Wine Country and Back Country

Guys. GUYS. Oh my gosh. Did you know that there's a place in Idaho City that sells slices of pie the size of your head? GUYS. This is serious.

But let me start at the beginning.

Did you know that we live in Wine Country? I know. I didn't, either. Well, I knew, but I didn't understand.

Sean and I have been to a few galleries and shops here when they've had wine tastings, and there are always several wineries at the farmers market on Saturdays. We've talked often of going out to see the wineries, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. Well, my Bestie came down last weekend for a visit, and the weather was great--so we decided to give it a go.

Holy Hannah. I had no idea that there were something like 30 wineries in a 6-mile radius. Some were understated, but some--like Bitner--had views of the vineyard and the Snake River Valley that threw us right out of southern Idaho and straight into Tuscany. Amazing. Breathtaking. Beautiful.

And the wine is surprisingly top-notch. Idaho's wine country is up-and-coming in a BIG way. I actually joined the wine club at Koenig Winery just so that I could walk out the door with their members-only Pinot Noir. And the bachelorette party that kept following us from stop to stop--increasingly intoxicated as they each stumbled out of their stretch limo--wasn't even enough to dampen our fun. 

We cut ourselves off after four wineries because we got started late-ish in the day--and ironically we wanted to head back to a new microbrewery/pub in Boise for dinner. After a day of winetasting, we capped our day with good beer and surprisingly great food at 10 Barrel Brewing. So often I feel like new, crowded, trendy restaurants are often not worth the hype (like when PF Chang's or Cheesecake Factory opened--yougottabekiddingme), but this small chain (out of Bend, OR) was well worth the hype.

On Sunday, it was chilly enough in the morning that during brunch we convinced my Bestie that heading up to Idaho City to take a dip in the hot springs was actually a good idea. A 30-minute drive from our house and a left turn into a parking area, and we found ourselves at a "day resort" in the middle of nowhere. The facilities were small but surprisingly swank, and we spent just under two hours toasting ourselves in the pool-sized hot spring in the beautiful autumn sun while a guy in the jeans-and-flannel-shirt uniform brought us wine and beer. Not a bad gig.

Nothing makes you hungrier than doing absolutely nothing while toasting in a hot spring and drinking booze, so we left to explore Idaho City for a late lunch. Five minutes further down the road, and we entered what felt a like the set of Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman, except with cars and stuff.

(Am I the only one who remembers Doctor Quinn? I used to idolize Jane Seymore, and I had a crush on Sully. Whatever happened to Sully, anyway? And I no longer idolize Jane Seymore. I grew up and realized how insufferably preachy the Quinn character was, and how insufferably weepy Jane's acting often is. Though to be fair to her, I haven't seen her in much lately. Wasn't she on Dancing With the Stars? Was she insufferably weepy as she danced? Maybe she could recruit Sully for next season. I'd like to see that.)

Anyway, I digress. We swept the main street of "town" (population 480) and swung a u-turn to hit the diner with the crowded parking lot. We got one of the last tables (at 2pm), and they kept flipping tables the whole time we were there. CRAZY busy. The inside had its own charm... the kind of place that would only survive in a time warp or tiny town. Apparently an antique store exploded inside the cafe, and was only partially cleaned up. When you see the display case of pies, though, you're pretty much ready to forgive them anything. Trudy's has great--if somewhat standard--food, but they have pies the size of my badonkadonk butt and serve slices as big as my head. Holy Hannah. My Bestie--who loves pies and cobblers--said that her raspberry rhubarb crumble was probably the best crumble she has ever had, and I--who tend to dislike cooked, squishy fruit--couldn't stop stealing bites even though I had a slice of pumpkin cream pie the size of the Yukon holding down the table in front of me.

Trudy herself came out to talk to us. Turns out that was the busiest day she can ever remember having in her 16 years of proprietorship. And when she saw our eyes rolling back into our head in rhubarb ecstasy, she said, "Yeah, you know I'm single? My momma always told me that if I could bake, I could snag myself a husband. She lied." She sauntered back behind the counter to serve more pie, and when three more parties came through the door looking for a table, she sarcastically--but sweetly--remarked, "Boy, I sure do wish we could find us some customers today."

