willowcroft farm vineyards | virginia wineries

On a rainy, unseasonably cool Saturday a few weeks ago, Zander and I braved the wet roads to drive out to Leesburg, Virginia to taste wine (what else?!). Our first and only planned winery visit was at Willowcroft Farm Vineyards. I'd heard about a spicy food and wine pairing at the vineyard, and RSVP'd right away. For a minimal fee - less than $20/person, we tasted six of Willowcroft's wines and the same amount of bites. We went in knowing a fair amount about pairing wine with spicy food, as we're of the mindset that spicier is always better in our every day lives, but the pairing was insightful and enjoyable, nonetheless.

A basic rule of thumb: wines with small amounts of residual sugar (sweeter wines) help offset the spiciness of a dish. White wines and blends like an off-dry Reisling or Rosé pair incredibly well with dishes like Thai drunken noodles and spicy Asian dishes, in general. Our tasting progressively increased in heat and sweetness. Typically, I stick exclusively to dry wines, so for me it provided an opportunity to appreciate the sweeter side of wine life. 

After the pairing, we migrated one room over to Willowcroft's tasting room to try the wines we hadn't already. The tasting flight is so extensive there are a few options for tasting, including picking and choosing what you'd like to try. We discovered a handful of wines that we truly enjoyed, including a nice summer sipper - the Seyval, and left with several bottles. 

Willowcroft produces quality wines, but the real reasons to visit this winery are the events and the small touches. The winery offers food and wine pairings nearly every weekend - including s'mores in September! But what I loved most is the homey feeling at Willowcroft. We arrived right as it was opening, and a few employees were sweeping the old wooden barn floors and made us feel more like family than customers. 

Willowcroft is the kind of Virginia winery that has accolades and awards to its name, but is so down to earth and proud of its roots, that you might not even know it. I could sit with a glass of wine in the barn loft-turned-rustic-lounge and forget what time it is for a while. 

if you go...

willowcroft farm vineyards

check out the upcoming events 

tasting fee: $10 for 10 wines

white oak canyon & cedar run falls loop hike | snp

"This is the hike that never ends..." I sang to myself two miles into the 8 mile loop that is Cedar Run Falls and White Oak Canyon. I'd slept but a wink the night before, waking up shivering every few minutes in our tent at Matthew's Arm campground. As the sun rose, I blearily opened my eyes and found my arms, and Zan's arms, snug around Theo, nestled under the blankets between us. Apparently, I had fallen asleep at some point between the raging party that ended at 2am at the campsite next to ours and stumbling out of the tent to pee at 4am, and Theo had sought out warmth. I giggled at him, and us, and how ridiculously under-prepared we'd been for the weather, uncharacteristically cold for August in the Mid-Atlantic. 

We started on the blue-blazed Cedar Run trailhead at the parking lot off mile 45.5 on Skyline Drive. I'd done this hike as an out-and-back up White Oak Canyon three summers ago, and I remembered it being a strenuous climb with rewarding views of the Blue Ridge Mountains, dense woods for aeternity, and the show stopper - waterfalls and natural water slides galore. I'd never hiked on Cedar Run so this hike gave me an opportunity to see an even woodsier side of the loop, dotted with shaded areas, lush vegetation, multiple stream crossings, and a few waterfalls of its own. 

We opted to hike down Cedar Run (about 3 miles) and back up White Oak Falls (about 3 miles), with the hope that by the time we climbed the trail to the waterfalls, the sun would be out and bright, ready to warm and dry us after we played in the abundant swimming holes. 

At the end of mile 2, Zan and I emerged from the monotony of the woods - ever stunning as it is! - into an open, sunny vista showing off staggered boulders with a swimming hole nestled beneath. A 10-foot or so waterfall cascaded into the translucent, emerald pool. Another couple walked up at the same time, and the four of us shimmied and shivered, touching our toes into the ice-cold water and daring one another to be the first to ride the natural slide into the pool.

Zander went for it, and I cheered him on as loudly as if it were me out there in the freezing water. He picked up speed on the slide and burst into the pool with a splash that almost touched me, catching the scene with my phone on the adjacent rocks. It was numbingly cold, he said, but absolutely refreshing. I ultimately decided to wait until later in the day when things warmed up - a decision I ended up regretting. This small, untouched pool with the perfect slide turned out to be the best one we encountered all day.

