i'd rather be at marterella winery | virginia

I told them it looked like a country club when we pulled up. Zander asked if I'd ever seen a country club, and Matt asked me, too, and Ryan, well, I think he'd gone off to have a smoke, but he probably would have concurred with the others. "Because," Matt finished for Zander. "This looks nothing like a country club."

I tried to keep explaining what I meant, in that rambling way I do sometimes - when I have a point and it's buried somewhere, but I can't find the words to spit it on out. For a writer, it's a real problem to have. I said that it was the manicured lawns that made me think that, and didn't they agree? Had they ever seen a lawn so well-manicured that wasn't at a country club?

They looked at each other and back at me and shrugged and left me standing in the vines, lost in my thoughts. The sun was doing that thing where it shined so bright it put a haze on every picture, and I kept taking them anyway because it's one of my favorite filters. And I thought more about this country club conundrum.

I thought of my lawn at 465 Freestone Drive, my childhood house, the home I had from years 6-21, the address that I put as "permanent" when my school address and internship addresses were nothing but fleeting. That lawn was always messy, and it was always a toss-up who would mow it, about two weeks after it first needed to be mowed. My mom on the riding lawn mower, her big, thick, curly hair going everywhere and a smile that is bigger than everything in life playing on her face - it's so funny that she fought mowing because I think she lived for the power of that motor under her control. My brother with a standing mower when the riding one broke down, headphones in his ears, and hair longer than the trendiest cut. And when the headphones weren't in, his best friend Andy sometimes walked along beside him, and they had conversations over the sound of the mower, and I don't know how they did that, but they circled the yard like that, talking the lawn into neat rows, sweat dripping from their foreheads to the blades below them, growing them again.

I've always liked things a little messy and a little un-put together. I used to ask my mom when she would worry and get anxious over new people or family coming over to 465 for dinner, "Why does it need to be clean? This looks like it's lived in. Isn't that better?"

I laughed myself out of my thoughts - and have you ever done that, think so hard and get lost so hard in another place and another date, and you laugh like you're back there in that moment, and then you're in the present, standing in a row of vines in front of a well-manicured lawn laughing? I must have looked crazy, but I didn't bother to see who noticed.

I walked into the tasting room, where the guys had glasses and a fourth was sitting for me. An '80s punk rocker congenially welcomed me and asked all our names, and she became our friend for a half hour. Her outfit was a Halloween costume, and the rest of the staff was dressed up, too. The owner came by and personally said hello. And the winery there at Marterella is situated on well-manicured grounds, but it's in an old house with live music played just a little too loud and tastings are poured from a functioning kitchen not unlike the one at 465, and it's small and personable and produces a modest number of cases of wonderful reds, and it feels lived in and homey, and that is better than perfectly put-together.

We sat outside with cheese and sausage and big glasses of Merlot in that hazy bright sunshine, and a golden retriever fetched us a ball. Later, the guys jokingly asked if I wanted to see pictures of a real country club.

I never live these things down.

if you go...

Marterella Winery

off rt 15 (from 66) in Warrenton, after Manasses and before Sperryville

red & white tasting flight: $15

my wine picks: Sangiovese, Merlot

travel tuesday | the acropolis of athens

I explored Athens, Greece with my eyes trained upward. You can see the Acropolis nearly anywhere you are in Athens. That's the first thing that captured my attention about it. Confusedly wandering down city streets the night we arrived, passing by a sandwich shop and stepping on uneven cobblestones, my girlfriend Callie and I stopped to consult our map and our gaze moved upward toward street signs, and we looked right into the illuminated facade of the Parthenon, sitting high atop a hill not too far from where we stood. For the next four days, everything we did in Athens, I stopped en route to gawk at the Acropolis, sitting there in in all its ancient grandeur, calmly and confidently saying, "I've been here for 2,500 years. What about you?"

As a student, I was always a nerd for social studies. To this day, I cry indiscriminately at displays of democracy - seeing the White House (even after 3 years in DC), a candidate winning from a grassroots campaign (even when I disagree with his/her entire platform), the President shaking hands with a reporter, The West Wing. It all gets me. In Athens, I was moved to tears when I saw the Acropolis up close and personal. The Parthenon, the very structure and architecture of it, represents democracy, the birth of western civilization, classical ideas, the ancient roots of the country in which I now live and thrive. Standing on top of the Acropolis, I experienced a small part of the birth of democracy, and it felt bigger than me, far, far bigger than any of us, it felt like freedom. 

