Through the Tall Grass

There is something so magical about Northern California this time of year... the land hasn't yet shriveled and changed colors under the summer sun to make it resemble its nickname, The Golden State. Greenery grows in abundance. Tall grasses and flowers dot the hillsides and all is verdant.

NephewQ hung out with me for a bit the other day. We had a grand time dying in the water and dying in the fire while playing Mario, and then I packed him up for a romp outside. (Which he was none too happy about, until we got there.)

To see this boy take off down a tiny path, overwrought with glee at the thought of exploring! He was an intrepid scout, a safari master, the king of the world! A three year old boy, literally with the world at his feet. And he LOVED it. He and I, we blazed trails through knee-high greenery and were the masters of the moment.

Instinctively, NephewQ seemed to understand it better than most adults. He knew: This is the good stuff. This patch of earth and sun and dirt and flowers and grass. This. This is it.

And then he reminded me that he was three when he turned toward me, started repeating "brains, brains, brains..." in a low, guttural, mimed voice and then began to gnaw on my leg in jest... (Plants v Zombies, in case you haven't played it...)  A good upside-down tickle restored his curiosity for the path ahead and off we shot again. We threw dirt and I told him about fruit blossoms and how bees make honey and he collected the most amazing green grass stains on his knees, grass stains that would be the envy of every little boy and tom-boy around, I tell you!


Oh, to be three again!

Personal Sounding Boards and YOUR Dreams

Everyone has their own system of decision making. Mine is obtusely complex and divinely simple all at once. Some decisions are tiny and seemingly unimportant, some take a few moments to sort out priorities and then continue with, and yet others are staggeringly huge, requiring research and advice.

In case of large, weighty decisions I like to mull over my options and methodically make the best decision. The process usually involves much internet surfing (if applicable), soul searching and sound-boarding. These so-called sound-boards are human beings, each having their own specialties and unique perspectives and I pick the one or two or seven who I know will have some kind of wise counsel or personal experience with similar situations.

As a child I came to understand early on that in pursuing my dreams my Mother's advice would always be super-cautious (and possibly lean toward the restraining side of encouragement) and my Father's advice would always be go-get-'em, guns-blazing enthusiasm. When I hit my teens, Mom grew yet more cautious and Dad's enthusiasm waned a bit, but he was still uber-supportive. And when I decided to start traveling I hit a complete and utter role reversal. When I told the parental units about my desire to go to Europe with a Youth Ensemble choir at the age of (barely) 18, my Mom was ALL for it. And to my surprise, my Dad was... not quite.

Two + years later, when I made the decision to work on Cruise ships during the summers between college semesters I encountered the same surprising thing from my parents: Mom was gung-ho. But Dad was nearly downright negative. And he wasn't the only one. "You're going to do WHAT?" I would hear when I'd announce my plans for summer occupation. Some people were really excited for me. Some were downright hostile. To them I'd reply: "Why not? I'm young, I'm single and I want to see the world. I can't think of a better way to do that and save for college at the same time."

One of my best friends is an American living in Scotland. I met her the first summer I worked on ships. She's from a small town in West Virginia. The summer we worked together at sea was the first time she'd ever left the country. In fact, her flight to Florida to meet our ship was her very first flight, ever. Her world changed forever when she made the single bravest decision of her life to date: to take the job and explore the unknown. She recently told me about an experience she'd had in Scotland while chatting with friends. Two of them, married to each other expressed that they were currently in process of trying to move overseas and travel with their small children. My American friend was ecstatic for them. But she was horrified when the couple were immediately attacked by their parents (also present) and accused of being selfish and awful people, trying to break up "the family" and take the grand kids too far away!

What?

More recently I've had several phone conversations with my Father, mentioning my plans to move to Rome. The first time I mentioned it to him, his response was very reserved. When I brought it up again in our last conversation, his response was very nearly disdainful.

"You're still thinking about doing that?" He asked, voice full of incredulity.

I'm not sure what it is about travel that brings out such strong responses from the people around us. Perhaps it's the knowledge that the person who will be traveling is putting themselves at risk of accident or injury out there in the great unknown. Perhaps it's a fear of change; travel changes people in fundamental, nearly indescribable ways. For better or worse, travel has changed my life in ways that I can't begin to explain. But I'm different. And I'm supposed to be.

So here's the wisdom I've garnered from these experiences: Learn who your sounding boards are, and what to expect from them. Sure, sometimes they'll surprise you (like the first role-reversal from my parents). Sometimes they won't. Listen and gather the advice you need. And then follow your gut and chase your dreams. Because what everyone else thinks is ultimately of little consequence. Your life is not theirs to live. And life is simply too short to do anything else but truly live.

The Westover Plantation

My little sister is going to hate me for this post. You see, her last name is Westover. And she wasn't with me when I visited the plantation... Oh well.

While I was down home on the farm in Virginia, I had one day of exploration in mind. I wanted to go back to the James River plantations and explore some more. This time I invited my lovely auntie-mama Rene along. We set off in the morning and drove an hour Southeast from Gram's farm down to the mighty James, the selfsame river that meets the Atlantic and was the gateway for the first British colonizers to the Americas.

The Westover Plantation is one of the oldest plantations established along the James (the oldest being Berkeley - more on Berkeley later). It was built in 1730 by William Byrd II, the founder of the city of Richmond. It was named after Lord Henry West, son of the Governor of Virginia.

