This week.
This week is why people live in California.
This week is the week that I will look back on and sigh,
“those were the days…livin’ in Berkeley.”
This week started out with a typical Monday for a freelance
project manager, live-in aunt. Five forty-five am, Oliver cries with
conviction, earlier than usual. I roll over and disregard it. Oliver’s cries
and yells persist. Six-thirty am, I continue to ignore. Seven-thirty am, I
emerge from my bedroom to two parents who have already fed a baby, eaten
breakfast, ran laps around the house, and watched their neat living room turn
into a children’s book and random kitchen pots-turned-toy minefield. Despite
their hands being full, my dutiful brother Ben made sure to save me a bit of
garden-fresh sautéed swiss chard, a slice of homemade olive-rosemary-lemon
bread, and a warm cup of coffee. I think he may even have apologized for not
preparing my fried egg for me.
Monday was a workday. This meant I ate my breakfast, wrote
in my morning pages journal, then settled into the couch and got to work editing the
forthcoming National Action Civics Collaborative website. My sister-in-law
Katy, also working from home this particular Monday, prepared a lunch of
leftovers for us at 12:30. Then, it was back to work for a couple of hours
until I finally got dressed for the day and biked down the hill to my favorite
community pool for some lap swimming. The evening hours were spent
finishing up work, playing with Oliver, and eating a family dinner of a cherry
tomato galette prepared by Katy straight from the garden. And to think. This
was the kind of day that has been typical this summer.
Tuesday was a playday. This meant I, again, slept through
Oliver’s cries until I felt ready to confront the day. And soon after was swooped up by
two good friends for a journey into wine country—Sonoma, not Napa (the more
“down to earth” experience). We arrived in Petaluma, CA where one of my best friends from college, Yeshe, lives (ok, ex-boyfriend from college, but we are totally
cool and friends now).
Yeshe has taken a deep dive into all things wine over the past two years. Working at a winery and wine bar, studying enology and viticulture at a local college, and drinking a healthy dose of California’s best to refine his taste buds. Yeshe would be our personal “industry” tour guide for the day.
First stop: Wind Gap Winery. Yeshe schedule a private tasting for us at 11am. Yes, I tasted five wines before noon. That was the kind of day it was going to be. Wind Gap was not scenic per say. It was in a warehouse in Sebastopol nestled among identical warehouse neighbors. But, inside, magic was certainly a-brew. Scott, the third of three guys who pretty much do everything walked us through each wine, answering our many questions patiently. I may have asked a few extra questions due to his charming blue eyes and alarmingly manly stubble poking through perfect California farmer-tanned skin. But that’s beside the point. The point was, of course, the wine. Wind Gap had great wine. One tasted like pepper. Another was definitely wet river rocks. I’ll spare you my amateur descriptions of each taste, and leave it at that. I didn't take any pictures of this place. Everything and everyone there was too cool for tourist photographs.
Second stop: Leisurely lunch at Lowell’s in Sebastopol. Wood-fired pizzas. Pasta with bacon. Organic vegetable antipasti. All paired with fresh Gravenstein Apple Cider brewed by Hunter, Yeshe’s best friend from high school. Apparently since all the vineyards have moved into Sonoma, the Gravenstein apple has become endangered. Thus Hunter and his wife are merely doing their civic duty living on a beautiful farm, brewing cider.
Third stop: Lynmar Estate. If I’m being honest, this wine was not so great. But, the winery was beautiful, beckoning us to linger on the estate. Oh, you want me to go eat some fresh tomatoes from your bountiful garden while I taste my wine? Ok. Fine. The flowers were reason enough to go. It was the kind of flower garden that poetry is written about. Divine, really. So, I think of that stop as more of a botanic garden than a delicious winery. Who doesn’t love a botanic garden?
Forth stop: Iron Horse Winery. And this was it. Everything. The rustic wood outdoor tasting bar. The view of the vineyards and rolling hills. The pinot noir and sparkling wines. The buzz that made everything feel just a little hazy, like just maybe this was all a dream. The golden hour set in as we sipped our last drops, and all I could feel was deep gratitude... and a little giggly.
Fifth stop: Hopmunk, Sebastopol. More food. This was a
somewhat embarrassing spread of fried foods that I would rather not recount.
Final stop: Russian River Brewery. My brother Ben's favorite beer is Pliny, the Elder. Knowing I was so close to the brewery inspired a final
stop. Russian River Brewery’s beer is special. My Pliny tasted like drinking a
redwood forest. Maybe a redwood forest full of fairies. I left the brewery with a
growler of Pliny for Ben, and we could call it a day.
It was a decadent day. One that truly captured the spirit of vacation. The kind of day that sustains all the other days that you work and do what you are supposed to do. So sensual that you can feel it for years thereafter.
***I do want to assure
that we were safe throughout the day, mindful of safe driving (I was not the driver)***
So, the thing is… I have only written through Tuesday. This
post was supposed to be about how great this entire week has been. But for now, I think I will leave it at
Tuesday. Perhaps that says more than three more pages of writing could.
