Working on my computer in my stateroom this afternoon, I naturally reflected on what it meant to be sitting in this same spot in the same month for the fourth year. Yes, it all seems familiar. But having been here itself changed me so much, and the exploration mission at NASA has changed Ames so much, it's not as if I were ever here before. There are reports and papers written by someone with my name from MDRS5, MDRS16, and MDRS29. But that's not what I would pursue with the same excitement today. Every time must be different, and all our plans, hopes, and desires will change simply because of what we did before.

My first thought is of the comfort of the hab, the familiar wind, the clouding sky, the cozy upper deck where dinner cooks and we all have this wonderful mix of shared and personal spaces. Maybe the real allure this time is getting away from everyday work with its endless emailed surprises, and the pace of the San Francisco Bay Area. We are all a bit quieted, perhaps slightly sleepy from the dry winds and the day's unpacking, sorting, and stashing activity.

We will need several days to get our various computer and robotic systems working. Our teams come together here and begin to layer the software into the hardware over the networks. It is like making a layered cake; the EVAs will be the icing, when we can admire how it all fits together.

I must mention how much improved the hab appears. We joked at dinner that it's really a rehab. That pesky water pump above my stateroom no longer goes thumpa-thugga-thump. Instead, it whirs and hums. No longer must we stand on a ladder held by bungee cord to turn on the pump that fills the water tank. Now we just go over to the sink and flip an ordinary light switch that, miraculously enough, pumps water from out back behind a hillside into our loft tank. From the floor you can read the word "FULL" on the tank, and if standing is too much bother, you can set a kitchen-style timer, conveniently perched in the window above the sink. RIng! A modern marvel, you know to turn off the pump. Why back in my day, in 2002, we had to fill that tank with a human water relay. Took six of us hauling buckets thirty minutes to fill that tank. Today: One switch, one finger. Ah, it gives me a poetic feeling.

And we have forced air heating in the bathroom, with an emergency light overhead. (Still posted on the wall are those funny anti-gravity instructions from the movie 2001.) And no longer a messy flush tank in the shower room, but instead, where might it be? In the the Greenhab, where else? And look, could you ever have thought? There's no bucket under the shower sink—it drains!

And all the electric wiring is new, with forceful blue-rippled conduits, snaking along the walls, looking safe and tight. Why, we even have electric outlets between the stateroom doors, well-placed for working at the center table.

Everything appears clean -- the walls, the counters, the cutlery and dishes. Instead of a tiny dorm-style refrigerator, we have a moderate-style refrigerator, next to, can you believe it, a gas range and stove! You turn two dials, one labeled "spark" and other "lite" (this being a modern appliance) and you can cook. No more juggling hot plates with the coffee maker or toaster, to avoid bringing the circuits down.

For really, the trumpe de Mars, is the generator-battery system. Turn off the generator for the night and run on batteries. Turn on the generator and power your hab while recharging the batteries. By adding this one basic technology to simplify our lives, MDRS has become more like a space station. They say next week the generator might fuel itself! Soon we'll be sending robots out to do our EVAs—oh yeah, that's next week, too.

Yes, it's three long years since my first arrival at MDRS, our "closed simulation" — Jan, Vladimir, Andrea, Nancy, David, and I. Our many adventures, the dust lightning storms that turned the hab into a leyden jar, our first celebration of Yuri's Night with Russian-style discursive toasts, it all seems a lifetime ago. And it's two long years since our Mobile Agents team first tried to make the voice-commanded system work, and how hesitantly it cranked. Yet more clearly I remember last year's early May heat and the moments in L i th Canyon our second Friday, memories held fixed by photos and video stories retold all year.

Yes, I understand now, we are here, now, in our own future, the edge of a tomorrow that still lies uncertain, and maybe, still, slightly hopeful.