Oak Flat Road, we might’ve been more gracious. Ambitious hikers can take the old road, closed to vehicles beyond the campground, all the way from Tamarack Flat to the valley floor, check the Mona Lisa off their list, and head back to the high country for the rest of the Yosemite experience.

I had fulfilled one duty to California and could scarcely forgive myself for waiting so long. I’ve travelled and seen some of the wonders of the world—I’ve even been to the Louvre—but Yosemite had been in my backyard all along and opened itself simply and unfolded magnificently. It created both a resolution and a craving and became a relationship more than a destination.

SIDE TRIP

There aren’t many gas stations you would consider for catering your special occasion, but here’s one for the short list: Tioga Gas Mart and its gem, the Whoa Nellie Deli. This must-stop shop is east of Yosemite National Park in Lee Vining, perched high above Mono Lake along U.S. Route 395 and Highway 120. Sure, you can fuel up your vehicle before the last stretch, but it’s just as useful for an empty belly. A Yosemite-prone friend suggested I stop in for their excellent fish tacos, which I assumed was just a niche thing, but I soon discovered the full menu. The tacos aren’t the niche: the unexpected marriage of gas mart and high-caliber fare is. Take a seat inside or on the lovely lawn to enjoy the views, and if it’s a summer evening, plan to stick around for the concert series. Grab a beer or glass of wine to go with your Wild Buffalo meatloaf, legendary lobster taquitos, or herb-crusted pork tenderloin. Of course, the “legendary” part carries fishing and camping essentials for those headed to Mono Lake or Yosemite, as well as gourmet groceries and souvenir merchandise. It’s rare to find an establishment with a fan base equal parts local and far-flung, but the Tioga Gas Mart, with the Whoa Nellie Deli tucked inside, has earned its fame for being altogether unique, necessary, and excellent.

For more of the untraditional, take U.S. Route 395 about 23 miles north of Lee Vining to Bodie State Historic Park. This ghost town, abandoned after the mining gave out, is preserved in a state of arrested decay. It is so thoroughly trapped in time that the park doesn’t offer modern amenities like food or gasoline, and the only flush toilet facilities are in the parking lot. The interiors of the buildings remain untouched—dust accumulates on stocked market shelves, church pews, and the saloon bar top. There’s a three-mile unpaved road to get to Bodie, so it’s best to leave your new Corvette at home. High-elevation weather can block access in the winter, but if you can get there your visit will provide a historical perspective hard to find in the shiny, speedy sphere of the here and now. Bring $7 for park admittance for yourself and $5 for children ages 6 to 16; pack snacks and water, and warn any faint-hearted companions that there’s a reason it’s called a ghost town.

Whether you’re wearing your life’s possessions on your back or storing two of everything in the neatly lined cupboards of your RV, there are a few musts for all visitors to Yosemite’s high country. If you intend to bypass the valley and arrive via the Tioga Pass entrance, you can fly into the Mammoth Yosemite Airport (weather permitting) or the Reno-Tahoe Airport, three- and four-hour drives from the park. Research opening and closing dates in advance, because unlike the ever-available valley, the high country is subject to snow. If you don’t want to travel with your own roof, book a stay in one of the canvas tents at the Tuolumne Meadows Lodge or in a cabin at White Wolf Lodge. Committed hikers can head for the six remote High Sierra Camps, with their tent cabins and dormitory-style beds. Those carrying (or driving) their accommodations prefer the sites at Tuolumne Meadows Campground. Summer trips should include your choice of mosquito repellant: all the DEET products you can pack, or alternatives like Picaridin or lemon eucalyptus. Wear loose, light-colored long sleeves and pants, and if you really can’t stand the suckers, bring a mosquito net enclosure for your picnic table. Visiting when water is abundant makes for spectacular waterfalls, but the price is a particularly happy population of mosquitoes; preparation will make it a nonissue for you, or at least an expected issue. Warm-weather visitors shouldn’t discount the altitude and its nighttime temps, especially when tent camping. Plan for warm sleeping layers and a toasty, polypro sleeping bag. Because the high country is so much closer to Yosemite’s mountains, you’ll be glad you packed your binoculars and zoom lens; they’ll close the last little bit of distance and afford some choice wildlife watching that those with mere eyeballs won’t be able to claim. The Tuolumne Meadows store accepts credit and debit payments, but only with the relic of a sliding carbon copy machine. Having cash on hand will save everyone time and buy you some good karma. Pack a journal or a voice recorder to keep track of what you did and saw and how you felt about it, because after just a week back at home, you’ll start to think your memory is exaggerating. Artists should bring the tools of their medium, readers and history buffs should tote John Muir’s My First Summer in the Sierra, and everyone should prepare an appropriate playlist for when they drive through Tioga Pass to greet or bid farewell to the worthy icon known as Yosemite National Park.