At long last, with my knees shaking, and muscled I've evidently never exercised burning, the trail flattered out. We opted to take the mile-long fire road that connects Cedar Run to White Oak. The three mile ascent of White Oak Canyon has a whopping 2500 feet of elevation gain, and I've never been so happy to be out of breath climbing up. It's fascinating how climbing uphill and downhill work different muscles - Zan finds downhill to be much easier on his legs, while uphill feels like salvation - compared to downhill - for mine.

The climb to Lower Falls was my favorite of the entire hike the first time I did it and this time. Whereas Cedar Run is forested, vibrantly green, and the trail is made up of smaller rocks and dirt, White Oak is all boulders. Giant slabs of stone eroded and worn stand stoically in the water, which you follow all the way to the top. The view gets better with every foot of elevation, and I could picnic and wade from those giant boulders all day.

I skipped the swimming holes once we reached the LF. I kicked myself - I honestly think exhaustion got the better of me on this hike. It took all my adventurous spirit to simply make it through.

The climb to the Upper Falls felt easier for me this time around. It came sooner than I expected, and I rallied, wading and playing in the water, daring myself to get close enough to a snake sunning on a fallen tree branch to check out his colors and head shape (I never did muster that kind of courage!), and rock scrambling for fun.

From the UF, the trail continues upward... and further upward! Until when you're starting to freak out that you missed the fire road that takes you back to the Cedar Run parking lot, it finally appears. There is a great overlook within 1/4 of a mile from the fire road - you're on the right path if you stop there for a photo or two.

On a map, the fire road looked short. In reality, it's 1.5 miles or so. The terrain is easy compared to the rock scrambles and careful stepping on other parts of the hike, but it is almost entirely uphill. Zander turned into the spirit leader of the hike. He kept me moving, even when I was melodramatically certain I was going to nap right there on the trail for the next month or so.

But we did make it back to the car without me singing, "Yes, the hike goes on and on my friend..." well, not out loud at least. 

if you go...

trail map 

distance: 7.9-8.2 miles

elevation gain: 2500 feet

time: 5-7 hours, depending on how long you play in the water

good for: waterfalls, swimming holes, picnics

parking on skyline drive: hawksbill gap, mile 44.5

or start at the bottom of white oak canyon by parking on rt 600

trail guide hiking upward

trail guide local hikes 

slowing down for a bear crossing | shenandoah np

On Saturday morning of Zan's and my overnight camping trip in Shenandoah National Park, a black bear lazily crossed in front of our car, pausing to turn and look right at us, before climbing over the guard to the other side of the woods. In the 10 seconds that it happened, I sat in total shock and awe, taking in his narrow face and smaller-than-I-expected paws and the way he somehow lumbered both awkwardly and gracefully on all fours. I frantically unbuckled my seatbelt and climbed through the sun roof and fumbled with my camera, trying, hoping to capture this incredible moment and elusive, downright beautiful animal.

I didn't succeed very well in getting his picture, but he still lit up my day. I felt the same way on an overland safari in South Africa, day after day, coming so close to a lion, elephants and rhinos, magnificent animals so distant from our human existences, or mine at least, that the sight of one in the wild makes life feel expand and contract like the whole world is suddenly bigger and more intimate at once. There's something about seeing a wild animal in its natural habitat, whether it be a scary one like a bear can be or gentle as a giraffe, that makes me feel electric with life and as excitable as a dreamer and a child, connected to the world and nature in a way from which concrete and man-made isolates me.

like a slow fire burn

you pull me in close
you buckle my knees
i shake and i shiver just to feel you breathe
you trace my lines
stirring my soul
shoot sparks at the heart of the world and i watch it explode

you turn, turn, turn, turning me on
like a slow fire burn
i know that it's wrong
still i run, run, run... run right into you

matt nathanson with sugarland, run

I buried my hands deeper in the pocket of his sweatshirt. It fell down over my hips and thighs to nearly rest on my knees. I watched him add kindle to the fire and dip down low, crouched on his side, held up by his forearms, and blow softly into the flames. Sparks flew, and I wondered at the origin of the phrase, at the marvel of the man making fire. My whole body rested, melting into a chair at the campfire's edge, and there, too, sparks fluttered inside of me. A love that starts slow and clumsy, finds a heartbeat with passion, grows with compassion, like a slow fire burn.

