It only makes sense that for one of the first sunny weekends that we’ve had in Washington in months, I would make my way with some friends to knock Woodinville off of my Pacific Northwest bucket list. Woodinville has over 100 wineries, and since sunshine and wine is one of my favorite combos, it was something I’d been looking forward to for a while.
Unfortunately for us, it seemed that everyone shared these same two loves, and the first winery we went to was packed. I walked through the vineyard of Chateau Ste Michelle, thinking that after my whole Cake Teeth experience outside of the gym, this would be the perfect place to scout out my future husband.
I pictured myself as an heiress to a family owned winery, sitting in the sunshine, sipping on chardonnay overlooking the property.
I would probably be disowned rather quickly since I’m sure I would drink myself out of house and home, but a girl can dream.
I watched as a man walked by with no glass, but with a half empty bottle of wine in hand. I figured that was more along the lines of my soul mate: man wandering aimlessly through a vineyard drinking wine from the bottle and soaking up the sunshine. We already had so much in common.
But realistically, I’d had Woodinville on my list since I’ve moved to Seattle, so was glad to check out some wineries. My favorite was on a much smaller scale called Castillo de Feliciana. We were able to sit outside for our wine tasting and chat for a bit with the people who worked there.
I ended up buying a bottle and grabbing a map of all the wineries, wondering whether I could feasibly hit them all before I decided to pack up all of my belongings and bolt in the night to some other location, which is always on the forefront of my mind as of late.
I’m sure I won’t be able to do everything I want to do before I leave this place. So it goes with any kind of travel or relocation. I learn more about a place, and instead of being able to close the door on it permanently, it opens up five other unopened doors that I didn’t expect.
I can’t be expected to fully satiate the need to travel around when visiting a place only sparks more curiosity in me, so I have to somehow tone it down and keep it in perspective.
I knew it wouldn’t be possible to make it to all of the wineries, especially considering that I had to have someone drive me around and put up with me getting tipsy after a few tastings and running my mouth the whole day.
Once I got back to the city, I sat with my door open, letting the air permeate my stale apartment and listening to the music from outside float in.
I was explaining Seattle to a friend of mine the other day, and was told that it sounded like I was describing a bad relationship. I loathe it all winter, and I bitch about how I never see the sun, people aren’t chatty, and the Seattle freeze is all too real. But then there’s something magical about Seattle in the summertime that I love and find charming and irresistible. Even the people are more talkative and in better moods once the sun finally decides to grace us with its presence. Everyone comes out of hibernation and starts soaking up the sunshine, uniting with a shared appreciation because we never know when it will disappear for weeks or months at a time again.
Until then, I choose to enjoy being in Seattle’s good graces, drinking my wine on the rooftop of my apartment complex and soaking up the sun until the inevitable happens and we part ways for good. It may be a matter of months, or it may be another year, but I rest easy knowing that I can enjoy it while it feels wonderful.