I'm in Wine Country. Santa Rosa, California, to be exact.
Don't ask me why, because it's not important (trust me), but it's incredible to be here just the same. I'm here on "business", though, none of my own. When I'm not writing and recording music, I'm held semi-voluntary hostage by another creative industry that sometimes shuttles me to cool places. This time, it's Sonoma County. For anyone who hasn't been here: get here. This place is proof that there is a god, or that there was one at some point. The landscape, air quality and peace of mind that is up for grabs here is unparalleled, in my opinion.
Or maybe it's just where I am in this moment of my life that makes me feel like this. Who knows.
Or maybe it's just where I am in this moment of my life that makes me feel like this. Who knows.
I was feeling melancholy on the plane. I'd spent only three nights in my own bed before embarking on this journey, and had been nervously monitoring the health of my vintage cat, Amos. Plus, I'm growing more and more resistant to this "work" that I do with every passing day.
But, that's a topic for another time. I'll let you know when the book is finished. Anyway, I had the Work Trip Blues in the worst way. I flew from Nashville to Oakland, and then had a car bring me to Santa Rosa from there. I opened my eyes from the nap I'd taken during the drive to see a four foot tall statue of Lucy van Pelt at the entrance of the Hyatt that we had pulled up to. Y'all know Lucy. She's the bossy older sister of Linus, the endearing blue-blanket-toting kid who hangs out with the one and only Charlie Brown. I've stayed at a few Hyatts in my day, and not one of them had any kind of Peanuts situation goin' on, I promise.
I thought, "What kind of weird, theme-park scenario am I entering into, here?" And then, just like a cartoon, the light bulb over my foggy head turned on. This is where Charles Schulz lived. The genius who brought us The Great Pumpkin and A Charlie Brown Christmas (to name a few of his numerous contributions to the world) worked and lived right here for the last thirty years of his life. He got up every morning, ate a jelly doughnut and wrote/drew his daily Peanuts strip. Right here. If you know me, you know that I have a Snoopy and a Peppermint Patty doll on my guest bed, both original artifacts from my childhood. I am a huge fan. I have said many times that I think that Charles Schulz and Jim Henson both gave the world permission to believe in the good; to believe in one another. I still learn from their examples on a daily basis. This town celebrates Schulz's life and work completely, and you can't walk a full block without being reminded of that cheerful fact. They even named their airport for him. My sadness melted away immediately.
But, that's a topic for another time. I'll let you know when the book is finished. Anyway, I had the Work Trip Blues in the worst way. I flew from Nashville to Oakland, and then had a car bring me to Santa Rosa from there. I opened my eyes from the nap I'd taken during the drive to see a four foot tall statue of Lucy van Pelt at the entrance of the Hyatt that we had pulled up to. Y'all know Lucy. She's the bossy older sister of Linus, the endearing blue-blanket-toting kid who hangs out with the one and only Charlie Brown. I've stayed at a few Hyatts in my day, and not one of them had any kind of Peanuts situation goin' on, I promise.
I thought, "What kind of weird, theme-park scenario am I entering into, here?" And then, just like a cartoon, the light bulb over my foggy head turned on. This is where Charles Schulz lived. The genius who brought us The Great Pumpkin and A Charlie Brown Christmas (to name a few of his numerous contributions to the world) worked and lived right here for the last thirty years of his life. He got up every morning, ate a jelly doughnut and wrote/drew his daily Peanuts strip. Right here. If you know me, you know that I have a Snoopy and a Peppermint Patty doll on my guest bed, both original artifacts from my childhood. I am a huge fan. I have said many times that I think that Charles Schulz and Jim Henson both gave the world permission to believe in the good; to believe in one another. I still learn from their examples on a daily basis. This town celebrates Schulz's life and work completely, and you can't walk a full block without being reminded of that cheerful fact. They even named their airport for him. My sadness melted away immediately.
At that point, I resigned myself to enjoying what I could of this quaint town in my down-time from the project at hand. I was starting a ten day job with a group of people that I wouldn't know from Freddie Mercury, which is always a point of apprehension for me. Freelance can be weird like that. For whatever dysfunctional reasons, I am always saddled with a fear of, "What if this is finally the job where I have no idea what I'm doing, and it's obvious to everyone here?" Does anyone know what I'm talking about? It's the worst. There aren't enough self-help books in the world to undo that anxiety. It's seems to come with the territory, unless you just don't care. I straddle the line.
Turns out, I do know what I'm doing, at least I do this week. Ask me next week and I may have a different answer for you. Regardless, the locations I've been able to visit this week have been stunning. I have never seen such grounds. If I didn't know better, I would swear that I was in Ireland yesterday and Italy today. Northern California is in bloom right now, and there are vineyards for miles and miles. I don't drink, and I never have, but this up here is a living and breathing thing. We travel by RV to each site every day, and I make sure to ride shotgun either to or from everyplace we visit. I like to see all of the little surf shops and vintage stores that line the block-long strips of business on our drives. I like to think about who owns them and shops at them regularly. I like to listen to music in my headphones and select songs to match the visuals. I like it all. When I forget what's riding behind me in the RV, it's a perfect moment.