It's all for Athena. The most iconic image of the Acropolis is the Parthenon, dedicated to Athena, the goddess of Athens. It's so perfect that even in 30 years of renovations, architects still admire how they got the lines curved just so to make them appear perfectly straight. But nearly every structure and temple on the Acropolis is dedicated to Athena in one way or another. My favorite structure is the Erechtheion - dedicated to both Athena and Poseidon, although we know who really won that battle... 

Olives matter even on the Acropolis. Callie, Jess, and I swapped Greek mythology stories while we walked around the Acropolis. My favorite: Poseidon and Athena both wanted control of the city, so they challenged each other to a battle for it. They met at the top of the Acropolis, and instead of fighting, each had a chance to present a gift to the Athenians in the hopes of winning them over. Poseidon, god of the sea, gave them water, but it was salty, and the people couldn't drink it. Athena, wonderful goddess she is, grew an olive tree that could sustain the people, give them a specialty crop that could produce oils coveted by every other city around. Athena won. (As though Poseidon stood a chance.)

The view is astounding. I didn't expect to like Athens, truth be told. When Callie and I planned our trip to Turkey and Greece, we only planned to stay in Athens for a few days and figured we'd do day trips to other notable sites. But when we got there, with that first sighting of the Acropolis, and the first friendly Greek greeting we received, and the first overflowing Greek salad we ate, and the first restaurant owner who shared carafe wine with us and welcomed us to Athens, and the first time I wandered down a stupendously steep hill to a bustling market (and heaved back up it), and the first time I sounded out the name of a Greek word - finding the alphabet some old place in my memory, I was head over heels. And when I stood on top of the Acropolis, taking in the entire city beneath me, standing on the very highest point built by an ancient civilization to be closer to the gods, I had to fight every urge in my body never to go home.

fall is for cider and corn mazes

I'll be 45 and still gathering my friends every fall to go to a corn maze. Maybe there'll be kids involved at that point, but you know what? I romanticize and just frankly adore my time with other adults, finding the kids inside ourselves. So maybe when I'm 45, and Matt & Whitney, and all my closest friends, and I have kids, we'll leave them at home, and we and our partners will drive out onto country roads, up to a rustic barn, and do a corn maze with just the adults. That's just the kind of thing that I imagine will keep us young and invigorated for our kids, still so full of life, making dirty puns that stem from nothing but spending time together, reminiscing old memories, and making new ones. We'll grumble even more then about waiting in too-long lines for hot cider and grilled hot dogs - or maybe because we have kids, we'll have learned some patience. We'll pass a bag of kettle corn between us as we hunt through the maize maze with a crayon and a clue sheet, purposefully going the wrong way until we decide it's time to go the right way. We'll take ridiculous photos, and run behind giant stalks of corn to scare the others (and I'll always be the only one scared, even then).

It'll be great when we're 45, just as great as it is right now. It's my favorite fall tradition, started last year and not going anywhere anytime soon.

one year ago: Temple Hall Farm

if you go...

corn mazes & pumpkin patches near dc

this year we tried Corn Maize in the Plains

tickets: $10

tip: the maze is great, the lines for food are epic, and other attractions are weak

maze: it took us about 40 minutes

friday photo | halloween in japan

These aren't the best pictures, but they certainly are the best memories. When you're an expat living in a new country, you relish getting to know the locals and local traditions and customs. You also relish celebrating some of your own traditions with other expats. For Halloween in 2009, we planned a party at Mike's, one of the only Mexican restaurants in our prefecture (state). We wore costumes, and my girlfriend Callie and I went as Beyonce and her dancers from the "Single Ladies" video. And today I'd tell you I'm embarrassed looking at the photos and videos of me dancing from that night in that leotard and those tights, and boy, do I mean it, but I'm also so happy that I did that and was a little crazy and uninhibited and went all out. We drank margaritas and got funky with it during the Cha Cha Slide and spoke in Japanese phrases but mostly in English and we made the traditions of our home countries come alive in a small Mexican bar in Iwakuni, Japan.