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theo and the three bears | shenandoah sunset hike

"If I'm not at the overlook by 8:15, meet me back at the trail head," I said, glancing down at my phone to check the time - 7:35pm. I had 40 minutes to get just under 2 miles with 300-400 feet of elevation gain. It wouldn't be a difficult hike, but then, I'd never speed hiked before. (I wondered briefly if that could be a new Olympic Sport. Speed walking made the cut, after all...)

Theo and I were meeting Zander at Hogback Overlook, a short distance away from Matthew's Arm Campground in Shenandoah National Park. Our tent was upright and our campfire pit was begging to be blazing and roasting marshmallows. After setting up camp, we rushed over to the Traces trailhead to embark on a sunset hike.

Less than 100 feet up the trail, Zander tweaked his knee, and I convinced him to drive to the overlook, uncork a bottle of wine, and wait for Theo and me to hike there to watch the sun sink down over the Blue Ride Mountains. Reluctantly, he agreed - I'm sure more nervous to leave me to navigate directions than concerned about any danger befalling us.

He might have had reason to worry...

Theo and I picked up our pace and reached the first trail market (0.4 miles) in barely more than a handful of minutes. I reached for the trail map, realizing I had nowhere to reach - I hadn't brought anything with me but my phone. Theo looked at me quizzically, as if to say, "Weren't you the one that thought this through, Mom?" Good question, Theo. We had no flashlight and no map. I knew it was a simple hike - straight up Traces Trail with one turn on the Appalachian Trail. The sun was falling to my right side, so I assumed I would turn right on the AT to cross over Skyline Drive into Hogback Overlook. No big deal. We had this.

The Appalachian Trail was 0.8 miles ahead, and it was already almost 7:45. I ran through the worst case scenarios: we had no reception, but if something major happened, I could make an emergency call. I could use my phone as a flashlight if we were forced to turn around to meet Zan at the trail head. I could yell really, really loudly, and hope my voice carried through the trees? Scratch that one.

With my mind full of what-ifs and how-would-I-handle's, I almost tripped over Theo, haunches raised, blocking the trail with one paw in the woods. He emitted a low growl, and I stopped to listen. I called his name, trying to calm him down - he goes nuts after squirrels and rabbits and anything that moves. But this was different - he usually chases animals, but in this instance he was completely still, hunkered down, eyes trained in one direction. I followed his gaze until my eyes rested on three black bears running on all fours in the distance.

I thought I'd gone crazy. I'd never seen a bear - not even ONCE - in the wild, and I've hiked in Shenandoah numerous times and worked for two summers in the San Bernardino Mountains in California - bear country if there ever was one. They had to be dogs? Another animal? But my eyes weren't lying. Their shoulders were too broad to be any other animal, and they were coated in thick, black fur. These were bears. Fascinated, I watched them run off; likely, they heard and smelled Theo and me and ran right away.

We continued on the trail, and I became even more concerned about the time. Even so, I couldn't help but stop for a second to admire and snap a few photos of the golden light angling through the trees, creating geometrical patterns and prisms on the forest floor.

Theo and I reached the Appalachian Trail trailhead soon after, and I confidently led us to the right, certain the overlook would be a short distance ahead. I gave Theo a quick high paw - we were going to make it! Another couple of hundred feet up the trail, Theo bounded up huge boulders on our right side. I followed him up to a trail overlook with an open, clear view of the sun setting directly in front of us. I admired the layers of the mountains, and the way the sun's fading light shone in between them.

Minutes before deadline, Theo and I emerged from the trail onto Skyline Drive. I saw an overlook sign and bounded closer to it. Rattlesnake Overlook. Where was Hogback? I had no idea where we were. 

I still didn't have enough cell service. Without a flash light or a map, I was nervous to retrace our steps on the trail in the fast approaching nightfall. I navigated Theo to the overlook and tried to flag down a car - hopefully someone could point us in right direction. I waved frantically to the first car I saw. As it slowed down and pulled over, Zander and I locked eyes, and our silence spoke volumes, something along the lines of, "Holy shit, thank god it's you!"

Zan had turned around right at 8:15 to head back to the trail head per our plan. I should have turned left at the Appalachian. Thankfully he needed to go around Skyline drive to the right, passing me on the way back to Matthew's Arm. He, too, had grown nervous and was immensely relieved to find us on the road.

