I spotted the sign indicating that my destination was near. Not a lot of fanfare, whatsoever. It was just a little notice sporting an arrow and a name. The winding dirt trail led to a clear patch of land. There were parcels of vineyards spotted about like a quilt pattern ready to be assembled. I smiled knowing that I had finally reached my destination.
A cluster of like souls had assembled on the back terrace of the winery, all in hopes of experiencing a pleasant evening…oblivious to the heat and humidity. With my glass of chardonnay and tray of honey-fig goat cheese in hand, I parked myself at a small table near the evening’s entertainment. A two piece string ensemble was strumming jazz standards and diabetic versions of pop music. The musicians were already past the point of glistening and were drenched with sweat. Their eyes were heavy and their faces expressionless. One would believe they were cast members of the latest “Dawn of the Dead” series. Still, they played on…
Although the essence of Tuscany or Sonoma Valley was missing, there was still plenty of visual feast. ---A dilapidated truck sat collecting rust, while providing a perch for the vineyard’s family cat. The vineyard owner’s son was swinging off an old rope which was hanging from an ancient oak tree. Clyde and Baxter, the vineyard’s canine centurions, faithfully greeted all with a muffled woof and wag. A feeling of rural America abounded. Simple. Humble.
The table, located to my right, was occupied by a trio of “desperate housewives” who were NASCAR widows for the evening. You could tell that they had convinced their husbands to allow them to escape a Saturday night of dust and engines for an evening of “culture” with their girlfriends. Without a doubt, Mary-Katherine, Anne-Marie, and Lilly-Jo were holding court. My ears honed in on their conversation like the largest satellite tower in the county. There seemed to be quite a discussion about Reverend Jones’ “controversial” sermon of the past Sunday. I could only smile. A true taste of Southern living!
Suddenly, the arrival of a young lady seemed to startle the crowd. She was dressed in a cotton print of cabbage roses and vines. A hand-applied trim of rickrack adorned the strapless bodice while a raspberry crinoline peeped from underneath her skirt. Although one could be nearly certain that she was sporting last season’s table cloth, she was as elegant as a county fair beauty queen. Her hair swooped up to reveal a pair of sterling silver lace chandelier earrings. She was an interesting combination of southern bayou and exotic Brazil. ---A flamenco dancer with cotton candy. She took a seat to my left.
I stared into the vineyard. The rows of meticulously manicured vines were framed by a wall of forest supplied by the Uwharrie Mountains. The sun was to my back, consequently highlighting the view like a staged event. It was near the day’s gloaming; thus, the sky was an intense blue. The color was quite soothing. It reminded me of the fabric on VALOR’s Cambridge chair.
With beads of perspiration trailing down her face, my guest for the evening leaned over and whispered, “I am miserable”….I replied, “Just savor this moment.”
This was not just another Saturday in the summer: It was a Moment in America.
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