So vacation to the Outer Banks was at such a weird time this year, one week before CSA starts, which made me a bit jittery, and right in the height of hay season along with a super growth spurt in the vineyard. I start at the vines that are really taking off the most but by the time I get to the other side, they need pruned again. The slow growers are just going to have to wait because I have a million arms reaching to the sky like kids in a classroom shouting for attention.
And it's only the three vigorous varieties from Minnesota that laughed at our light spring and charged through our late frost like it was a challenge for them to grow faster. They are all blooming now and I have to admit that grape blooms smell divine. Best smell ever. It is a simple sweetness that is carried with the spring wind, combined with fresh cut hay. If I was a perfume designer, that would be my fragrance. Or deodorant. Or car air freshener.
But anyway, I tore through the vigorous growers before leaving with a little help from Jason and I touched up the 4 yr old vines too that are pushing blossoms out of every place imaginable before packing a simple bag of basics and a swim suit and a towel and headed to the beach. As a parting token, my sister let me borrow her husband's GPS TomTom. I always thought I would hate having one but I now not-so-secretly LOVE it. During the 12 hour car ride, playing with my new best friend, I programmed our friendly god of directions to steer us towards any vineyards and wineries in our path. We went down through the dreadful Pennsylvania turnpike, through DC at midnight before stopping for a power break and then plowed straight down to NC. We passed a vineyard when the beach was so close our nostrils were full of sea air, so we didn't stop. I just hung out the window and gawked at their perfectly manicured vines and angled trellis setup that complimented the highway perfectly.
On the way back, however, we took the road through Virginia wine country. Holy crap. It was amazing. We drove by quite a few with the same reaction of me hanging out the window for a roadside inspection of their trellises and how they deal with weeds around the trunks. After every exit had at least two or three vineyards, Jason convinced me to stop at Keswick Vineyard by letting me know that it was ok that we looked very raggled from riding in the car for hours on end after one last ocean swim in the early morning.
The lane going up to the winery winded down a path and up a hill with the same angled appeal that so many had. I saw one guy in the entire vineyard driving a little tractor around and thought that must be what I look like so many days out there on my own.
There was a giant southern mansion that looked like every picture of a southern mansion I had ever seen. The tasting room was off to the right, through a rose arbor, passed the perfect lawns with hydrangeas, english ivy, and every other prim and proper garden flower. The courtyard looked like a golf green with not a weed on it and trimmed with the criss cross pattern that the bored guy up the street does to make his lawn look pristine.
The inside seemed a bit rustic but classy, except for the fake grapes hanging from a built in arbor above the bar that made me laugh. There were people in every nook and outside on the lawns on picnic blankets, well placed park benches, and little verandas, all with a bottle of wine between them and rosy wine laden cheeks.
Our server treated us in a well mannered way before giving us a booklet on their history, their wine selection, and a notes section to write down what we thought of the wines. My favorite part was the way the tasting was laid out - $5 for 5 wines and she came over and gave us a full history of the wines, which grapes were used, how they were aged, and any other interesting bits of information. I still can't get used to the whole spittoon thing so I just hoped it wasn't too uncouth to just swallow it. There were oyster crackers to clear the pallet.
They only had one type of grape that we grow, the Cab Franc, and we grow it with great difficulty. It was mixed with other grapes so I couldn't really taste the difference.
I think a lot of my enjoyment of it was that our server told us what we were going to taste - i.e. light and floral or a rich oak aftertaste and whatnot, not that I could really taste any of those things, but more that it gave me the opportunity to nod my head and say - why yes, what floral after tones and light notes of blah blah blah.
Being as how Jason wasn't wearing a white polo and loafers and I didn't look like I fell out of a golf magazine, we quickly decided on a bottle to take home and high tailed it out of there.
There was almost a sigh of relief at hitting West Virginia when all the blue attraction signs on the highway went from tempting vineyards to antique emporiums... thereby ensuring that we would make it home in a timely fashion.