TRAVEL ESSENTIALS

Whether you’re wearing your life’s possessions on your back or storing two of everything in the neatly lined cupboards of your RV, there are a few musts for all visitors to Yosemite’s high country. If you intend to bypass the valley and arrive via the Tioga Pass entrance, you can fly into the Mammoth Yosemite Airport (weather permitting) or the Reno-Tahoe Airport, three- and four-hour drives from the park. Research opening and closing dates in advance, because unlike the ever-available valley, the high country is subject to snow. If you don’t want to travel with your own roof, book a stay in one of the canvas tents at the Tuolumne Meadows Lodge or in a cabin at White Wolf Lodge. Committed hikers can head for the six remote High Sierra Camps, with their tent cabins and dormitory-style beds. Those carrying (or driving) their accommodations prefer the sites at Tuolumne Meadows Campground. Summer trips should include your choice of mosquito repellant: all the DEET products you can pack, or alternatives like Picaridin or lemon eucalyptus. Wear loose, light-colored long sleeves and pants, and if you really can’t stand the suckers, bring a mosquito net enclosure for your picnic table. Visiting when water is abundant makes for spectacular waterfalls, but the price is a particularly happy population of mosquitoes; preparation will make it a nonissue for you, or at least an expected issue. Warm-weather visitors shouldn’t discount the altitude and its nighttime temps, especially when tent camping. Plan for warm sleeping layers and a toasty, polypro sleeping bag. Because the high country is so much closer to Yosemite’s mountains, you’ll be glad you packed your binoculars and zoom lens; they’ll close the last little bit of distance and afford some choice wildlife watching that those with mere eyeballs won’t be able to claim. The Tuolumne Meadows store accepts credit and debit payments, but only with the relic of a sliding carbon copy machine. Having cash on hand will save everyone time and buy you some good karma. Pack a journal or a voice recorder to keep track of what you did and saw and how you felt about it, because after just a week back at home, you’ll start to think your memory is exaggerating. Artists should bring the tools of their medium, readers and history buffs should tote John Muir’s My First Summer in the Sierra, and everyone should prepare an appropriate playlist for when they drive through Tioga Pass to greet or bid farewell to the worthy icon known as Yosemite National Park.

According to Henry Ford, “anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty.” Simpson University has always been a young person’s campus, but now its youth is based on more than its years.

Dr. Glenn Schaefer, an Old Testament professor at the Redding institution, is launching ‘Simpson University for Seniors’ in an effort to encourage “interactive, life-long learning in a university setting.” The program offers month-long courses that are open to the 50+ public and meet thrice weekly.

Courses are held on the Simpson campus and run concurrent with regular university semesters, but the classes are reserved strictly for the Senior program- no jostling 19 year olds to get the desk by the window! The courses are not-for-credit, and are designed to enhance students’ joy of learning in an authentic university experience. In other words, no homework, no tests and no grades: the pressure-free way of schooling you fantasized about in the wee hours of every all-nighter and cram session.

Inviting seniors to join the ranks of academia is popular at institutions worldwide. Schaefer observed similar programs working to great effect at other schools, and felt that Shasta County’s active retirement community would be an ideal pool to draw from. “If you don’t keep your mind active [as you age], you get atrophied,” Schaefer observes, and he feels the senior community has too much to offer to leave them out of the Simpson family. After an interest survey distributed last spring garnered over 200 positive responses, Schaefer began to craft the program.

He knew daytime classes would be necessary since many seniors aren’t able or willing to get out in the evenings, but Simpson’s busy campus had few classrooms to spare. Schaefer soon realized that the school’s heritage held the answer: chapel time. For three hours a week the classrooms are deserted as students attend mandatory chapel services, which gave Schaefer his pick of the most accessible rooms near elevators, wheelchair ramps and restrooms. Additionally, designing the courses to be recreational instead of for-credit kept the registration cost down and meant senior students wouldn’t have to juggle traditional admissions requirements.