I was only a mile or so away from the trail head on Skyline Drive and a little more to the campground, but hiking solo at sunset proved to be an adventure, bears and all. Next time, I'll bring a map and a flashlight. But man, that sunset was worth it.

gadino cellars is an italian family affair | virginia wineries

Gadino Cellars sits on an assuming gravel road near a school and a smattering of personal homes. The first view of the cellars is of an attached garage. There's a car parked in it and an assortment of the kinds of tools and household items that are commonplace in any suburban home garage. The gravel road veered to the right as we neared the garage, and a small parking area opened up in front of us. As Zander navigated into a spot, an unexpected sight came into focus: the soft curves of the Blue Ridge Mountains framed a baby blue sky so clear I thought I might be able to see into the clouds themselves. Grape vines stretched for acres back to a wooded forest, and a well-manicured lawn led the way to the front doors of Gadino Cellars - a family-run, local Washington, Virginia winery that doesn't show its entire hand at once.

Married couple Derek and Stephanie - who goes by Steph - own Gadino Cellars, but running the winery is a whole family affair. Steph brings the Italian influence to Gadino, a family name. Bill Gadino and Aleta Saccuta Gadino developed an interest in wine as children, when their Italian grandparents instilled in them the cultural tradition of home wine-making for family events. With extraordinary foresight, Bill bought 15 acres of land in Rappahannock County, Virginia, an area he believed would one day emerge as a leader in the Virginia wine industry. He began planting grape vines in 1990, bestowing some of the Gadino vines the superlative of oldest vines in Virginia. Bill and Aleta founded Gadino Cellars in 2004 and passed on the torch to Derek and Stephanie when they showed an interest in continuing the family business.

When I tweeted that I planned to stop by Gadino for a tasting last Friday, Derek quickly responded, introducing himself and welcoming my visit. In the tasting room, Zander and I were greeted by a variety of unique, hanging flags depicting medieval Italian coats of arms. A wooden "amore" sign adorns a fireplace in the corner, and a long, arcing bar invites visitors to step closer. Derek and Steph greeted us warmly, told us the family story, and made us feel right at home.

Finally, we got serious about the main purpose for our visit: the wines. Steph takes charge of the tasting flights, and her current picks are perfect for the summer: they range from crisp, light, and refreshing, to medium-bodied reds promising robust, nuanced futures with age. Here's what's on the current flight:

• 2011 Chardonnay: a complex, full-bodied Chardonnay aged in oak. It's not buttery or overly oak-flavored; citrus flavors dance on the palette, and the finish is creamy. 
• 2012 Luminoso: An off-dry Petit Mensang and Vidal Blanc blend with 1% residual sugar. This would pair well with spicy dishes. Zander enjoyed it.
• 2011 Sunset: dubbed a "picnic style wine," it's a total patio pounder with 2% residual sugar. It enjoys fangirl status. 
• 2011 Moonrise: A rosé style wine with very little residual sugar- this is my kind summer wine. It's dry with strong aromas of strawberry. 
• 2011 Cabernet Franc Riserva: Cab Franc is a popular varietal grown in Virginia, but it occasionally is too full-bodied or pepper-heavy for my taste. Gadino's version is medium-bodied with notes of blackberries and a soft peppery finish. It's a "mouth-dry" wine with tannins, and it's a red I'd drink with or without food. 
• 2010 Nebbiolo: The star of the show, this Italian varietal boasts cherry on the nose and is dying to be aged. At $33 a bottle, it's Gadino's most expensive offering on the flight, but it's well worth buying one... or an entire case and opening it in a few years. 
• 2010 Imagine: Things are all in the family at Gadino, including this wine, named to celebrate the family's first grandchild's young imagination. It's the sweetest wine of the bunch with an oak finish. As Steph suggested, it would pair well with a dark chocolate-covered strawberry but isn't quite a dessert wine. 
• 2011 Viognier: Not on the flight, Gadino's first-prize winning Viognier is what drinking wine is all about. It is crisp, dry, full of tropical flavors on the palace, and has a slightly spicy finish. I go nuts for a dry Viognier, and this is the best I've ever had. 