I think the real culture shock happened on Monday when after coming back from perfect Virginia, I found the grass in my little Ohio vineyard to be up to my knees, the thistles up in full effect, and all the little arms of my eager elementary students to be all raised high in the sky.
And it's only the three vigorous varieties from Minnesota that laughed at our light spring and charged through our late frost like it was a challenge for them to grow faster. They are all blooming now and I have to admit that grape blooms smell divine. Best smell ever. It is a simple sweetness that is carried with the spring wind, combined with fresh cut hay. If I was a perfume designer, that would be my fragrance. Or deodorant. Or car air freshener.
But anyway, I tore through the vigorous growers before leaving with a little help from Jason and I touched up the 4 yr old vines too that are pushing blossoms out of every place imaginable before packing a simple bag of basics and a swim suit and a towel and headed to the beach. As a parting token, my sister let me borrow her husband's GPS TomTom. I always thought I would hate having one but I now not-so-secretly LOVE it. During the 12 hour car ride, playing with my new best friend, I programmed our friendly god of directions to steer us towards any vineyards and wineries in our path. We went down through the dreadful Pennsylvania turnpike, through DC at midnight before stopping for a power break and then plowed straight down to NC. We passed a vineyard when the beach was so close our nostrils were full of sea air, so we didn't stop. I just hung out the window and gawked at their perfectly manicured vines and angled trellis setup that complimented the highway perfectly.
On the way back, however, we took the road through Virginia wine country. Holy crap. It was amazing. We drove by quite a few with the same reaction of me hanging out the window for a roadside inspection of their trellises and how they deal with weeds around the trunks. After every exit had at least two or three vineyards, Jason convinced me to stop at Keswick Vineyard by letting me know that it was ok that we looked very raggled from riding in the car for hours on end after one last ocean swim in the early morning.
The lane going up to the winery winded down a path and up a hill with the same angled appeal that so many had. I saw one guy in the entire vineyard driving a little tractor around and thought that must be what I look like so many days out there on my own.
There was a giant southern mansion that looked like every picture of a southern mansion I had ever seen. The tasting room was off to the right, through a rose arbor, passed the perfect lawns with hydrangeas, english ivy, and every other prim and proper garden flower. The courtyard looked like a golf green with not a weed on it and trimmed with the criss cross pattern that the bored guy up the street does to make his lawn look pristine.
The inside seemed a bit rustic but classy, except for the fake grapes hanging from a built in arbor above the bar that made me laugh. There were people in every nook and outside on the lawns on picnic blankets, well placed park benches, and little verandas, all with a bottle of wine between them and rosy wine laden cheeks.
Our server treated us in a well mannered way before giving us a booklet on their history, their wine selection, and a notes section to write down what we thought of the wines. My favorite part was the way the tasting was laid out - $5 for 5 wines and she came over and gave us a full history of the wines, which grapes were used, how they were aged, and any other interesting bits of information. I still can't get used to the whole spittoon thing so I just hoped it wasn't too uncouth to just swallow it. There were oyster crackers to clear the pallet.
They only had one type of grape that we grow, the Cab Franc, and we grow it with great difficulty. It was mixed with other grapes so I couldn't really taste the difference.
I think a lot of my enjoyment of it was that our server told us what we were going to taste - i.e. light and floral or a rich oak aftertaste and whatnot, not that I could really taste any of those things, but more that it gave me the opportunity to nod my head and say - why yes, what floral after tones and light notes of blah blah blah.
Being as how Jason wasn't wearing a white polo and loafers and I didn't look like I fell out of a golf magazine, we quickly decided on a bottle to take home and high tailed it out of there.
There was almost a sigh of relief at hitting West Virginia when all the blue attraction signs on the highway went from tempting vineyards to antique emporiums... thereby ensuring that we would make it home in a timely fashion.
I think the real culture shock happened on Monday when after coming back from perfect Virginia, I found the grass in my little Ohio vineyard to be up to my knees, the thistles up in full effect, and all the little arms of my eager elementary students to be all raised high in the sky.
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