Degu-Go-Round

In the early days my parents took us camping in Big Basin State Park. My siblings (Maple Sugar, Jay, Celery, J.J.) and I would pile into the gold family station wagon we named "Wheezer" (after the letters "WZR" on the license plates) for the ninety minute drive. We sat in Wheezer's back seats breathing in carbon monoxide and listening to my parents argue about which antique shop to visit as we wound up Hiway 9. We fought our smoldering car-sickness by rolling down the windows and watching the scenery fly by: the little hamlets of Felton, Ben Lomond and Boulder Creek, the artisan shops, the signs painted on burls pointing the way to Christian camps, the bearded fellows with Woolrich shirts and heavy belt buckles repairing their pick-up trucks.

Big Basin State Park, nestled in the Santa Cruz mountains, boasted some nice hikes, especially the 10 mile loop to Berry Creek Falls. The first half of this trail coursed through shaded and ferned redwood forests where your voice seemed to echo against the canopy. We ran up and down the sine-waved trail and pretended we were on roller coasters. In the afternoon we tackled the last half of the trail which cut across exposed hillsides covered with squat madrone trees, whose sunburned bark crackled and curled in the baking sun. Except for the crescendo and decresendo of insects buzzing past our ears, as well as our incessant complaining about hot and tired we were, it was quiet and still.

Back at our campsite we felt much better after rehydrating and eating hot dogs and macaroni and cheese for dinner. We welcomed the coolness of dusk by chasing each other and inventing games in our campsite. On one evening we pretended we were giant degus.

What is a degu, you ask? (pronounced day-goo). A degu is basically a Peruvian rodent which looks like a gopher. That's it, it's a Peruvian gopher! In the early 1970s ("The Degu Years") we owned several degus. I don't remember how or why we owned degus. Perhaps it was illegal to own degus in the same way it was illegal to own wolverines. (I asked my dad why we owned degus, and he told me to go mow the lawn). At any rate, degus would spend all of their waking moments running on their little wheels. My dad found this very amusing. We would all be watching television while my dad would sit there for hours laughing at the degus running on their wheels. Maybe it was because my dad was just starting to run marathons, and he felt a kinship with these ridiculous creatures. Maybe it was because he secretly felt conflicted about all the gophers he had killed in our front yard. I don't know.

We would always scratch the degus right under their chins, and they would arch their heads back, exposing their pumpkin-colored incisors while making a sound of supreme satisfaction: "Ehhh...Ehhhh....Ehhhhh." It sounded like old men with hearing aids sitting around the nursing home bingo table. Then back to their wheels the degus would go, often launching their Tic Tac-shaped droppings out of the cage and onto the carpet.

Anyway, back in Big Basin we pretended we were giant degus. We ran along the spine of a fallen redwood tree bellowing "Ehhh....Ehhhh...Ehhhh...." A ranger finally came over and told my parents we were disturbing the other campers. My dad explained, however, that we were simply mimicking degus. The ranger paused and watched us thoughtfully. "Oh, well in that case, it's ok," he said. He and my dad shared a knowing glance, then he nodded to my mom. "Ma'am," he said. He then smiled and walked away.