Wine Country

Seven days on the road, beginning and ending with the magnificent Oregon coastline. In between are the modest towns, some just settlements, existing off the traffic of highway 101 and logging, fishing, and farming. They are a hard working people who love their land. Their wealth is not measured by their possessions, but rather their pride in their chosen industry.

The winding road leads you deep into impressive redwood forest of California. The towering height and massive trunks of these giant sequoia sempervirens darken the earth below, allowing for mystical glimpses of big foots and gnomes. As quickly as you are swallowed into this fairytale land, it abruptly spits you out onto the golden rolling hills of wine country. Patches of green emerge slowly at first, increasing as you climb and fall over the hills, until you are completely saturated with vineyards, in the land of wine.

My friend Andi and I spend the next four days wandering the backroads of Russian River Valley; River Road, Dry Creek, and Bohemian Highway, discovering a new tasting opportunity around every turn. Names like C. Donatiello, Lambert Bridge, Arista, Porter Creek, Bella, and Zichichi jump out with their luring welcome signs.

Each winery is strikingly different in their landscape expression. Beautiful Japanese gardens, richly dense with manicured flower beds, herb gardens, artistic water pools and falls, olive trees, lemon trees, lime trees, rose bushes. Modern architecture, ancient design. Some grandiose, some simple. All breath taking.

It’s October. The warm air is pleasantly sweet. Leaves are rich with oranges, golds, and reds. The grapevines are exploding with fruit. Farmers are cutting free their precious harvest, preparing for the crush. The wineries are alive with activity and expectation.

By the end of the week, our vocabulary has been transformed to include descriptions of rich, savory, and sweet into our daily activities. We are quickly spoiled as we learn our personal preferences. Andi will exclaim, “It’s too much work,” and empty her glass into the dumping bucket if a sample does not agree with her delicate palate. Appreciation for a good Charles Shaw is a thing of the past.

Our evenings are spent down on the Russian River in the quaint town of Duncans Mills. Sitting around the campfire, sipping a Korbel sherry, we reminisce over the day’s tours. Night brings chilly temperatures and coyotes signing at the bright moon. Harley burrows in the safety and warmth of his sleeping bag.

We’ve only covered one wine region in Sonoma County, but I’ve decided to save the others for another trip. I am ready to head back to Oregon with a storm brewing on my tail wind. I met wonderful people, made new friends, expanded my knowledge of wine and boon-docking.

I travel back the way I came, wanting to become more familiar with the transformation of this land. Wild turkeys and a herd of elk make themselves comfortable in a farmer’s front yard along side Hwy 101. I know this 600 mile drive will be a route I frequent with the seasons, seeing something different every time, and worth every minute behind the wheel of my treasured Westfalia camper van.