It seems like every time Zander and I visit a new winery lately, it jumps to the top of our "we have to get back there again soon" list, but this one - really, really we will be back soon. The family behind Gadino Cellars knows wine and loves it, and it shows in every single inch of this stunning, made-with-love winery. 

if you go...

Gadino Cellars  

tasting: $6/person, including signature wine glass

2 regulation sized bocce courts are open for guest enjoyment

the tasting room and entire winery is dog-friendly, but keep your Theo on a leash

wine list with descriptions

 connect with Gadino on twitter like i did

where to eat in dc | al dente

Italians value food as pleasure and meals as luxurious affairs. During a recent meal at Al Dente, an Italian restaurant from renowned chef Roberto Donna in the Friendship Heights neighborhood of DC, I transcended mortal satiation and entered a kind of food nirvana, blissful and gratified off fresh mozzarella, the rolling names of pasta varieties, dry wine, and coffee-drenched ladyfingers. 

Zander and I started the meal with complimentary fresh bread and olive oil. The bread basket includes white and wheat bread and the star, Al Dente's Italy-certified pizza crust, for dipping. Already impressed, my burgeoning fandom grew in leaps and bounds when handed the wine menu. Attached to the robust wine list was a selection of local Virginia wines from vineyards small and large, ones I've visited and some of which I hadn't yet heard. Even more astounding, nearly every bottle was in the $30-$40 range, an incredibly reasonable price tag with minimal markup. We chose a dry Viognier from Delaplane Cellars. After one glass, I added Delaplane to my list of must-visit wineries.

We opted to start light with a sharable heirloom tomato salad dressed with onions, fresh basil, gorgonzola dressing and balsamic reduction. Unfortunately, our salad never arrived, and once handed our entrees, we opted to skip it. I have no doubt it would have been fresh and delicious, but I'll have to wait for another chance to taste it.

Zander quickly chose the parsley spaghettini entree with soft shell crab, cherry tomatoes, fresh basil, and garlic. The house made pasta came out piping hot, cooked perfectly al dente, and bursting with flavor from the parsley and herbs. I took one bite to try it... and then a second, third, and fourth because I couldn't stop. It was delicious and portioned just large enough to justify the whopping $25.95 cost.

After tasting the charred outside, soft on the inside pizza crust in our bread basket, I needed to taste the whole pizza. I ordered the Salsiccia e Rapini with tomato, smoked mozzarella, pork sausage, broccoli rabe, and garlic. Because I can never resist prosciutto, I added that on ($3). I was stuffed after the first slice, but the fresh cheese and garlic, oh the garlic! kept drawing me back in for more. At $12.95, the pizza is the best deal on the menu and some of the best (if not the best) pizza cooked in the authentic Italian tradition that I've had in DC... or anywhere.

We passively accepted dessert menus, assuming we'd skip it, until our eyes landed on the homemade tiramisu. I can never say no to it. It's a decadent dessert that doesn't rely solely on sugar. It's a balance of bittersweet cocoa and espresso aromas, ladyfingers and a tantalizingly smooth texture. And Al Dente's inimitable, uniquely shaped version, served with a warm chocolate sauce, had me rolling my eyes back with true Italian pleasure.

if you go...

al dente menus

i hear the brunch is particularly good

beware the over-attentive service (a better problem than inattentive service)

there's a free parking garage at night 

thriving.

I feel that excitement that stems from limitless possibilities brimming under my every breath lately. It's coming out of my pores and steaming up my unvoiced thoughts. It's the culmination of inspiration, motivation, ambition, and desire. It's making a mess of my routine, and the more it messes everything up and demands more of my stretched out time and attention, the more of myself I want to give to it, the more I want to give into it. Life is full lately, which feels different than just busy, and I'm thriving in it.

A few updates on what's been going on...

+I've been running 2 miles and seeing a physical therapist due to inflamed lining around my right tibia. In my first PT session, a massage therapist said the tissue in the injured area feels like a speed bump. I'm hopeful for recovery and feeling fitter and healthier every day that I step on a track and focus on my 2 miles.
+Taking the GRE scares the hell out of me, but I'm going to do it anyway. I'm at a remedial math level, and fear of total and complete failure crippled me from committing to studying for way too long. Every time I learn a new concept or get a problem correct that I didn't come close to understanding the day or hour before, I feel like superwoman and a magician all in one.
+Freelance writing and editing fills an increasing amount of my free time, and I'll keep creating space for it until I reach my creative capacity. I have an ambitious goal of supporting myself through freelancing income while in grad school.
+Upcoming travels and adventures provide me with a healthy amount of daydream material. This weekend Zander and I will be eating s'mores under the stars, drinking wine out of Solo cups, and hiking from one swimming hole to another. In two weeks, we're driving to see the Canadian side of Niagara Falls for a long weekend. And in three weeks, I'll be lounging beach side with a good book, clinging to the last days of summer.