I'm challenging all the Halloweens from this year out to beat that one. It's stiff competition.

miniature horses and sangria at aspen dale winery | virginia

As I was uploading photos for this post, an odd memory came back to me. It was one of those memories that flashes by and then is gone, and you have to go searching for it in the twists and turns and ridges in your brain. The most I can make of it is the distinct memory of a small round horse riding arena, the smell of dung and hay and that absolutely unique scent of horse that's a mixture of the outdoors and fresh air and wildness. I remember riding the horses, trotting around the arena slowly, getting used to the saddle beneath me and wishing I were riding bareback. I mean it with as little euphemism as possible when I say I've always been the sort of woman who prefers riding bareback.

What I can't remember is exactly where I was or with what friend. I can pull from the annals of time that I had this friend for a short time, and maybe we weren't so close, and I can see her mom carrying a baby out of an old house with peeling wood, and my mom went in after her to stay for a while and say hello. The friend's name might have been Katie, but I can't be positive.

I've ridden other horses over the years and found always that I'd prefer no saddle and that I'm quite possibly allergic to the animals, and that there's a fearlessness and wild abandon in me that gets the horse, but also that I find riding kind of boring, if truth be told. Most of the times I have ridden have been on trails that I'd rather be hiking. But they're beautiful animals, that for some strange reason are always the cause of excitement when people see them.

Have you ever noticed that? From the horse-drawn carriages in Central Park to officers patrolling on horseback to actually visiting a stable, people get very excited to see horses. I think it's a combination of the paradox of their large size and typically gentle nature and their romanticized role in America's entire history. Really, the only thing more exciting than seeing a full grown horse is seeing a miniature one. 

There are a lot of horses and a few miniature horses at Aspen Dale Winery at the Barn, another stunning, rustic Virginia winery that I'd like to call home. On the same gray day that Zander and I visited Linden Vineyards, where we met vintner Jim Law, we also visited Aspen Dale, known for its hominess, coziness, and barn animals.

Walking into Aspen Dale, my gaze immediately turned upward to the loft situated above the main floor, accessed by a spiral staircase. The very thought of a loft makes me crave thick socks, a long novel, and a steaming mug. In a winery, the association of comfort persists but with a touch of romance, intimacy, and lingering conversations.

When I finally pulled myself away from the loft, I saddled up to the tasting bar. We were handed our glasses and a plate each of small tasting bites. I love when wineries do standard wine tastings with food pairings (it also happens at Fabbiolo Cellars). It's a particularly smart choice for Aspen Dale, where I think the food makes the wines shine a little brighter than they would on their own.

We tasted six wines, with a few there were notable. In particular, the 2009 Rockawalkin' is a dry, earthy, peppery Cabernet Sauvignon that was okay on its own but came alive paired with dark chocolate. When I hear "dessert wine" I cringe, and Aspen Dale changed my preconceived notions with this one. Typically, dessert wines are sweet - like ports, some reislings, and ice wine - but a dry red with the right earth tones pulls out the bitterness and seductiveness of a piece of dark chocolate. I wanted to drink this wine and indulge in chocolate covered cherries or strawberries late into the night.

My other favorite was completely unexpected - Sangria! I've never seen bottled Sangria at a winery, but you know what? It works for them. It's also delicious. The tasting staff openly admitted to us that it was from a rough harvest, and they experimented with it, coming up with a top-secret recipe. They started offering it to customers, and it took off. It's selling like crazy. It reinforced the wine truth that the whole business of tasting and drinking and enjoying wine is individual and subjective. If you like it, go for it.

So I did. I bought a bottle that I can't wait to open.

They're so smart with their food pairings, too, that when Zan  and I ordered a glass each to enjoy on the grounds, we also ordered a food plate with more of what we sampled.

While sipping my wine, I wandered around the extensive grounds that lead back to a functioning barn. I was the only one milling around the wet grass on the gray day, and I liked it like that. It was just me and the horses. I was quickly enamored with the view - fog settled in over the mountains in the distance in one direction, and vines stretching endlessly in another.

The miniature horses of course stole my heart. I joked that I had met Li'l Sebastian from Parks and Recreation.

Aspen Dale Winery is the kind of place I want to settle into, a glass of wine in one hand, listening to the crackle of flames in the fireplace, a live guitar player singing the blues, knowing there's a bit of wild right outside the back door. That's the kind of memory I can hold onto.

if you go...

