Summer ’09 was the last time I cruised the back roads and dirt lanes of wine country. Now, with two kids in tow—one still breastfeeding and the other prone to fits of boredom—trips to Niagara or PEC aren’t on the radar. So I live vicariously through the online exploits of my wineaux friends.
All over Facebook, my friends are posting albums from their journeys among the vines. One recently returned from a trip through the BC interior, having made stops along the way at Blasted Church, Burrowing Owl, Elephant Head, Quail’s Gate, the famous mystical pyramid at Summerhill, and a host of others. Her photos were drool-worthy depictions of hilly landscapes striped with vines, portraits of she and her hubby dining lakeside, candids taken at many a tasting bar along the way. Oh, so jealous.
(I had a chance to try Blasted Church’s white blend, Hatfield's Fuse, during one of my class tastings a couple of years ago. Their proprietary blend of eight varietals was fragrant and luscious; I would have been more than happy to order a case, if it weren’t for those pesky cross-border wine shopping laws.)
Another friend just uploaded shots from a winery in Napa: sun-drenched greenery juxtaposed with shadowy images of barrels in a cellar. Can I go? Please?
Since my own travel plans don't seem to be panning out, I've resorted to begging for wine from those who are travelling. A colleague is headed over to Nova Scotia for a couple weeks of touring, so I asked her to grab a bottle or two of whatever wine they happen to stumble upon. It’s a dicey proposition, since flight restrictions require liquids be stashed in your checked luggage, but she assured me it would be wrapped in towels and tucked in with the dirty laundry. Crossing my fingers on that one – I may have a dry cleaning bill instead of a bottle to pay for when she gets back!
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