Responses from the interest survey helped him identify what would be the most popular areas of study, though the enthusiasm of those surveyed demonstrated that just about any course-from Hairdressing to the Holocaust- would guarantee a full classroom! Hoping to strike a balance among the areas of interest while maintaining Simpson’s academic identity, Schaefer began seeking instructors for the more popular and plausible courses. (SU’s facilities aren’t quite equipped to instruct students on the finer points of hairdressing.) Drawing from a pool of current and retired SU professors as well as local experts, he soon had eight instructors for eleven courses to spread over the coming fall and spring semesters. “When these [instructors] come on we treat them as contractors,” Schaefer explains, which keeps costs down and allows them to develop their course and teach in their best style, free of the requirements of accreditation overseers. “I wanted this to be as easy as possible for everyone.”

Each course runs Monday-Wednesday-Friday, 10:20-11:20 am, for one month and costs $95 per student, or $145 per couple if enrolled in the same course. September’s offering is ‘Journey to the Biblical World: the Bible’s customs and cultures’ while October’s course, one of the more popular requests from those surveyed, is ‘Fire and Ice: An overview of the geography and geology of Northern California’. In November students can go ‘Beyond the Wardrobe’ and study the life and work of author C. S. Lewis.

There are twice as many courses scheduled for the Spring semester: Simpson furthers its academic clout with courses such as ‘Bonhoeffer and the Holocaust’ and ‘The Protestant Reformation’ while tackling the localized interests of the community through the courses ‘Shasta County History 101’, ‘Taking the Mystery out of the Internet’ and ‘Life Through the Lens’, which helps students improve their digital and film photography skills. Plans are already underway for an art course for the 2011-2012 school year.

Schaefer is encouraged by the amount of interest expressed in the program and began receiving student registrations months ago. “People are coming from all over Redding- but we still have plenty of room,” he promises. With funding for similar programs being cut from state-run institutions, he sees ‘SU for Seniors’ as a public service. “My goal is to keep people active without the fear of failure.”

The student face of Simpson University might look more…distinguished this fall, but you could hardly call it old.

Simpson University for Seniors
2211 College View Drive
Redding, CA 96003
530-224-5600
www.simpsonu.edu/SUseniors

Your kids already love catching bugs, playing in the water, and tying endless knots in any string, shoelace, or knitting yarn available, why not channel all that energy (and get a week to yourself!) by sending them to FishCamp?

FishCamp is a fun, outdoor week of hiking, games, and fly fishing instruction designed to teach 10-15 year olds everything they’ll need to know to enjoy a healthy, lifelong hobby. Campers stay at the beautiful Antelope Creek Ranch, owned and operated by The Fly Shop. There are three kids’ FishCamps every summer, wherein campers learn fly tying, knots, basic entomology and what fish eat, reading the water, safe wading techniques, catch and release, leave-no-trace, and other related skills. There are classic camp requisites, too: contests, games and campfire stories such as the playfully ominous, “Legend of the Man in Waders”.

“The whole premise behind FishCamp is to welcome new generations the joys of fly fishing and the outdoors,” explains FishCamp Director Michael Caranci. “During the week we learn as much as we can about fly fishing and enjoy being outside.” All equipment is provided, and campers needn’t have any prior fly fishing experience. Caranci, ever the teacher, believes, “inexperienced campers are perfect because they don’t have any bad habits yet.”

FishCamp began in 1998 at the Bailey Creek Ranch in Manton before moving to the 328-acre Antelope Creek Ranch, northeast of Mt. Shasta. For Caranci, that there are no rattlesnakes, poison oak or mountain lions means campers are free to safely focus on scouring the creek for the best bug bait and perfecting their cast.

The ranch provides more than just scenery: there are fish in abundance, so campers triumph from careful application of their counselors’ instruction. “We’ve had numerous kids whose first fish taped out at 30 inches or more,” Caranci explains. “That’s a benchmark that some people try to reach their whole lives.”

