The weather had been so glorious
the past week, all the spring mustard blinding yellow in between the rows of
dark, gnarled vines. She thought fondly of the old Herb Caen columns in the Chronicle, one in particular where he
wrote, “I imagine heaven to be a lot like Sonoma in the spring.” Phoebe always
gave a silent thanks to all the Italians and other dreamers who had settled in
the region, for they made sure, hundreds of years ago, when they first started
planting the old vines, to sow mustard alongside their grapes for the nitrogen
the plants contained. Today, those miles of dazzling yellow flowers all over
both valleys were the first harbinger of spring in Sonoma and Napa.
~Phoebe & The Ghost of Chagall
No comments:
Post a Comment