Ten.Nine Hundred & Thirty-Three

1. The dream. I want to experience just the last few minutes of it over and over again. I replay it in my mind before getting out of bed. There are just certain things you need to hold on to.

2. Make coffee. Clean the kitchen counters. The granite in this kitchen was never sealed or never re-sealed and so it’s pitted in random places. Which means that every time I run my fingers across the countertops I think there is food stuck to it. This drives me bananas. I can never tell if they’re clean.

3. The sound of the coffee percolating. I think back to our conversation when I said something about how it’s not even just the drinking of coffee that’s become a ritual, but the sound of the coffeemaker that brings about some peace, offers some grounding.

4. Game day.

5. I thought it was Wednesday?

6. If nothing else, it’s just good to have an ally, no matter the result.

7. I keep myself from reaching out to grab one of the calamari. I assume that if I could have eaten some he would have told me to dig it. PIctures first.

8. Truffled popcorn.

9. The baby cows are no longer babies anymore.

10. The boys are travelling all over the place. But we finally win a game. Maybe his method is slow and steady.

11. The story is right here. The story is right here.

Ten.Eight Hundred & Thirty-Eight

1. Oh, good morning, rooster.

2. Fog hanging low. The cafe is fuller this morning than the last few times I’d been. Black coffee and a bacon and goat cheese empanada. The flurry of Spanish circling my ears. I’m reminded that we have a lot of learning to do upon my return,

3. Return. Not thinking about leaving just yet.

4. She pulls out a bowl of pomegranate seeds and adds it to the bar that is already stuffed full of scones and hard-boiled eggs and flaky sea salt, granola and yogurt, and local unfiltered apple juice.

5. A deer darts across 128. He turns back to look at us as we move along.

6. Two more deer. These, I didn’t see. They stop and stare at us again. Remember to look up Deer medicine later.

7. It’s just the two of us, and a young man with the chef, and this is actually the most perfect thing, A private pasta-making class during which we drink Scharfenberger and sparkling water. We make farfalle and pappardelle and the one that looks like a chicken gullet. He brings us oysters—my first time eating them raw—and then a salad with more pomegranate seeds and pickled butternut squash and roasted delicata with a ginger dressing, and then our pasta to which he’s added shrimp seasoned with a piment d’ville. And then a plate of figs drizzled with honeycomb.

8. Delight while under the blanket on the sleeping porch. Her in her bath with her glass of Syrah and her book. The sounds of the cats chasing one another through the leaves.

9. Notebooks full of stars.

10. A whole sky full of stars. Billions of them. I feel even smaller at this moment that when we overlooking the gray waves of the sea. Why does this have to be the last night?

Ten.Eight Hundred & Thirty-Seven

1. Up before the alarm. Not surprised at all by this. There is too much to be excited about.

2. I find them all and give them hugs before I go. They are all jealous that I am leaving. I tell them that we will pick another weekend for all of us to go. Don’t worry. He asks me to bring back a bottle of Pinot Noir Juice.

3. I go through the car wash like he asked me too even though I feel like it will put me behind schedule.

4. No. I’m really not a city person.

5. I’m here. She’s here. We’re together.

6. The water is churning. So powerful. I’ve never seen waves that big. We pull off somewhere in Bodega Bay to watch the gray water smash against the gray cliffs.

7. Lunch at Trink’s. Apparently it’s Point Reyes Blue Cheese that should be on my BLT, not cheddar. The sound of crashing waves flooding the spaces in between words.

8. Mountain View Road.

9. Phillips Hill Gewurtztraminer with our backs to the sun.

10. Roederer Brut. Baxter Pinot Noir. Catching up in the candle light. Writing a list of restaurants in New Orleans for the server. Hot shower uninterrupted.

Ten.Seven Hundred & Forty-Five

1. The roosters are calmer this morning. I wish I could trade the sounds of roosters for the sounds of dogs that I’ll be returning to back home.

2. Twenty more minutes before the coffee shop opens.

3. I try my best to tiptoe through the room but the floors still creak underneath my footsteps.

4. I start to tear up as I sprinkle cinnamon into my coffee.

5. I opt for the bacon and goat cheese empanada. There are little bits of red bell pepper in it. The pastry is crisp and flaky, yet soft. We should have come here for lunch yesterday.

6. The construction guys are back. He’s talking about how he killed his dahlias last year and how he can’t get an avocado to sprout. They always wait until 8:30 to begin.

7. Molly is coming down the front stairs as we make our way into the lobby to check out. I hope I run into Molly the next time I’m here.

8. We take the 128 out of town. I can see myself having a ranch here one day. Yeah. I can see that.

9. What element of this will I be able to recreate or continue to live out once I return home?

10. The wisdom of the body.

Ten.Seven Hundred & Forty-Four

1. Wow. The roosters are really loud today.

2. I try my best to tip-toe through the room for clothes, find what I need to wash my face and put in contacts and get ready for the day.