For perspective, consider the excitement of catching a two and half foot long fish- maybe within hours of learning how to cast- when you’re only about four and half feet tall yourself. It’s not hard to understand why Caranci and his staff love what they do. “The best part is seeing the smiles on the kids’ faces when they make a good cast or catch a fish. Some of these kids never get outside the city, so for them to come up and spend a week in a wilderness environment and enjoy that…watching them look at the stars up there…it’s just amazing. That’s the reward, their reactions.”

FishCamp is a foolproof experience for all involved. When pressed, the only execution challenge Caranci could name was finding and transporting all the necessary groceries. There have been few alterations from the formula established 13 years ago, and the only significant change has been positive: the ever-increasing amount of female campers. “There have even been camps in [recent] summers where we’ve had more girls than boys,” Caranci recalls, “it’s getting really popular among young ladies.”

There are no plans for major expansion, and for good reason; Caranci’s staff focus on quality instruction and don’t want campers to get lost in a crowd. The camps max out at 16 kids per week to guarantee a one to four ratio of instructors to students.

“I just want to keep doing what we’re doing,” Caranci says. “If we were to expand anything it would be our scholarship program. We do a dozen or more every year and that’s just so important.” Annually, 25% of campers attend FishCamp on scholarship, which amounts to $9,000 in donations. Scholarship opportunities come through local fly fishing clubs, such as the Shasta Trinity Fly Fishers and the Shasta Mayflies, and national clubs like the Golden West Women Flyfishers. The Fly Shop hosts several scholarships each year in conjunction with the Fly Fishing & Tying Journal and several individual donors contribute funds. “We’re constantly looking for more sponsors,” Caranci explains.

FishCamp also receives product donation support from individuals and companies within the fly fishing industry, which allows them to give away choice prizes. Caranci has often been able to gift valuable rods and reels to campers.

For interested fishers outside the 10-15 year old age range, The Fly Shop offers family camps and welcomes all varieties of families. “Every combination: mothers and sons, grandma and grandpa, cousins and uncles- we’ve seen it all,” recalls Caranci. There is also a week of advanced camp for kids who have already mastered the basics.

Sure, your kids might come back from camp telling you more than you ever wanted to know about what makes certain bugs so tasty, but if the payoff is their newfound hobby and love of the outdoors, it’s worth it. Think of it this way: you helped them learn to fly.

FishCamp & The Fly Shop
www.theflyshop.com
800-669-3474

To speak with Anne Peterson about the Women’s Fund is to be ignited by her earnestness. She is so passionate about making systemic changes in the community that in moments, all pessimism and discouragement seems absurd. Really, any member of the cabinet could communicate the spirit of the effort as effectively. The Women’s Fund of the Shasta Regional Community Foundation exists to mobilize the power of women through philanthropy, but a simple ‘what is it’ question evokes a far more layered answer.

“It is a fund, and it is people,” explains Peterson, chair of the Fund. “The idea is that you come together and pool your money in order to have a greater impact than an individual could have on their own.”

The Women’s Fund is a grant-making organization comprised of Advocates, who contribute a $200 annual membership fee, and Architects, who contribute $1,000 annually. Membership is made up of men and women from all generations and backgrounds with the common goal of empowering women in the Redding area.

Throughout the year, the Fund hosts educational forums in varying topics relating to the particular struggles of north state women. The public forums are frequently attended to the point of standing room only. Out of these endeavors, members discuss and vote on an area of grant making for the year. The 2010 vote will choose whether to offer grants in the area of helping women gain skills for economic independence, develop healthy lifestyles, or break the cycles of poverty. Once the choice is made, local organizations whose goals fall within the focus area submit proposals, which are then reviewed by the grant committee. There is a great deal of research done in order for the Fund to remain accountable to its members. Finally, financial gifts are distributed as the committee sees fit and the community benefits. As Peterson sees it, “it’s a good bang for your buck!”

The concept of a Women’s Fund is not new; this particular structure is at least 30 years old and there are thousands of incarnations all over the country, though each Women’s Fund is self-contained. All the money is raised locally and granted locally. A benefit to this structure, according to Peterson, is that “it allows a closer relationship to one’s philanthropy than just writing a check.”

The idea for a local Women’s Fund began germinating in 2008, and as conversations became collaborations and then commitments, ten expressly different women with varying backgrounds recognized themselves as a cabinet with a shared purpose.