What's been going on with you? 

in the stacks | into thin air

Between reading a practical blog post on how to take better photos in Nepal and the Himalayas and a Sherpa's account of the dangerous fight that took place on Everest in April this morning, I have Nepal on the brain. To be fair, I always have Nepal on my  mind... it's not always at the forefront, but it's there, lingering, waiting to be brought back into the limelight. Seeing a single mention of my favorite country that I haven't visited sends me down an internet rabbit hole, feasting my eyes on every bit of news, history, and Sherpa culture that I can find. I've had a love affair with Nepal since some time in 2009, when I read an article about trekking the Annapurna Circuit before it's completely paved over and commercialized. I may have missed the boat on that one, but I still desperately want to trek in the country that houses the roof of the world. I want to get a peek of that roof. Which brings me to reading Into Thin Air, journalist Jon Krakauer's harrowing account of his 1996 Mt. Everest summit climb. I can't believe it took me so long to read this book. I read it in three days, and I might re-read it. It's that... well, before I ascribe adjectives to it... let me review it.

Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer

Summary 
John Krakauer is a world-renowned writer and journalist, but before he was all that, he was an avid, respected mountain climber. He has summited some of the world's highest and most dangerous peaks. After getting married and growing a little gray, he thought those days were behind him. When Outside magazine asked him to join an expedition to Mt. Everest Base Camp in Nepal, his love of mountaineering and dream of one day summiting the world's highest mountain returned with ferocity. He told the magazine he'd do it - but only if he climbed the whole way up. The magazine agreed, and he found himself on the mountain in 1996, the year a dangerous storm took the lives of eight people on the mountain, including four members of his expedition. The book is his account of the events that took place.

Quotes
“Above the comforts of Base Camp, the expedition in fact became an almost Calvinistic undertaking. The ratio of misery to pleasure was greater by an order of magnitude than any mountain I'd been on; I quickly came to understand that climbing Everest was primarily about enduring pain. And in subjecting ourselves to week after week of toil, tedium and suffering, it struck me that most of us were probably seeking above all else, something like a state of grace.”

“We were too tired to help. Above 8,000 meters is not a place where people can afford morality."

My thoughts
I don't remember the disaster on Mt. Everest in 1996. I was in 5th grade, so it's easy to imagine the news passed me by. I have a hard time putting in to words what this book made me feel: remorse for the lives lost, captivated by the beauty, loneliness, and strife wrapped up in the lonely peak of Everest, entranced by Krakauer's story and the adventure of it all, and deeply moved by his honesty and pain. Krakauer wrote the book six months after the blizzard took the lives of his fellow climbers and guides that had become his friends, and his experience and memories and feelings are still raw. He writes in his usual investigate, fact-telling style of journalism, but pours more of himself into it than in anything else of his I've read. Krakauer introduces every member of the Adventure Consultants 1996 expedition with care and gratitude, humanizing them in what amounts to beautiful memorials of their experience, drive, and hope. He is honest about his own shortcomings, as well as the seemingly simple but fatal mistakes made that day on the mountain. He blames himself at times and heartrendingly admits that May 10-12, 1996 will haunt him for the rest of his life. I recommend this book to anyone interested in adventure travel, hiking, mountaineering, Nepal, Sherpa culture, or investigative and memoir writing.

where to eat in richmond | dot's back inn

My sports bra got twisted around my shoulders and wouldn't budget another inch. It wouldn't have mattered very much, except that I was standing bare-breasted in a parking lot filled with departing football fans. I pulled and yanked and writhed, Zander standing behind me with a blanket moving right to left, trying to censor the very public show I was putting on. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get the damn bra untwisted and over my boobs. With one hand, Zan continued to hold the blanket. He used his body to shield me while using his free hand to maneuver the rolled up bra. With a great heave I finally pulled the bra down, shimmied my goodies inside of it and stepped outside the blanket. Now, to put on dry underwear...

