It’s that time again…August. A time when a psycho-mom’s thoughts turn to the new school year, Halloween costumes and wringing the final cheap thrills out of the summer break (I’m telling you, it all boils down to working mom’s guilt). Last year, Ivy and I went on a Thelma & Mini-Louise trip through Oregon, visiting relatives and stopping off at any cheesy roadside attraction we could find. This year, in an effort to recreate that fun (and not spend a bloody fortune on hotel/admission/food), we’re doing it again, but with the added facet of dragging my mom along. I begged her to fly out from Las Vegas and drive up to Cave Junction, OR with us, there to spend 5 or 6 days with my aunt and uncle. She actually tried to resist for a bit, but I enlisted Aunt Barb and Uncle Paul to work on her, too. Need I really say who won?

Mwahahahahaha…

The first stop on our hit parade was the Jelly Belly Factory in Fairfield, CA. Unfortunately, they do not allow cameras inside the factory – to preserve the privacy of the workers, not for trade secrets – so I can’t show you the 1-ton bags of cornstarch, the massive containers of sugar-glorious-sugar, or the rainbow of 93 million Jelly Bellies just waiting to be packed up and sent to a retailer near you (!). I can tell you that if you’re in this area, and you have kids, this is a must-do. First of all, it’s free. You get a free sample bag of their top 39 flavors. #40 is jalapeño, so be glad they stopped at 39, because *that* is an ugly little surprise my friend. It’s informative and colorful, meaning kids were actually entranced with the factory floor, the spinning vats of larvae (which is what they call the innards of a Jelly Belly (“I know it’s a gross name…move on, Child!”), and the huge robots used in the processing. The robot used in the QA station started stacking the empty boxes just a wee bit crooked. Since they move so fast, this rapidly devolved into A Situation, and I made Mom lag behind the tour to watch the eventual demise of the 10-foot stack. Yes, we all made a collective “Oh!” It was amazing…the robot wasn’t anywhere near the pile of boxes, but he put his little mechanical head down on the floor and waited for a human to come and clear the boxes away. How? How??? The tour eventually dumps you into a Disney-esque retail store, which also conveniently has a fast food joint attached. Shockingly, the food didn’t suck, and everything was all shaped like a Jelly Belly.

And did I mention that the tour was free?

At this point, we needed to get some miles under our belts, so other than a stop for gas in Weed, CA - yes, I’m juvenile - we only stopped to see the big metal dragon just outside of Yreka. You can actually see Mt. Shasta in the background. There was also a big metal cow on the other side of Yreka, but we couldn’t stop in time. Mostly the conversation went like this:




“Hey Ivy, I see more cows.” (this was said pretty much every 10 minutes on the drive, and she was OVER IT)

“Wait…what’s that?” (All we could see was a silhouette of this thing, and it looked like a wooly mammoth)

“OMG, what the hell is that thing?”

“I don’t know; it’s HUGE!”

“Oh Jesus, it’s a metal cow!” (said from the fast lane as we sped on by)

“Stop! Stop!”

“I can’t! Aaaaarrrrrgggghhhh!!! Okay…we cannot miss the metal dragon! Be on the lookout.” (Do you ever regret saying something as soon as it passes your lips? This was where Ivy started asking us every 15 seconds if we were at the metal dragon yet)

By this time, Ivy was bored out of her gourd by cows and their ilk, and was rooting around in the back seat for something with which to hit Mimi in the back of the head. Good times!

Eventually, we made it to the ranchette, Ivy was with the cows and Patch the dog, and all was right with her world. She fed apples to the cows - mostly by throwing them through the fence ("Mommy, you can also throw them AT the cows" "NO!!!!!"), and then we all had dinner.

Aunt Barb made us a King Ranch Chicken Casserole, which I haven't had since Ilived in Texas, and which also has about a gazillion calories. Lard, have mercy. I need to figure out something to do work off these Jelly Bellies and casserole.

Oh yeah...when someone calls you a cow, it means you're dumb as a rock and don't know when to quit eating.

They. Never. Stop.