“We knew [the Women’s Fund] would be a good fit for Redding because we’re not a wealthy community, but we’re a very generous community,” explains Peterson. The Fund went public last October and now claims 60 members. The founders were overwhelmed by the response of many who gave so generously.
It’s important to them that people understand the Women’s Fund is not an elitist organization. This isn’t the clichéd, old money philanthropic club: the Fund makes every effort to be as inclusive as possible in order to encourage more giving. Similarly, it strives to assist other established charities rather than compete against them for what precious generosity the community can afford to give.

“One of the beauties is that you have the choice to be involved as much or as little as you want,” encourages Peterson. Theirs is an organization unburdened by a packed calendar and the stresses of constant fundraising; the amount of members is the direct source of the amount of funds. Outside of the optional forums, members meet once a year to honor the grant recipients.

The success of the forums, where experts address topics from poverty cycles to cultural shifts affecting the lives of girls, has demonstrated a genuine hunger for information. Though one purpose of the forums is to inform the decision of the Fund’s grant making committee, they also offer attendees counsel on how to improve the lives of women. “The forums teach us what variables can be changed [and provide] good, take-away, practical information,” Peterson says.
For those without a regular charity outlet, or for those looking to offer a little more, the Women’s Fund is hopeful people will understand how welcome they are to participate. As their literature explains, “conditions for women dictate the health of a community.”

Anyone interested in becoming a member of the Women’s Fund must do so by March 31^st in order to participate in the 2010 grant making vote. All are welcome and encouraged to attend the free public forums.

The north state exceeds the national average in teen births, has fewer college-educated women than average, and registers high rates of child abuse, domestic violence, and unemployment, but as the Women’s Fund reminds us, “change happens when those closest to the problem are engaged in the solution.”

The Women’s Fund of the Shasta Regional Community Foundation
1335 Arboretum Drive, Suite B, Redding
530-244-1219
www.shastarcf.org

Catalyst Redding Young Professionals should be a failure. It takes an indeterminate number of “the MTV generation”, puts them in mostly-unofficial committees, offers no funding, and tells them to enrich their community. Yet the group has contributed over $26,000 to local charities through 23 events in 11 months, not including monthly business meetings, socials, and weekly soccer games. Their method of defying the odds and shirking notions of feckless 20- or 30-somethings is simple: they wanted to do something positive, tried it out, and succeeded (repeatedly).

Catalyst’s mission is to provide an opportunity for young professionals in Redding to meet, learn and be inspired; help create, promote and stimulate new and existing culture; help nurture a youthful energy and have fun with each other while doing it. Facilitators Ashley Wagar and Chris Haedrich describe the group’s origin as ‘exploratory’. In March 2010, they gathered likeminded friends, emailed some acquaintances, and met at C.R. Gibbs to determine whether they were crazy, or crazy like a fox. Were they were realizing a legitimate void or just over-thinking their individual frustrations? “That meeting was to throw it out there and say, ‘is this something Redding needs?’” Wagar recalls. The overwhelming response was affirmative, and energy quickly became effort. Haedrich credits the momentum to members desiring a social and cultural landscape akin to what they witnessed in larger cities. Since that meeting, Catalyst has staged music, film and art events as well as quarterly breakfasts designed to motivate professionals. Its members have assisted benefits for Riverfront Playhouse, Shasta Women’s Refuge, and the North State Symphony. Their efforts raised almost $4,000 for the Turtle Bay Exploration Park through just three live music events and the Telluride and Banff film tours netted over $17,000.

The membership requirements are bare. There are no attendance conditions, no applications, no dues; members control their involvement. “It works well because many young professionals are focusing on their career, [raising] a family, or pursuing education,” Haedrich explains. “Everybody has different schedules, goals and commitment levels. That’s the niche: allowing young people to get involved in the community as much or as little as they want.” This flex method has worked so well that one challenge is managing the rapid growth and helping members realize their individual vision. When new members sign up weekly and you average two commitments every month, quality control becomes an issue. “We created a process where we help people think through their idea,” Wagar explains. “We try to figure out how to give someone the right tools to create an event and be successful.”

Catalyst has thrived at raising money precisely because it has none of its own. “We wanted to keep the power away from any one person or committee, so everybody has the opportunity to come and mold Redding,” says Haedrich. Less money requires more effort from the membership. “We’re very grassroots because there aren’t a lot of funds,” Wagar explains. “We do what we can with limited resources.” More legwork means more planning, more communication, and, as it turns out, more fun. Catalyst has been remarkably rewarding as a social hub for its members. The 50 or so active members work uncommonly well together and regularly socialize outside of official events.

