This morning, Dad woke me up by throwing my backpack onto my bed. We packed quickly, then got breakfast from the front office. The man there said that our trip to Burney would have been a total waste if we didn’t go check out Burney Falls.

What can I tell you? He knew what he was talking about! The falls were beautiful, tall and white and making a small rainbow in the mist at the bottom.

There was a trail that wound down around, then up over the falls, and we decided to walk it. The only problem was my stupid flip flops. They are perfectly comfortable, but are very slippery. The real problem this time was that the bottoms were made of a sort of foam. I had a small pain in the bottom of my left foot for some time, and when I stopped to see what it was, I realized that a small rock had cut into the bottom of my flip flop, cut all the way up, and was now digging into my foot. Ouch. We pulled it out, though, and all was good.

It was a little bit of a rush to get from there to a small Episcopal church called St. Barnabas, but we were only 15 minutes late. It was a cute little service, with maybe 20 people, and everyone was very friendly, especially during the peace and afterwards, out in a small hall with coffee and snacks.

Everyone we talked to wanted to know where we were from, what we were doing here, and whether we’d been to the place that their brother/sister/cousin/mother/father/great uncle Alfy had been in Connecticut. It was a lot of fun, and they had awesome cookies that seemed to be butterscotch oatmeal. Yes, it does sound disgusting, but they’re awesome.

This little town has half the population of Wolcott, but is bigger than Connecticut. It sits at the base of Mt. Shasta, a huge snow-capped mountain they call a hill. The mountain is beautiful, and you can see it from anywhere around there.

Now I’m sitting in the car again, listening to (ironically) California by Hawk Nelson. We’re headed for Lincoln City, Oregon, out on the coast. It’s about another 200 miles, according to the captain (Mom) and co-captain (Dad). We’ve passed some bizarre lands, short grasses and lakes and pine trees and hills. There’s definitely nothing like this on the east coast.