I had the pleasure of speaking with a local the other day, and he shared with me what he knew of this area's history with wine. He said that 1976 was the pivotal year. In 1976, a wine from this region of California won a blind taste test in France, and it put these vineyards on the map. There were about twenty vineyards at the time, and there are now over three hundred and twenty. I listened to his story as we drove through a vineyard in Alexander Valley and looked at the miles of perfectly spaced plants. They do this all year, tend to the plants. The harvest season is in the Fall, and from there, the success of their year is determined. Money, time, labor and love all get poured into the land and whatever it reaps is what it is. Some years are legendary, and some are not. This process spoke to me, and I have new respect for this group of strangers whose efforts so closely resemble those of any working artist. You do what you know how to do. You do what's right at the time. And no matter what the response is from the outside world, you get up the next day and you do it again. To the visitors of this land, the beauty is in the product, in the wines that they'll taste and take home to their families and friends as souvenirs. But to the people who work the ground, the beauty is in the process.
I had the pleasure of speaking with a local the other day, and he shared with me what he knew of this area's history with wine. He said that 1976 was the pivotal year. In 1976, a wine from this region of California won a blind taste test in France, and it put these vineyards on the map. There were about twenty vineyards at the time, and there are now over three hundred and twenty. I listened to his story as we drove through a vineyard in Alexander Valley and looked at the miles of perfectly spaced plants. They do this all year, tend to the plants. The harvest season is in the Fall, and from there, the success of their year is determined. Money, time, labor and love all get poured into the land and whatever it reaps is what it is. Some years are legendary, and some are not. This process spoke to me, and I have new respect for this group of strangers whose efforts so closely resemble those of any working artist. You do what you know how to do. You do what's right at the time. And no matter what the response is from the outside world, you get up the next day and you do it again. To the visitors of this land, the beauty is in the product, in the wines that they'll taste and take home to their families and friends as souvenirs. But to the people who work the ground, the beauty is in the process.
Now, the one thing I know about the Sonoma and Napa areas other than the bit about the wine, is that forty years ago, people started turning up dead. Regular folks, doing nothing out of the ordinary were being murdered, and brutally, at that. Just as Charles M. Schulz was moving his wife and kids here from down the road in Sebastopol in 1969, someone took to attacking couples and leaving one or the both of them dead. Talk about a paradox. What began as a few unrelated homicides became one of the most unnerving unsolved mysteries in the history of California: The Zodiac murders. The killings spanned most of the state and roughly ten years, and no one was ever charged. I'm fascinated by the case (can you tell?), and have read and watched everything that I can on the subject. Everyone from Dave Toschi to Robert Graysmith to Arthur Leigh Allen is of massive interest to me. It's a bit of a disorder at this point, but I'm going to just ride it out and see where it takes me. The thing that excites me about being here specifically, is that the case is actually still open in Napa, which is a proverbial stone's throw away. Things still float to the surface about who it might have been, and they've never really been able to let the case be properly closed. I find that to be unreal. Detectives working in several counties over several decades have failed to nail down exactly what happened around the killings that they believe are connected by one man. The locals will still talk about it, if you bring it up. It's a very real part of their history here, and they don't take it lightly. I don't blame them. It's surreal to walk down the adorable strip on 4th Street here in Railroad Square and think that whoever they were might have walked the same path. And no one knew it to look at them. That's the thing about serial killers, they all just look like some guy on the street. Because that's exactly what they are.
Like I said, this place is alive. I've made so many mental notes about things I'd like to do when I return, and who I'd like to do them with. My best friend and I need to come and drink all of the local coffee and scour the many antique markets. My sweetheart and I need to come and stay at one of the B&B's on the vineyards. My brother and I need to come and go to the Charles M. Schulz museum before the current exhibit on Siblings in Peanuts closes this summer... Et cetera. I'll definitely be back to do all of those things. But this trip, I'm on my own. I think that's probably exactly how it's supposed to be, too. The lessons are in our landscapes, and this has been a plentiful one to learn from. So far, I've been reminded to always expect the good, keep an eye out for the worst, to look out the window at the view, and to create the perfect soundtrack for what's happening around you. Messages received.
I might be a tad melancholy on the plane again, but this time, for different reasons. At least this time I'm headed towards my sweetheart and my little tux-clad cat. Here's to living.
I might be a tad melancholy on the plane again, but this time, for different reasons. At least this time I'm headed towards my sweetheart and my little tux-clad cat. Here's to living.
Thanks for listening.
xo, bu
We have a coffee date at our New Ladies Weekend spot, it seems. xoxoxoxox
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