I came up with the perfect date for Zander last week - something that would get us out of town for the day, let us be outside, and appeal to his hobbies. I printed out tickets to attend the Washington football team's training camp in the new training center in Richmond. We packed a cooler and headed to Richmond at 9:30 Saturday morning for the 2:00pm practice. We assumed a 2-hour drive would leave us enough time to check out the downtown area, grab some snacks, and get to the field with enough time to find great seats.

And that's what's known as "best laid plans." Traffic had other ideas for us.

After 4 hours of stand-still, creeping, crawling, parking lot style traffic on 95-South, we drove into Richmond with attitudes as sour as lemons and headaches from the pure insanity of it. Okay, I had a bad attitude and a headache. I walked if off on the 3/4 mile walk to the field from the parking lot, and by the time we were looking for seats, I was excited again.

The skies had looked ominous all morning, and we'd had a few showers on the way down, but our weather apps swore the rain would be intermittent and manageable. So we weren't worried when the clouds started to pool together and the sky went from gray to grayer. At 1:40, we maneuvered our way into a spot right on the 50-yard-line.

At 1:41, the sky directly over the field flashed white and yellow with a bolt of lightning so close I could make out its shape. We looked at each other nervously. "It'll pass right over," we both said and nodded.

At 1:42, the clouds couldn't hold it anymore, and the entire sky over Richmond poured down pelts of rain so thick and with such a fury they stung when they hit. I think we looked at each other in total shock for a second before we cracked up. The absurdity of the whole drive down, realizing we left the umbrella in the car, the distance we were from shelter, the complete certainty that practice was now canceled - we couldn't stop laughing.

We got back to the car with pool in our shoes, our clothes soaked to the ends, and our hair matted to our heads. I had a change of clothes from another best laid plan (to work out before leaving that morning), and that's how I found myself stripping behind Zan's SUV. It was a wonderful kind of misadventure, and I loved Zan all the more for his sense of humor, willingness to shake it off, and mostly, suggestion of a great restaurant for lunch.

We'll forever remember Saturday as the day we drove 11 hours to have lunch at Dot's Back Inn. Dot's Back Inn is a 1950s, Rosie-the-Riveter-themed diner with serious culinary prowess.The chef is classically trained, it has been featured on Diners, Drive Ins and Dives, and the burger with pineapple is legit. And - they have $2 beer! We were not in DC anymore, Toto! Dot's was the perfect antidote to our soggy, rained out plans.

if you go...

Dot's Back Inn 

swimming with canoes | fletchers cove

now this is a story
all about how
our boat got flipped
turned upside down
and i'd like to take a minute
just sit right there
i'll tell you how we flipped into the potomac river

"We both have pretty good upper body strength, right? We'll be fine." I hesitantly nodded my approval before Sonia stepped into our canoe. The second she turned her back I vigorously shook my head. I have as much upper body strength as I do chances of becoming a supermodel in the next week. But I felt pretty positive that I could handle a canoe paddle. This is kid's play, right? 

Sonia and I met at Fletcher's Cove on a recent Sunday afternoon. It's sort of in the middle of nowhere in DC. After exploring Hains Point a few days prior - another getaway-within-the-city, I was less surprised by the serenity and placidity at Fletcher's, but I was still so overjoyed by it. I've spent my three years in DC becoming a regular at various bars and restaurants and getting to know the city on a gastronomical, occasionally tourist-style level. But this summer has been about finding the spots that fill my soul more than my stomach, as cheesy as that sounds.

But back to my novice canoeing attempt. Did I mention this was my first time canoeing, kayaking, or generally boating? I failed to tell Sonia, either, until we were already out on the water.

Fletcher's is on a narrow strait of the Potomac River. It's mostly calm, but even the slightest bit of wind makes for a workout when you're rowing against it. We started off rowing with the wind, aiming to head down about to a nondescript point we could see in the distance before turning back. We chatted the whole way, stopping mid-sentence to let a plane pass overhead, before picking up where we had left off once it passed.

When we reached our turnaround point, we lifted our oars for a minute to enjoy the quiet. It's really beautiful out there - dense trees and foliage lining both sides of the river, other canoes and kayaks gliding across the water. We watched a buck, a doe, and their little fawn graze, admiring their coloring and gentle movements.

