Zoo Pics and a Definition

Last year, we joined the zoo. As in: bought a family membership for a surprisingly reasonable annual fee. The membership included a discount on train tickets. Train? Train, you say? I bought tickets right away.

So, naturally, the train wasn't running that day. It wasn't running the next time we visited, either. The time after that, it was raining. So no train. Because of the rain. Or something.

In fact, every single time I visited last year, the train failed to function. Too hot. Too cold. Too sunny. Too cloudy. Whatever!

But last week, finally, at last, Iain and I rode the train.

Of course, for Iain this was not new. He rode the zoo train in Colorado. He rode this very zoo train with Daddy a couple of times last year. Only I missed out on the Huck Finn Village (shacks and mannequins standing around being Old Frontier-y) and the buffalo (we have buffalo!) (who knew?) (apparently, everyone who got to ride the train) (that is, NOT ME).

It's a pretty great train. For two dollars per person, you ride for five minutes or so, past the pond, around through the mountain goat enclosure, past the birds and the wild boar, near the bison (scraggly but kind of majestic), through a tunnel, across a bridge, past the faux mining camp (what's that got to do with Huck Finn??), and back to the station.

In other news, Iain has been channeling Funk and Wagnalls. This morning he demanded toast "with strawberry jam!" We told him there were two choices in jam: plum/raspberry or Four Berry. This exchange followed:

• Iain: "I hate Four Berry!"
• Me: "Iain, what does 'hate' mean?"
• Iain, aka "Webster": "It means 'hate'"
• Me: "Does 'hate' mean 'I want to eat it every single day?'"
• Iain: "Yes."

So there you go.