3. I look at my watch. Oh good, Moosewood is just opening. I have her come with me to get coffee and some pastries for the others.

4. Cinnamony.

5. Baby persimmons.

6. Had I understood what everyone meant by going to the river, I would have packed appropriately. We find the rockier parts of the beach and they try to skip rocks while I watch the water run. Yes, I need to be closer to water.

7. I try to fight away the pang of pre-departure sadness.

8. Filtered or unfiltered 2015 PInot Noir? We’ll take both.

9. Suitcase rosé of Syrah while we sit in these chairs for the last pre-dinner drink. I say something about wondering if I’m naive in thinking that I really can have a life that I don’t need to vacate. That I want travelling to be about experience and exploration, not escape.

10. I could eat this plum tart for the rest of my life.

11. I sit at her table and we talk about the ills of digital connectivity, privacy in the digital age, life-altering experiences, the definition of sanity. She starts every other story by telling me that’s she’s a private person, but “I’ll tell you this.” Her eyes sparkle in the candlelight. He asks me how old I think she is, I say she’s at least 80 but maybe older.

12. Another pang of pre-departure sadness.

Ten.Seven Hundred & Forty-Three

1. The roosters are so loud.

2. What is that clanking sound? It feels like it must be time to get up.

3. It’s only 50 degrees. I did not plan properly. I grab a sweater and my shawl and my camera and head out to the gardens.

4. We find the coffeehouse that opens at 7. The case is filled with homemade pastries and empanadas. I must come back for an empanada.

5. The baby goats. But I could do without the flies.

6. The best goat cheese I’ve ever tasted. I will be back for more.

7. I’m looking at her and she thinks I’m confused but I’m actually just searching for the words. Finally, “Estamos comemos.” He says her face lit up when the Spanish came from my mouth. I ask her to come back tomorrow. “Hasta Luego!” “Hasta Luego!”

8. The power of language as a bridge. Words build connection. The right words lay a foundation for intimacy and belonging and compassion. This is why I try to be so careful with what comes out.

9. Roederer. Phillips Hill. Drew Family Cellars.

10. She asks me if this is the kind of place I want to move to when the rental is done. I tell her that this is the kind of place I’d come to after her and her brothers have made a life of their own. But that yes, I love to be in places where I know names and faces and everything feels familiar and walkable. I like feeling like I belong.

Ten. Seven Hundred & Forty-Two

1. Today is the day.

2. The third tickling session in order to coax him awake.

3. They start asking about the length of time we’ll be in the car. I don’t want to tell them the truth. I give them vague answers like “It will take some time. It won’t feel too long. We’re breaking it up.”

4. The temperature drops 6 degrees as we enter Bodega Bay. No one is hungry like we thought they would be so we get back in the car for another long leg.

5. He pulls over at a turn about. Her iced chai turns over. Only three of us get out to look at the ocean. The fog is beginning to recede. Waves with white caps. The sounds of cars passing by.

6. Gualala. I’ve never heard of this town but Upper Crust Pizza gets 4.7 stars so we stop there for lunch. The owner tells us to just settle the tab when we’re all done. Small town things. The couple at the high top beside us is from Wisconsin. I could live here.

7. They warned us that it might still be foggy in Point Arena. I still want to go to the lighthouse. I’ve never been to one. I say that if I had an official bucket list, I think going inside of a lighthouse would be on the list. Today, I’m checking it off.

8. My thighs are burning.

9. Mountain View Road is not as scary as they made it seem though 22 miles of those twists and turns do a doozy on the stomach before it dumps you out into Booneville.

10. Not even here for an hour and I’m already planning a new retreat.

Ten.Seven Hundred

1. Slow.

2. No one wants to eat the leftover bagels. I don’t blame them. I blame the teenagers who made these bagels.

3. Redesign. The thing is that I know I’m going to drop in numbers again but I still need to do it.

4. Sweat.

5. He asks me why we have to have people over again. “Because this is what we do! We like to host people! So you have to clean your room!” I tickle him until he gives in.

6. He comes up to my eyebrows now. He will be as tall as me by the end of summer. I have no doubt.

7. It’s a bad sign when all of the carts are gone.

8. I’m worried that there are not enough peaches. No cast iron this time.

9. “Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person’s face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It’s okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise.” - "The Shared Patio,” Miranda July

10. I tell them how fortunate they are to have had dinner with two winemakers in two weeks. Last week, Mr. Sean and this week Mr. Santiago. I kind of can’t believe it myself.

Ten.Two Hundred & Ninety-Eight

1. 3 a.m. wake up because I just need to know that everything is ready. 