Aspen Dale Winery at the Barn 

located off rt-66 in delaplane, virginia

tasting with food pairing: $8 (with glass $10.50)

if you plan to go with a group of 8 or more, make a reservation by emailing reservations@aspendalewinery.com

tasting the best of virginia wine at linden vineyards

The hours between a rain storm and before the sun shines again, when the temperature hovers around chilly and the grass is a little greener and the fluttering fall leaves are a little more pronounced in their new colorful shades, has become my favorite time to go wine tasting. A gray day pairs perfectly with a glass of wine, I've found.

A week or two ago when it rained for four days straight in DC, a cloudy Saturday felt like a respite and an opportunity to trade the couch for a trip out to wine country in Virginia. We headed to Delaplane, Virginia, barely more than an hour from DC, and home to a handful of great wineries that we hadn't been to yet.

We navigated the winding gravel drive to Linden Vineyards first, mountains behind us cloaked in fog. The vines angle upward along steep hills, and we'd come to later learn from Jim Law, winemaker, that for certain grapes, it aids in the process.

The winery is housed in a beautiful old barn, refurbished and renovated for modern necessities, while maintaining much of its rustic charm. The view looks out over the vines and mountains and a pond alongside a stunning Weeping Willow tree. The tasting room is open to the public, but the vineyard's deck and lounge are reserved for wine club members; a true perk of joining but a disappointment to many who would stay and purchase a glass or drink a bottle, if they could.

There are two tasting options: the standard with five of their wines and a cellar tasting, featuring reserves. We opted for the introductory tasting but were generously offered tastings of many reserves, as well as industry discounts on bottles we purchased. In total we tried nine wines, and we quickly realized why Linden is recognized as being one of the top-notch Virginia wineries. Complex, deep, aged wines delighted us from start to finish.

Linden's wines are made in an old world style, many exhibiting notes of minerality, earth tones, and acidity. The 2010 single-varietal Petit Verdot captured our attention with blackberry and herbal notes and a medium tannin finish. It's a rustic, mildly spicy wine that would be perfect right alongside turkey and greens on a Thanksgiving table.

My other favorite standouts are the 2009 Hardscrabble, a 64% Cabernet Sauvignon blend that's still considered young. We bought this bottle and plan to age it for the next 5 years or so. And the 2012 Rose is light and fruity on the nose with spicy undertones, and so very dry. I'd love to wait to open it until the first warm days next year, but I don't think I can wait long.

Jim Law walked into the winery in the middle of our tasting, clad in mud-and-rain covered boots straight from the vineyards, where he was busy managing and working this year's harvest. He took the time to talk to Zander and me about grape-picking, and vines that have done well this year and ones that haven't (it has been a wet year). He has been interviewed and profiled numerous times, and his talent is first-rate. He's a vintner in the truest sense, his mind and craft focused on terroir and the science of growing grapes.

Linden was kind enough to allow us to enjoy the perks of being a member for the day, and we sat and chatted and drank wine in their lounge, watching Law and other harvesters move from row to row and vine to vine picking grapes that will undoubtedly turn into some of the best wine in Virginia.

if you go...

Linden Vineyards

located off rt. 66 near delaplane, virginia

tasting fee: $5 standard; $20 cellar

read more about Linden & Jim Law in Forbes

in the stacks | what i talk about when i talk about running

Synopsis
Renowned Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami focuses his narrative inwards in a non-fiction, memoir-esque book of essays about his life as a runner and a writer. He says himself that he doesn't quite know what this book is other than a way to simply talk to his audience and fans about what it is that crosses his mind when he crosses the finish line at marathons, triathlons, and even an ultra-marathon.

Quotes
"So the fact that I’m me and no one else is one of my greatest assets. Emotional hurt is the price a person has to pay in order to be independent."

"I've always done whatever I felt like doing in life. People may try to stop me, and convince me I'm wrong, but I won't change."

"I'm often asked what I think about as I run. Usually the people who ask this have never run long distances themselves. I always ponder the question. What exactly do I think about when I'm running? I don't have a clue."

