It’s a beautiful time to be in Northern California. There are so very few times of the year that I can actually say that—and these rare days and weeks are among those times. Last weekend, Rachael came to visit, and we took her up to Sonoma and Glen Ellen, where we spent the night at the Jack London Lodge and had dinner at The Fig Café—our favorite wine country weekend itinerary. It had been raining for much of the time preceding Rachael’s visit, and everything was lush and green. The grapevines are still barren, but the spaces between them are bright with yellow mustard plants in full bloom—driving through wine country, the hills are as much yellow as green. The California poppies are in bloom by the roadside (they’d be blooming on my terrace, too, if the squirrels hadn’t eaten them down to the roots).
A visit to Beth and Nate in Napa finished off our weekend. And a stomach virus began the week for me and Rach. Nonetheless, we managed to visit the Crocker Art Museum and Sutter’s Fort in between exhausted collapses on the couch. It was in the seventies while she was here.
It’s sunny but chilly now, a brief return to “winter.” I dread the approaching summer. We had two mosquitoes in our room last night, sucking the blood from our hands and arms before buzzing into our ears and sending us on a hunt at 2am. Summer is lurking.