2. My Lyft driver is early. I dash upstairs in the dark to kiss all the cheeks.

3. The birds are so loud.  

4. He thinks my suitcases are full of clothes and shoes like a typical woman.  

5. I misplace my license at the baggage counter and freak out for just a moment.  

6. I’m glad my friend and I picked the same flight by accident. We share 4 seats between us and chat a little, sleep a little, write a little. 

7. The three of us together navigating San Francisco. Parking and food plus art supplies. 

8. The fanciest hotel. We clearly don’t belong here but we have our wine. 

9. The sun. The sun. The sun. And the green and the water and these big hill and this feels like home.  

10. Steak Frites and 2013 Idell Family Oscar Syrah and a chocolate trifle and a blueberry lemon cake. 

Ten.Two Hundred & Forty-Four

1. Up before the light, listening to the sound of rain hitting terra cotta tiles on the patio. 

2. I go to eat breakfast by myself. Coffee, orange juice, water, a chickpea, potato and kale scramble. Quiet. I can see the vineyards in the distance, bare, wet and dripping.

3. Downtown Santa Rosa to meet Adam for coffee at Flying Goat. I almost don’t recognize him with all of the hair. We sit and talk life and photography and freelancing.  

4. Back at the ranch. So much time planning and talking and dreaming. I can’t wait to bring everyone here to sit by the pool, to warm by the fire, the drink in the sun, to make space to breathe. 

5. We get tacos with Kevin before he heads back to San Francisco to go home. He tells me to stop underpricing myself. To keep playing with one light and a subject. To live with the confidence I speak to in my writing. Grateful for mentors like this.  

6. We drive through Petaluma as we make our way toward Napa. There’s a little bar, Ernie’s Tin Bar, with cute chalkboard signs and a no cell phone policy.   

7. Green hills as far as the eye can see. Trying to keep my vision pointed on gratitude. 

8. A glass of Fumé Blanc upon arrival. There’s a new blanket at the foot of the bed.  

9. The Charter Oak. Schramsberg and a long chat with the sommelier who also happens to be from Chicago as we wait for our friends. Wood and leather and copper and vintage rugs. Embers from the open flame. A drawer at the table loaded with silverware and a napkin. Sparkling water. Musacdet. Bordeaux blend. Mushrooms and salads and kohlrabi and duck and burgers.   

10. Gratitude for this. For time spent in meaningful conversations. For good coffee and good wine and good food. For the privilege of comfort. For space. For beauty. 

Collecting Beauty in Wine Country

I don't want to claim the title "Lifestyle Blogger." It doesn't feel natural on my tongue. Instead, I'm going to call myself a "Collector of Beauty." Yes. A Collector of Beauty. This rephrasing gives me the space to do what I do best which is notice. Really, isn't that what a writer and a photographer should be doing? Noticing?

There's this really fine and faint line between capturing life and noticing it. One can become so consumed with trying to find what they should capture that they miss the real beauty of what's occurring around them. It's why I rarely photography my food before eating it. I want to eat my gnocchi with black truffle shavings while it's still hot. And I want to drink my rosé while it still has its chill. Instead of trying to find the highlights and shadows in the barrel room, I want to listen to her tell me about the fermentation experiments she's conducting. And when I meet her for coffee on Washington Street, instead of thinking about the Instagram-worthiness of the courtyard, I'd rather listen to her tell me about the one time the police got called while she was celebrating her birthday.

Ultimately, I do believe that it's my desire to be so fully present in my life that gives me the ability to see the truly extraordinary moments that exist in the every day. I have to somehow trust that the most important moments will find their way into the little crevices of memory for when I need them most. Because this life is really too good and too big for the viewfinder.

Alas, here are some of the moments that I collected during my most recent trip to Yountville in August.

The North Block Hotel sits at one end of Washington Street in Yountville. Spanish tiles line the staircases and the doors are wooden and heavy and it's so quiet. It's become my favorite little retreat.

Redd Wood is known for its wood-fired pizzas but I love the simple breakfast served here each morning for the guests at North Block. Coffee and pastries from Bouchon Bistro are the perfect start to an early morning, but the granola is killer. I'm still trying to get my hands on a recipe.

Isn't this vintage truck just the coolest? Hunter Gatherer is new boutique in Yountville. 

After seeing people line up each night before it opened, we decided to give Ciccio's a chance. It's Napa Valley so of course there's great wine, but the cocktails and pizza can't be beat. Cool vibe. It's where the locals go (which is always a good sign). 

I could spend all day sitting in front of The French Laundry Culinary Gardens. 