The group’s affection for its city is another driving force behind its success. “We recognize that great culture exists in Redding,” Haedrich says. “We’re not trying to change it, we’re trying to add to it and help get the other events out there.” Nor is it out to compete with other likeminded groups; Catalyst endeavors for collaborative philanthropy as often as possible. The long-term goal is basic: fill a need as long as there is one. “It’s up to Redding, really,” Haedrich explains. “We’re not going to force anything that isn’t needed. Redding has to want it.”

If you indeed want it, Catalyst is always looking for event sponsors, and of course, attendees. “People see the name ‘Catalyst Young Professionals’ and don’t realize that these events are for more than just young people,” Wagar explains. “We happen to be young, but the events are for everyone.” Haedrich agrees: “we’re looking for our first centenarian attendee.” No doubt they’ll succeed at that, too.

Catalyst Redding Young Professionals
www.ReddingCatalyst.com

I was scarcely out of high school when my bridesmaid career began. For my first day of work I wore floor length lavender, and the bride was about as pregnant as they come. You should know that I look terrible in lavender or anything remotely palely floral. She had been my childhood bestie, a bosom buddy because our parents were long time friends. When you’re a child you have everything in common because you have everything left to try out- an endless supply of identities to zip up and walk around in before you find them too itchy, too bunchy, too…too and you toss them off and run to the next, chasing or being chased by your dear Other, playmate of your heart. Life bore down on my friend while it shone softly on me: her family moved to the isolated, ramshackle outskirts, where boys tend stretch while girls shrink and close, and then her parents got tired of trying for each other, and went their separate ways.

Mom and kids moved to a town apartment, high school began, and my friend pulled on a hard shell and decided it was best. She chose other armadillo friends, ones that would not leave the ground, did not belong anywhere lush, who moved slow and could not be hurt. I was still playing dress up, and her chosen self was intimidating and sad, so we wandered in increasingly divergent directions. She had disappointed me, choosing the way she did, but I didn’t know that at the time. I just knew hers was not for me, and I felt guilt and avoided the guilt by avoiding her. By the time she got engaged, we were in the barest of contact, but she called me and asked me to be her maid of honor. I would learn that her other, closer friends, were even harder-shelled than she, and were covered in mostly self-inflicted scars. I think she wanted me as a talisman for her marriage- a representation of purity and potential while being an embodiment of innocent, childlike devotion. She was ashamed of her friends, maybe they realized it when they met me, and it made me embarrassed.

I was out of place at the shower (her mom handled all of the official maid-of-honor duties, I being away at college the time), and I didn’t know what to do at the wedding besides stand and smile. When the other bridesmaids stopped for cigarette breaks or to shout at their small children, I stood quietly and awkwardly. I left the reception before it was over, while my friend and her new husband were opening their gifts- I think I may have lied and told her I had to catch my flight back to school- and we’ve only spoken thrice in the 10 years since, two of those instances being chance encounters. I left early because I didn’t want the burden of upholding her past identity, of being under the spotlight as the best friend simply because I used to be. The guilt I felt for no longer being thus, even if I was only half responsible for our parting, was uncomfortable. Her desperate attempt to embrace these friends, the husband, this future was hard to watch, so I didn’t. I left.

There were other weddings after that, and other adornments of varying appeal: an iridescent, sea foam green, two piece ball gown with jeweled straps that my college roommate bride was delighted to present (with a straight face, no less) as something I could wear again in a formal setting. A kicky lime-colored raw silk skirt that cruelly threatened to show dark pools of sweat if it touched my thighs as I stood in the sun. A pale rose (see above) wisp of a dress that stopped at my knees so everyone could see the giant red Amazonian Mosquito bite on my sallow shin. A strapless linen, chocolate brown sundress that I had to order big and trim down for my sorry excuse for a bust in order to keep it from sliding off me, and of course, the next venture into maid of honor territory, the black satin encasement.