Overall, it was a most patriotic and all-American experience. What is more American than eating pie in a teeny tiny Old West gold rush town?

Let me tell you: Not much.

 

Long live pie--and wine.

Rolling Out the Welcome Mat

Welcome! Most of you have probably linked over here from my other blog, Cupcakes Are the New Black. If you've just accidentially stumbled here from someplace on the world-wide interwebs, double welcome! Hope you stick around a while.

I've decided to split my blogs in order to try and keep Cupcakes more, well, cupcake-related.

Please bear with me. This page will probably be under construction for a bit as I tweak it around and see what works best for me.

In the meantime, here's hoping I post more regularly.

I know the name is a little bit odd.... but it seemed to fit for me. Non-sequitur is Latin for "not pertaining to anything." And I travel lots, so pronouncing "sequiturism" a little like "tourism" seemed like an appropriate fit. A little hard to spell? Sure. But that's what internet bookmarks are for.

Anyway, I appreciate you stepping on the crazy train with me. Thanks for stopping by, and hope you come back!

A Day of Intention

There are two huge windows in my office, which means I can watch the neighborhood go by… and since I haven’t put up curtains yet, the neighborhood can watch me, too. I’ll get around to curtains eventually, I’m sure.

Each morning I seem to get bored at roughly the same time, and I sit back for a moment and turn to look out the window. And each morning, regular enough to set my clock by, the groundskeeper for the neighborhood putters by in his golf cart loaded with shovels and clippers and all sorts of landscape-y things. He’s an old man hunched over the steering wheel, leaning precariously out the side as he rolls slowly down the road, peering carefully into the median to check out each of his plants—then he reaches the end of the road and pulls a u-turn and putts down other side of the median, perilously scrutinizing the plants on the far side. Each time, he reaches the end of his lap and hits the gas, maxing out the speed of his loaded-to-the-gills golf cart.

Of all the times that I’ve seen him make his examination, I’ve never once seen him get out of the cart and make any adjustment. I’ve also never seen so much as a single weed trying to peep its head out of the carefully landscaped garden. Perhaps they wither under his gaze each morning.

Blue coveralls are his summer uniform of choice, but as the mornings get colder, he’s taken to wearing a plaid jacket, gloves, and a furry black hat on his rounds—the kind of hat with the fleecy earflaps, which he leaves tied-off on top of the hat.

I don’t know his name. I don’t know if he’s as old as he looks, or if he’s been weathered by wind and sun and crouching over steering wheels. I don’t know if he’s nice, or gruff, or married, or single, a grandfather, or a widower. I know absolutely nothing about this man—and I doubt that he has ever once lifted his head from his plant-based scrutiny to see me in my window—but all the same he has become part of my routine. How often does this happen each day, to each of us? How often do we unwittingly become part of someone’s routine—stepping into their lives without intention and without thought, touching them simply by existing? How much more of an impact could we have on the world around us if we DID face each day with intention?

I find myself rushing through my errands at the grocery store, the dry cleaners, the big box stores, always rushing rushing rushing, edging away from the cashier who talks too much and rolling my eyes in exasperation when I turn away. But why am I in such a hurry? Is an extra five minutes going to make a huge difference in my day? I highly doubt it. And maybe what that cashier REALLY needed today was someone who was willing to slow down and listen up. Maybe she’ll go home to her crazy house and umpteen kids and busy husband and dirty kitchen and be just a smidge happier because she got an extra smile, laugh, and 45 seconds of listening from a random stranger who simply made her feel like she was heard.

And maybe not. Maybe that cashier has a perfectly happy life, no worries, and really doesn’t care if each person through her line doesn’t make eye contact and snatches the receipt away from her with impatience. But does that really change anything? Slowing down and listening up has done as much good for me as I imagine it may be for others.

And soon, before I know it, maybe I’ll have inadvertently worked myself into the landscape of someone else’s life with no effort at all.