The house proper is not open to the public to tour, but the grounds can be toured and are GORGEOUS. I can safely say that of all the Plantation homes I've toured along the James, Westover is my absolute favorite. It is the most happily situated house I have ever laid eyes on.

On the property there are grand gardens to explore, a plantation-style house, kitchen and other out-buildings from long past days, including a "necessary", an ice house and an old root cellar that used to be part of an old secret passage system to provide escape during Indian attack. (Yes, seriously!) I may have climbed down the ladder into the old passage...

An old cabinet in the kitchen

 A spinning wheel in the kitchen

 Gardens

 Details from the front gate

 GORGEOUS old Magnolia tree

 The front entry to the house - this is a famous doorway, known as the Westover doorway.

 One of the "wings" to the house - a beautiful little solarium-style walkway between the house proper and the side buildings. The winged walkways were added in the 1900's.

 The ladder in the root cellar leading down to the "secret passage"

 Happily looking out onto the James River.

Calistoga Field Trip

I was born in the Napa Valley. (Yes, as in snooty-falooty "Nah-pah, dah-ling.") And though I grew up in a neighboring village, I spent quite a bit of time out in the valley at various church and social activities during my childhood and teen years. (Think: cars full of teen friends driving down a dark highway verrrrry fast with the windows rolled down, howling at the moon on their way to dancing activities and Denny's for french fries dipped in strawberry milkshakes... yum!)


You never value what you grow up with while you're doing the growing. 

That's really my point. Well. For now.

You take it for granted. Childhood, that is.

SO.

Imagine my surprise, when I moved away, at learning just how much EVERYOOOOONE else and their dog loved the San Francisco bay area, especially Nah-pah and the surrounding area.
I mean, I knew it was pretty, but pretty much could care less.

Ya know?

When I moved back here three years ago, I made sure to go on expeditions back in the Napa hills and reacquaint myself with my old stomping grounds. But I really haven't gone back since.

Until last weekend. It was time. I hit the road, fully intending to go hiking at Point Reyes along the beach.

But.

Instead.

I turned left. 
Because I felt like it. And isn't that really the only reason for a thirty-year old single woman with time on her hands and a full tank of gas to do something fun? I think yes. (Narcissism is mandatory on pointless, spur-of-the-moment expeditions, you know.)

And I went out towards Napa. And at a loooooooooong stop light I googled hiking places in the Napa hills and ended up driving along lovely highway 29, out past Napa. Through St. Helena and Oakville and Yountville. Right on to Calistoga.

And let me tell you, I could have done just the drive alone and been a happy camper. Gorgeous! Stunning! Breathtaking! I sure don't drink, but I LOVE me some wine country.

I stopped at two fabulous places on my drive: Oakville Grocery, where I had the (hands-down) best sandwich I've ever eaten in my life. Truly. When you're out that way be sure to stop for the Roasted Chicken and Gruyere panini. It changed my life. Okay, just kidding. But sandwiches will never be the same again.

Lunch. Check. Delicious. Check.

Hike. Fun!

I am an accident-prone girl.

It was a good bleeder. Not serious. Patched it up with Neosporin and a bandage. 

Nothing like hike triage.

Seriously cool and not-shy lizard.

The tree in the middle is my favorite.

After my hike I stopped in at my first Dean and Delucca in Sonoma. What an experience.
Okay.
I live literally a block away from a Whole Foods Market.
Soooo... Dean and Delucca just seemed like a slightly posher version of a Whole Foods. It didn't exactly live up to the Felicity-hype that I thought it would. And the people in it!  

Holy funny circus, Batman:

It started in the parking lot. I hopped out of my cute Jeep. Bandana on head, hair in two messy, post-hike braids, wearing a sweaty t-shirt and cargo shorts coated in fresh blood from my knee injury. As I'm walking into the store, I walk past a couple exiting their Mercedes and the woman looked me up and down with disdain. I just smiled at her and went into the store. The kind of smile that was really me laughing at her because of how silly she was. Dare I call it a smirk? Yes.  

Because, really, pretentious people deserve nothing more than just to be laughed at.

And then inside! Oh! A store full of frenetic people trying to convince themselves that they beloooong in that yuppy store, dahhhhling! I walked around with my face all scrunched up as I observed silly human behavior.

And then I was distracted by the pastry counter. Like any good girl ought to be.

 


I have a ridiculously demanding sweet tooth. Normally I only feed it sugar on Fridays. But there are exceptions, such as this particular Saturday. Because clearly a trip to Napa (and the afforementioned pastry counter) was an exception to the no-sugar rule, I couldn't resist buying two things: A petit Gateau to rival any desert at the Cheesecake factory, and a brownie concoction that was actually a shortbread cookie covered in vanilla custard and topped in hardened chocolate. DEEEE-vine! I was seriously sugar high driving home. And for the rest of the day after, as I fed my inner sugar-monster bites of the day's take over a video-type time lapsed blur (in my mind). Yum.

Go to Napa, people. Better yet, go to Calistoga, Yountville, Sonoma. Explore Northern California's wine country. It's gorgeous. Eat. Hike. Drive. (But obviously don't Drink. Drive.)

And maybe you'll figure out for yourself why the region inspires the overly-voweled use of the word darling.