it began raining last night as we lay in bed reading Pessl and Bolano. the only breaks from the cicadas have been heavy rains and strong winds. we woke this morning to sheets of twisted fabric and sheets of sideways precipitation, big buckets being tossed around the spit, against the large windows of the cottage and the bush surrounding us. there were a few ebbs in the downpour but it remained mostly steady throughout the morning while Renee blogged and i followed the increasingly ridiculous story of Benno von Archimboldi and the Part about the Critics. we conjectured that the rain couldn't continue this way as we showered and prepared ourselves for a day in the wine country. noon rolled around and as we lounged on the couches, poring over the aforementioned novels. we began to realize this could go on indefinitely. the sky kept letting it go and the day kept letting it come. after another rush of furious rainfall, there seemed to be a pause so we shut our books and went out into the wide, wet and humid world. we stopped first at Heron's flight to enjoy some Italian grape juices, both fermented and non-alcoholic. Sebastian, the blonde man from Berlin in the photo, helped us with a couple of Sangioveses and a Dolcetto. after tasting the wines, he poured us a taste of the plain grape juices which were straight crush and pasteurization. next we headed down to Hyperion along Tongue Farm Road, past the local pottery company of renown, Morris & James. we pulled up and parked under an oak tree against an old lichen covered fence and proceeded to poke around the winery while a spindly, grey-haired man fussed about bottling white wine. when he realized we were there he came out to greet us, smiling broadly and apologizing for the way the place looked, all shuttered against the rain. John Crone is his name, a retiree from Auckland who farms his two acres of vines with his wife. he pulled open the former cow shed turned maison du vins and poured us his current releases. as part of the local "Grappa Gang" John makes white and red still wines as well as grappa and port. we exchanged stories of Oregon wine country and asked him for recommendations which he seemed reluctant to make. one place on his list was Quince, where we have made a booking for dinner tonight. as we took our leave of John (this is not the last we will see of him, even today), we moved back up the road to Matakana and popped into the Village Bookshop and picked up a couple collections of short stories and one poetry retrospective. we then walked upstairs to enjoy a snack and a couple glasses of rose at Vintry, a local tasting room in the town center. the picture on the deck is our bag of books, the cheese and meat plates and the vin gris. while here, John Crone and his wife stopped in for a glass of wine to take to the cinemas next door. a perfect day for cozying up with a book or a movie and the person in your life you hold most dear.
it began raining last night as we lay in bed reading Pessl and Bolano. the only breaks from the cicadas have been heavy rains and strong winds. we woke this morning to sheets of twisted fabric and sheets of sideways precipitation, big buckets being tossed around the spit, against the large windows of the cottage and the bush surrounding us. there were a few ebbs in the downpour but it remained mostly steady throughout the morning while Renee blogged and i followed the increasingly ridiculous story of Benno von Archimboldi and the Part about the Critics. we conjectured that the rain couldn't continue this way as we showered and prepared ourselves for a day in the wine country. noon rolled around and as we lounged on the couches, poring over the aforementioned novels. we began to realize this could go on indefinitely. the sky kept letting it go and the day kept letting it come. after another rush of furious rainfall, there seemed to be a pause so we shut our books and went out into the wide, wet and humid world. we stopped first at Heron's flight to enjoy some Italian grape juices, both fermented and non-alcoholic. Sebastian, the blonde man from Berlin in the photo, helped us with a couple of Sangioveses and a Dolcetto. after tasting the wines, he poured us a taste of the plain grape juices which were straight crush and pasteurization. next we headed down to Hyperion along Tongue Farm Road, past the local pottery company of renown, Morris & James. we pulled up and parked under an oak tree against an old lichen covered fence and proceeded to poke around the winery while a spindly, grey-haired man fussed about bottling white wine. when he realized we were there he came out to greet us, smiling broadly and apologizing for the way the place looked, all shuttered against the rain. John Crone is his name, a retiree from Auckland who farms his two acres of vines with his wife. he pulled open the former cow shed turned maison du vins and poured us his current releases. as part of the local "Grappa Gang" John makes white and red still wines as well as grappa and port. we exchanged stories of Oregon wine country and asked him for recommendations which he seemed reluctant to make. one place on his list was Quince, where we have made a booking for dinner tonight. as we took our leave of John (this is not the last we will see of him, even today), we moved back up the road to Matakana and popped into the Village Bookshop and picked up a couple collections of short stories and one poetry retrospective. we then walked upstairs to enjoy a snack and a couple glasses of rose at Vintry, a local tasting room in the town center. the picture on the deck is our bag of books, the cheese and meat plates and the vin gris. while here, John Crone and his wife stopped in for a glass of wine to take to the cinemas next door. a perfect day for cozying up with a book or a movie and the person in your life you hold most dear. 
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