We headed back rowing down the center of the river, using all of our strength to stay on course. The wind would take us allllll the way to the left. We'd get back to the center with concentrated effort, and the wind would push us alllll the way to the right. On one of those trips alllll the way to the right, we beached on a rock. We used our paddles to push off, we shifted our weight side to side. Sonia moved to the middle of the boat to shimmy us off. Finally, I stepped out onto the rocks, pushed the boat away and leaped back into the boat, stomach first.

Having overcome that obstacle, all we had to do was turn ourselves 90 degrees and head straight, and we'd be at the dock in no time. We both leaned left and paddled with all our might, willing and forcing the boat to turn. A fierce gust of wind came from our right sides, and with a singular all-of-our-strength into the oars paddle, we capsized.

We didn't have time to think, remove our shoes (don't wear flip-flops!), or stabilize before we were thrown into the legendary not-so-clean Potomac waters. The second I hit the water, my hand went into my life vest, where I'd tucked a change purse with my cell phone, keys, cash, and credit card. I pulled it up and over my head into the air before I'd even emerged for a breath.

By the time we resurfaced, we were laughing so hard the water droplets might have been tears, and I'd lost a shoe that Sonia had grabbed, and the paddles were floating 10 feet away. For a good 30 minutes, we tried to swim the canoe back - me on my back butterfly kicking with my change purse held sky high (my phone!), Sonia with all four of our shoes stuffed into her life jacket, helping me guide the boat.

We did eventually make it back, with the help of a small-boat fisherman (and a giant catfish that nestled against my leg - cue me screaming and jumping up and down on rocks in the water). Sonia waved to the guy assisting on the dock as we rowed in, "It's a nice day for a swim, huh?" And his eyes went wide. "So YOU TWO are the ones that fell in!"

Yep, that's us! I can't wait to canoe again. But before I do, maybe I should do some push-ups.

if you go...

fletcher's boathouse 

rent single & double kayaks, canoes, & bicycles

canoe rates: $14/hour $28/day

the wait: at 3:30pm on a sunday, we waited a brief 30-minutes. they'll call you when they have a boat

 

the barns at hamilton station vineyards | virginia wineries

The story behind The Barns at Hamilton Station Vineyards is enough to fuel the imagination of any dreamer. The story, as I heard it, goes something like this... A girl and a boy were childhood best friends. They grew up and found and married the loves of their lives. Both couples had kids and stayed close through the years. As they neared that age where retirement feels closer than it is farther away, they started talking about was next. As dinner drew to a close one evening, and another glass of wine was poured all around, the two couples talked about what it might look like to open a winery. (I've had that conversation, haven't we all?) Their nightcap conversation turned serious in the many days and months and years to come, and eventually, they went through with it. Together, the two couples purchased a 103-year-old dairy farm in Hamilton, Virginia and converted it to a vineyard and winery. They recruited their kids to help clean the place, tear down what was too old and restore what was beautiful and well-kept.

One of the owners' daughters, now in college, told Zander and me the story as she poured our tasting. We were so hooked we kept forgetting to taste the next wine (most of which were notable). The historic barn-turned-winery captured my imagination last weekend, and it still has it held captive now.

I love the idea of the stories a barn holds - the memories of generations of kids jumping from a loft into bales of hay, screaming with delight and fear the whole way down, and the intimate connection between humans and animals and nature. I like the idea of this particular old farm and barn and its stories joining forces with two couples with a powerful story of their own.

The owners kept the original wood floors - re-purposing them in some places and leaving them as is, in others. The tasting room sits on the first floor and showcases exposed wooden beams and natural light. Once upon a time, the basement housed milking cows, and while you might not know that right away, it's not hard to imagine. The floors have barely been touched, and the smell of hay and milk and land still permeates the whole place, if you close your eyes and breathe in deeply.

The owners have kept the integrity of the farm structure and its aesthetic and historical appeal in tact while re-imagining a modern, solvent life for it. Fortunately for all of us, that new breath of life involves award-winning Viognier and tables with a view.

if you go...

the barns at hamilton station vineyards

tasting fee: $7

45 minutes from DC

the most photographed spot in the winery is the pinterest-inspired rakes as wine-glass holders