DURING the last few summers, I've spent a fair amount of time digitizing and archiving my parents' old photos and home movies. This summer is no different.
There are thousands of photos. I had to Photoshop most of 'em. It seems to be an endless project, but, in truth, it's almost finished.
Today, I worked through some old family photographs from 1964, taken on a family vacation to the Central Valley (Fresno!), the Sacramento River (mosquitoes!), Mt. Lassen (a volcano), Lake Tahoe (cold!), and portions of the Sierra Nevada (spectacular!). (I modified these pics to be shown on a blog. To see the raw and unfiltered photos, go here.)
For reasons unknown, my dad decided to bring his father, Otto, along for the trip. And so the six of us—my parents, my sister Annie, my brother Ray, "Opa," and I—headed north in our crummy six-cylinder "green Ford," hauling a trailer. The trailer, it turns out, was just for Opa.
The pic above was taken along Highway 395, probably north of Bridgeport.
Above: at a campfire, somewhere in Northern California. A ranger told us the story of "Falling Rocks." I believed it.
Atop Mt. Lassen, the volcano. That's Mt. Shasta in the distance. I kept asking my dad, "What if the mountain erupts?"
At the time, my dad was a smoker. He gave it up a few months after the trip because he didn't want any of his kids to become smokers.
That's my late brother Ray riding on my dad's shoulders. The kid never stopped squirming.
We became American citizens a year or two after this trip.
The family in Yosemite Valley, of course. In those days, you could drive right in.