It had been awhile since I'd been in wine country in the summer when everything is green and ripening. It was such a treat to be able to touch and taste the fruit. The rolling hills of B.R. Cohn in Sonoma are so beautiful this time of year. Really, any time of year. 

Ten.Forty-Five

1. The last morning.  

2. You guys are local, right? 

3. We hope to be soon, we say. Order two more english muffins, double-toasted with butter, and blackberry jam.

4. I meet her at Bouchon Bakery and order a croissant and a large coffee. We talk a little bit of business, of children, of writing.

5. Gather all the things and bring them back down to the car. My bag has a large seed cone, some feathers, a piece of driftwood, vine skeletons, and a coffee mug.  

6. My first barrel sample and it's given to me by my favorite winemaker. She says the guys didn't take to the haiku idea. I learn that the seeds of the grapes will taste like toasted almonds when ripe.  

7. I could have stayed there all day looking at The Palisades. 

8. Tyler.  

9. The light on the vines. Been here three times before and this is the first time I've seen the vines full of leaves and grapes, drip irrigation in action.  

10. My boots are so dusty.  

Ten.Forty-Four

1. Heavy and low skies. Us and the runners. The second-to-last morning here.

2. Coffee again at Mini Model Bakery. I make him be the Instagram husband and have him take a picture of me between the vines.

3. The curvy roads back over to Sonoma for breakfast at Fremont Diner. Shrimp and grits and chicken and waffles. 3 cups of coffee. I buy a mug. It's the sink full of green leaves and the teal backless stools that I love. 

4. Sandwiches and a bottle of wine while we overlook the valley. Karman has been working here for as long as I've been coming to Napa. 7 years, he says. You should totally move here, he says. We know.

5. Open houses. They all point us to Browns Valley and Alta Heights.

6. The agent we met yesterday sends over a file and sets us up in a porthole. 

7. You're moving there?! No, not yet. But it feels like it's gonna happen soon. 

8. Back in St. Helena at the winemaker's house. He tells us all the people he knows. We drink through three different wines. I think I now need to go to Mexico City. 

9. How is any of this happening?

10. This is really happening. 

Ten.Forty-Three

1. 4:38 am.

2. The Safeway on Jefferson Street is open 24 hours a day. We fill the cart with kombucha and water and smoked almonds; sign up with our email address to get the discounts and pay with gift cards.

3. The sun is just beginning to rise as we leave the grocery store. 

4. English muffin. Double toasted. Butter and blackberry jam on the side.

5. I ask him if I can have the recipe for the granola. He takes my email address and says he'll leave it for the pastry chef. 

6. We look at the app and see if we can find some open houses for Sunday.

7. How I wanted to say to him, "Thank you for telling the truth about what was done to the Native Americans here."

8. This place. The water and the cabins and the bells. How I know this will change everything. Jennette and me, 14 other women, fever dreaming. 

9. It's going to happen. This is everything. The designer - talking to her about brass clips and stemware, her writer friends, and her favorite clients. Overhearing a bit of a conversation and walking out of there, mouth coated in zinfandel, with smiles, and a real estate agent.

10. One order of canolis. 

Ten.Forty-Two

1. It is still dark. I go to each of them and kiss their cheeks.

2. The car is here a little early and I'm still scrambling to make sure they have paper towels and toilet tissue and cash for groceries.

3. Deep gratitude for them showing up and being here so that I could have this time away.

4. Airport fashion. 

5. The way the clouds look like cotton balls planted in very neat and tidy rows.

6. Pieces of the earth cut up into rectangles and circles.

7. The greenish hue of the bay. How when I cross over it I think of how cold the water must be on a day like today.

8. This is everything. 

9. Sometimes you get to live out pieces of your dream and trust that the holes will fill themselves in when ready.

10. The water at my toes, and then over my feet, and then over my ankles, and then just below my calves. How I giggled when the bottoms of my pants got wet. Feathers and driftwood and plants from the sea. Hot sand. Blue sky. Vanilla milkshake after a cheeseburger with peppery bacon. All the children laughing. This is everything. 

The Thin Place

“ In thin places, we become our more essential selves.”

— Eric Weiner

I don't always do a good job of explaining why I've become so attached to northern California. I mean, it's beautiful. Beyond beautiful, really. The air is clean and fresh. The color of the tomatoes brings tears to my eyes. I remember the one time, while walking down the street in St. Helena, how an orange rolled under the car. And I remember the way the soles of my converse conversed with the fallen olives, soft and hard.

California is where everything within me stills and the only voice I can here is my own. The only breath I'm aware of is my own. There is space for me there. Perhaps it's because I spend most of my time in the shadow of the mountains, deep in the valley, in awe of the way the sun rises and sets against the mountain peaks.

And so I share with you just a few of my moments from this past March, when the air was both warm and cool and the wild mustard bent in the breeze.