The sun made its late-afternoon appearance, so I ditched my sweater, grabbed some of my favorite CDs, and hit the road. I was searching for fall color.
Every year, our friends and family from the Midwest tell us how we don’t really have seasons and how we’re missing the beauty of seeing the leaves turn. This year, I wanted to prove them wrong. We have brilliant fall views—you just have to know where to look.
I rolled down my window, letting the breeze with its tinge of fall crispness rush into the car. It was quiet driving east on Clark Avenue, passing Addamo Vineyard and acres of rolling vineyard-studded hills basking in the sun. My car cast long shadows—the only reminder that it’s now fall—across the vines as I drove by, and I felt so much gratitude that I can get away and see such beauty on the Central Coast.
Deep inside my mind, that’s how it was, but in reality it went more like this:
I ditched my jacket after a cold morning because, “Where did this warmth come from?” My favorite CD kept skipping just when I was getting into a song. I could only roll the passenger-side window down because the driver side is broken. The quietness of the vineyard was broken up by voices from behind me: “Mom, is the moon just a massive space rock?” “Mom, is there such a word as ‘erosion’?” “Mom, what would happen if a rocket was launched and it was not shaped like a rocket, it was shaped like something else, like a tank or something? Would it explode?”
Because, you know, I’m knowledgeable in those areas.
When I wasn’t fielding science questions, the baby would yell “MOM!” over and over again until I looked back, and then he’d whisper, whisper, whisper something that would be undecipherable even if he had yelled it. Then I’d turn back around, and he’d do it all again.
And all this because, like the great Martin Luther King, Jr., I had a dream—only mine is a little less honorable, but just as difficult to attain. Every year, I try to get a Christmas-card-worthy photo of my kids. I thought my search for fall colors would also yield a great photo.
Boys don’t understand just driving around to take in the beauty of a place. The baby had already turned over his bottle and spilled milk all over his face and the collar of his shirt, so I knew I was running out of time. We pulled off the side of Santa Maria Mesa Road near Cambria Winery, and I grabbed some pictures. Then I drove down a dirt road, up and over a hill to the back of a vineyard, where we couldn’t be seen from the road. The sun started to go down, and I let my kids go into the vineyard so I could grab some pictures.
They just stood there.
“C’mon guys, I want to get a Christmas card picture,” I said. “Hurry, because we’re trespassing.”
So Chase got in line. He stood near the vines and smiled. Sebastian started climbing the vines, and Jake complained. He made faces at the camera at the very second I snapped the picture. Then I heard Chase say through the smile he had frozen on his face: “Stop that, Jake, so we can take the picture before we get arrested or something.”
Then I heard a click that seemed to reverberate throughout the vines like a sonic boom. Sebastian had climbed back into the car and locked the doors. He was jumping on the driver’s seat and laughing at us. My heart dropped. The keys were inside. Luckily, however, the boys hadn’t shut their door.
There would be no picture, I realized. I gathered myself and walked away and surveyed the breathtaking sight. I was in awe of being in the middle of a vineyard, the leaves turning gold and red where the sun hit hardest, and green and yellow where it didn’t. Never-ending rows wound up the hillside as far as I could see. Beautiful fall colors. And I didn’t have to travel away from home to see them. m
Arts Editor Shelly Cone won’t be looking for snow on the Central Coast this winter. Contact her at scone@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Nov 26 – Dec 3, 2009.