The afternoon was a typical spring day in Sonoma Valley, warm but not hot, with a gentle breeze. The mustard glistened golden in the sun and the plants swayed like a gentle sea. They had been planted last Fall as a cover crop to prevent erosion in Block 6, a 16 acre field destined to be replanted to Cabernet Sauvignon and Zinfandel, later this summer. The plants are nearly 6 feet tall, twice as high as the girls’ innocent heads. They had no idea they were on an adventure- just another walk down the road, running immediately beside Block 6 with ole Grandpa.
Of course, the girls ran ahead, impatient to get to the lake with its frogs, fish and ducks, just up the road from Block 6. Gramps lagged behind and at the appropriate time veered off the road without the girls seeing him and plowed directly into the 6 foot mustard. With no machete, he just pushed his way out into the field about 30 feet, making a few zigs and zags, finally sitting down. The towering mustard obscured him in the warm late afternoon sun. “Hey girls, come and find me,” he yelled. The adventure of innocence was about to begin. On their own the girls never figured out how to enter the mustard, which was too thick and tall. And being innocent, it did not occur to them to follow the trampled trail Grandpa had left behind. However, with a bit of verbal coaxing they soon busted into the field. The mustard towered over them, showering yellow petals into their hair, as they pushed their way through the golden jungle. “Warmer, warmer, colder, cold, bingo!” The two girls jumped on Grandpa, as the three wrestled and rolled, shouting and giggling over and over the mustard, until they found themselves resting on a mat of plants, surrounded by a green and yellow wall.
Down at the bottom of the mustard, just where the stalks emerge from the soil, it is cool, and moist, almost humid, but not in the least bit wet. Wise ole Grandpa had planned for all the morning dew to be evaporated. Instead, comforting moist sensation arose from the light oil, occurring naturally in the mustard leaves. It has a musty, sweet, fresh-cut hay smell. Down in the cool covered yellow petals, this natural smell is like no other.
The adventure starts to move into a high gear of hide 'n seek. Grandpa cannot crawl too far away because Eva, age 6, becomes nervous. She then learns that she can find her prey if she follows the bowled over plants. After a few games, however, even in a 16 acre field, trails start to criss-cross and confusion sets in.
Gracie, age 8, is off running across the field. We took turns hiding and seeking, with each successful search ending in a wrestling match. Once, while the three were laying out flat on their backs, trying to determine how blue the cloudless sky was, three buzzards circled overhead. Gracie told Eva they were coming to get us. They could be coming for Grandpa, but not yet.
During our adventure of innocence visited, its presence was not a surprise to Grandpa, for he was merely reliving a score replayed on Rhinefarm a half century earlier with his sisters and Father in Block 1, where Gewurztraminer grows today.
Salud Amigos
Jim