Another childhood friend, this one I was at least still in regular social contact with. This one, though, hadn’t made her own college friends. She still gloried in halcyon days of high school revelry (she was marrying her high school sweetheart), still upheld these as the friendships that really were the stuff of soul-knitting. There was guilt, again, that I didn’t regard as my maid of maids, that when I would get married a few years later I wouldn’t have in my party, that I didn’t want the responsibility of her bridal festivities, much less her devotion. I didn’t see in myself what she saw in me, which made me uncomfortable, and then angry at her for making me feel thusly. And it just got worse: because I was maid of honor, my dress would be SPECIAL and have a few feet of train dramatically swirling ’round my ankles. She gives love in so many ways, this one, and it’s hard to keep up, which perpetuates everything.

The wedding would be in the summer, outside, by the river. Rather than a cool breeze coming from the moving water, there was moisture swirling in the oppressive heat. In case you’re unfamiliar, satin is a very bitchy fabric. It does not give an inch. It does not breathe or drape. It restrains. And it was black, and the skirt went up to what the pattern swore was my natural waist but was really my ribs, and it was a mermaid cut, which meant my knees would touch always always always. The necklace she chose was a beaded black choker that was only barely big enough for me, so choke it did- it was all supposed to be very formal, but it was- to my body- terrifyingly constrictive, not to mention sweaty. The height of the formality only amplified my contrasting grumpy disinterest. My friend vowed to serve and submit to her groom while he vowed to lead her. I glowered into my fuchsia flowers, feeling how undeserving he was, I was, we all were for her affection and light; we were apt in stiff black satin in chokers while she was in sparkling white confection, and she had no idea.

Clearly, I have trouble accepting exalted titles. It’s hard to commit to your own low self-esteem when a beloved or once-treasured friend insists on thrusting a mantle of greatness upon you. An uncomfortable, fancy costume certainly doesn’t help the situation. The next time someone asks me to be her honorable maid, I will say, “friend, I respect your regard for me but would much rather be your extremely old flower girl, chosen only for her good behavior and petal distribution and without the responsibility of anything but cute shoes and blond hair.” If we really are friends, she will understand.

Intending to do all of the nursery artwork myself, I considered my strengths. I’m quite handy with an abstracted zoo animal, but I worried that would warrant jungle and safari themes, which are not the most egregious, but some well-meaning people don’t know when or where to stop and I didn’t want the poor boy receiving jungle gifts for his college graduation. I needed something that was not already in the zeitgeist so it would be hard to find and therefore hard to mess up or overdo. Granted, this would mean it would also be hard for people to get right, but I didn’t want ‘all x all the time’ anyway; I was perfectly content in being the sole provider of the chosen theme. Then it came to me, and it came from Anthropologie. My friend received a gift card for her birthday, and the card came housed in a coin-purse sized monster. It was odd, creative, and actually quite cute, and I had my theme. 

Cut to my grandmother, who is a better seamstress than all the other grandmothers you know. She wanted to help with the nursery so I tasked her with bedding and picked out a funky spotted print. She then made me pick out a different fabric to go on the inside of the crib because she feared my child would go cross-eyed having to look at the funky spots so much. She was completely serious. I obliged and told her the theme was monsters. “Monsters?” Yes, and I showed her the anthromonster. “But not scary monsters, right?” (She would be the first of many who, upon hearing my idea, needed to make sure I had two brain cells to rub together so as not put giant, fanged terrors over my infant’s bed. (Deep breath.)) I said, “no, only cute monsters,” and left her to her assignment. I had no idea what she would do with the theme, but knew the quality would be impeccable. I worried that she wouldn’t be able to connect with the oddball part of it, that I would get Barney instead of the Where The Wild Things Are/Pixar/pseudo Asian hybrid i had in mind. She was, after all, a granny. An 80 year old retired elementary school teacher and seamstress, Reader’s Digest target consumer, and lover of the Bonnie Hunt show and America’s Funniest Videos. I was worried.