My thoughts... 
Melanie got me What I Talk About When I Talk About Running for my birthday this year, and what a great gift and how very thoughtful - it's about writing and running by a Japanese author, and those are three things that mean something to me. I'm ashamed to say that this is the first of Murakami's books I've read, but I can promise that it won't be the last. Murakami is a bit of a loner, humble, and also very confident. His essays seem flowing and uneventful, even, and then when I finished one, I found myself inspired to create routines that build on my talents, to utilize my time in ways that make better sense for my productivity, and to look at writing as a marathon instead of a sprint. I write in bursts, and Murakami says bluntly - that's not how to sustain writing talent. Talent he says, must be divvied out slowly and steadily, must be nourished every single day. He says, too, that the well of talent in many writers dries up, and when that happens, if they don't have discipline to fall back on, they're left with blank pages. On running, too, Murakami does it easier than I ever will, but I left the book inspired to be my own runner, whether that means running at my own pace, setting goals, or even ditching goals and doing it just because I am capable. Reading Murakami almost feels like he's lending an ear to listen to me, instead of the other way around. 

grape stomping lucy & ethel style at clifton day | virginia

It was Christmas of 1994 when I yelled across the six other people in our minivan and over "Here Comes Santa Claus" blaring from the tape deck to my mom all the way in the driver's seat, "What's a prostitute?" In my imperfect memory, the car came to a screeching halt and everything went silent like a scene from a movie. In reality, I think she yelled back, "Ask me later!" and kept on driving. She can, every once in a while, play it cool like that.

I asked again later, and she demanded to know where I'd heard that word. Talking to my friends about Pretty Woman, naturally. Mom and I had watched the movie so many times I'm surprised the tape still worked, but she never let me watch the sex scene (you know the one I'm talking about - where they're on the piano and it's truly, ridiculously sexy and inappropriate for an 8-year-old). She explained prostitute to me and then probably reconsidered ever having allowed me to see that movie in the first place. But the damage had been done so we continued to watch it until we really did wear the VHS out.

The other scene from that movie that stuck with me as a kid is in the very beginning, when the stunning Julia Roberts (that smile!) convinces Richard Gere's stuffy character to chill out by vegging, and she laughs hysterically at an old re-run of I Love Lucy when Lucy and Ethel stomp grapes to make wine. (I'm calling myself out on being really young here that my exposition on grape stomping involves a second-hand experience of seeing the iconic Lucy scene.) I've wanted to stomp grapes every since, and what girl that grew up on Pretty Woman in the 90s didn't?

I got my chance this weekend at the Clifton Day Festival in Clifton, Virginia. It's my favorite small-town in America. I challenge anyone to find me a town quainter and cuter and more perfectly old-fashioned small-town than Clifton. It's one of my favorite places to get away to for an afternoon, which is perfect since Paradise Springs Winery - the closest winery to DC - is just a short drive away. Paradise Springs offered wine tasting and grape stomping at the festival so Sonia, Zan, and I pulled ourselves into the drizzly, gray weather and on traffic-laden Route 66 last Sunday afternoon.

The festival was great and much bigger than I expected. Zan and I bought several incredible smelling candles from Wikiwood Naturals, a company based out of Virginia, and I can't get enough of my "Gingerbread Dreams" scent. We found a perfect handmade Christmas gift for Zan's 2-going-on-3-year-old goddaughter. And we coveted handcrafted wine racks and shelves in oak and cherry. Of course, we splurged on festival fair like beignets and an ice cream sandwich. And then, the grape stomping!

It was chilly and wet out, but the three of us were still surprised that there was nobody waiting to stomp grapes when we chatted with the guys running the Paradise Springs booth. Sonia and I volunteered to lead the charge, took off our boots and socks, rolled up our jeans, and jumped in. It is a bizarre sensation - cold, gooey, squishy naturally, and it oozes between your toes. It's kind of like squishing mud, but you can feel the skins of the grapes coming off.

After we stomped, the Winery staff told us a little bit about the advantages of stomping grapes rather than using machines (though treading grapes is rarely done today for sanitation reasons). Your feet can feel clumps easier than a machine can spot them. Feet also release the juice from the grapes more gradually and gently than machines. Grape stomping is traditionally used to make red wine.

Clifton Day and grape stomping was so much fun. I finally got to live out my Pretty Woman dreams! All that's left now is for Richard Gere Zan to jump out of a limo and climb a fire escape to dramatically profess his love and kiss me deeply. ;) 

(I'm also crazy about red hair and know my salad fork from my dinner fork from Barney Thompson and I moved to LA after college because, "What's your dream?!" really hit home, and sometimes before a fancy date with Zander, I say, "In case I forget to tell you later, I had a really great time tonight." Oh, and of course, "Rodeo Drive, baby!" Pretty Woman has been influential in my life, as you can see.)