I have a confession to make. I still call my dad “Daddy.” Yeah, it may be weird for someone who is closer to 40 than she is to 10 to call her father “daddy” still, but it’s just an indicator of how much I love and respect him. Before I met J, my dad was the person who understood me better than most. I think his understanding of me was only rivaled by two friends: Sarah in Virginia and Nancy from California.

I share a lot of interests and personality tweaks with my dad, even though he’s very much an introvert and I’m very much, well, NOT. I’m not nearly as level-headed or logical as he is, but there are still a lot of similarities. Funny that I can’t think of any vital ones right now. 😛

One of the big ones being that we both love mountains, and the wide expanses of the lesser-populated areas of California. Bonus if there’s snow.

These pictures were taken as we drove home from Tahoe, along Hwy. 80.

This looks like a picture my dad could have taken on one of his many, legendary-to-the-family backpacking trips in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. As he tells it, he would go out with his brother and dad for two weeks, with only, what was it, four days worth (?) of canned food in their packs. They would rely on their fishing and foraging skills to survive. One year, he and his brother and another backpacker (not his dad but I forget who) hiked from the Western side of the Sierras to the Eastern side, and ended up in Bishop, CA. Once they hit Bishop, they promptly bought a loaf of sheepherder’s bread from Schatt’s Bakery which they inhaled.

Joel brought this loaf back for me on one of his almost-annual trips to Bishop. He drives, and I don’t think I’d want him to take the long backpacking trip over those mountains.

Some more pictures which remind me of my dad:

Dad lives in Redding, and sees Mounts Shasta (above)
and Lassen from his office windows.

My dad loves to fish, and when I was in Washington State two years ago,
I had the privilege of seeing this bald eagle fishing.