Needlessly, it seems. I forgot that my grandmother was not just a generic sweet-little-old-lady, but also the creator of my mother, who created me. Oddball creativity doesn’t just show up in someone, it germinates out of generations where it may lie latent, hidden under the doldrums of schoolteaching and greatest generationing type war-winning and baby-booming. My grandma had funk. It just needed to be asked for. She created a handful of monsters, some she discarded for not achieving her standards of cute or quirky. She even questioned whether one was funky enough, which I immediately texted my siblings about, because I don’t think I’d ever actually used the word ‘funky’ in explaining my vision to her. It’s funny when you hear your Bible-reading grandmother say, in total seriousness, ‘I’m just worried that it’s not funky enough.’ My grandma has intensely high standards for anything she crafts, so she really was concerned. I assured her, through my glee, that the particular monster was perfect. And it was. All of them were. I love my grandma and I’m proud of her being able to dial up the quirk for my son and I. I learned to trust her artistry, and as it turned out, everyone else grasped my monster theme and we received many handmade gifts adorned with marvelous monsters. Had I chosen Elmo or Pooh, I doubt those people would’ve been as inspired to create instead of just purchase. I suppose the monster moral of the story is to not just get out of the box, but to invite others to join you.

There’s a familiar archetype- the person who opens their atlas or spins their globe and plants their finger, declaring site unseen that this will be their destination, come what may. You might, in the doldrums of daily life, convince yourself that such fabled wanderers are just a myth, but take heart: they’re out there, and they’re changing the world.
Kevin Citta is going to journey to a city he’s never seen because, as he puts it, “I keep hearing wonderful things about [it].” It’s on the other side of the continent, and he’s going by bicycle.
Citta, 31, will cycle over the course of three months and 4,000 miles, but he’s no mere vagabond: Citta’s a philanthropist. “Biking For Wishes is to raise funds and awareness for the Make-A-Wish Foundation,” he explains. “I’ll be riding my bicycle solo from Weed to Asheville, North Carolina beginning on June 1st. Along the way I’ll be speaking with people and the press about Make-A-Wish as well as accepting donations for them.”
Citta grew up in Wisconsin where his grandfather repaired and sold bikes out of his yard. Once he got out of Grandpa’s yard, there was no turning back. “I’ve biked all over Wisconsin,” Citta says. “I’ve also biked through the Black Hills of South Dakota and […] Smoky Mountain National Park. In 2009 I rode from Sheboygan, Wisconsin to Crescent City, California- Lake Michigan to the redwoods! That trip was called Quest West and I raised $2,100 through fundraising efforts.”
Ask how he came to call Weed home and you start to notice a theme: he heard nice things about it and “decided to take a chance” after reading an article about the Mt. Shasta Brewing Company. Citta has worked for the brewery since moving to California 2009. The hometown brewer is a big part of his endeavor; every first Thursday through September the Weed Arts Council will be holding “Pickin’ For Wishes” at the brewery to help benefit Biking For Wishes and Make-A-Wish. Fans of beer, music and wishing are encouraged to attend.
Biking for Wishes has a simple formula: Citta loves to travel and cycle and wanted to help others. It was just a matter of choosing which direction to focus his efforts. “I thought about organizations that needed help, whether it be for the Earth, animals or people,” he explains. Eventually, he decided: “the youth […] are the future. Many of the children benefited by Make-A-Wish don’t get the opportunity to do things like ride a bicycle across the country. I love what Make-A-Wish does to bring joy to not only the kids but their families during very tough, stressful times.”
Naturally, an explorer like Citta doesn’t subscribe to the ‘straight course from A to B’ system of navigation. For him, the only way from northern California to North Carolina is through the Grand Canyon. “I’ll pass through Lassen, Lake Tahoe, Yosemite, Sequoia and other amazing places. From Death Valley I’ll head to Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, and across northern Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee, and into North Carolina,” Citta explains. “It’s not a direct route but includes places I’d like to visit and explore.” Burley Trailers, the Weed Arts Council and Chamber of Commerce, Mt. Shasta Brewing Company, Hop Tech and others are sponsoring his effort. Citta, unsurprisingly, is excited about “the unknown,” and, ever the cyclist, not looking forward to bad weather and head winds. He plans to film the trip and his brother Matt will handle sound and editing at Twisted Arms Studio in Milwaukee.
Citta’s intentions prove that adventure need not be all self-centered thrill seeking. “I thought I should really help others if I’m getting to do what I love,” he says. He hopes people will follow his journey online and that as many who are able will donate to Make-A-Wish. “They can also help by spreading the word and getting more people involved. Every little bit helps!”
Citta may also inspire others to spin their globes for a worthy cause and take up the mantle of the philanthropic adventurer. Myth: busted.

Biking for Wishes
www.kevincitta.blogspot.com
facebook.com/bikingforwishes
kevincitta@gmail.com