Rainy Sunday Vineyards

4 June 2017 (posted 14 June 2017)

Nobody is in any hurry this morning. It's not raining yet. Over the lake the sky is heavy with clouds but it's not that impending rain sort of gray. Tom, as always, has checked the weather up to the minute. "It's supposed to start around 11," he says.

Whatever pollen is in the air up here is overwhelming the Claritin. I can't stop sneezing.

I look out of the kitchen window as I make coffee. "It's looking bad from this side," I tell them. A steel gray is coming up over the hill.  By the time we're all finished eating, it's definitely raining.

Dorothy scrolls through a description of the cider distillery they're going to visit this morning. "They make shrub,/a>," she says, and when none of us knows what that means, she looks it up. It doesn't sound all that appealing.

Moose and I are going to drive around to see some vineyards. Maggie recommended two last night, there's one that we didn't get to when we were staying over in Penn Yan, and there's one that we want to go back to.

Dorothy, Jack H, and Tom are going to the cider place and then, if the predicted window of no rain opens up, they might hike to see a waterfall in Robert Treman State Park.

Moose and I drive across the ridge between Cayuga and Seneca. The road names look familiar. I think we were here. When we turn onto Picnic Area Road and pass the Blueberry Patch campground, I now get to see what caused us such misery two days ago.

Wine grapes do well on slopes, so most of the vineyards around here have some sort of lake view. Atwater Vineyards does not disappoint.

Oh, cool!  They've got a diagram of all of the Finger Lakes.

So that's how you spell "Skaneateles." When Pete first said it, I said, "Skinny what?" I had enough trouble two years ago trying to remember Canandagua. Back then I had an excuse: only one of my eyes was working.

There's also a spinny thingy out in the garden. The wind is blowing hard with few breaks, but I get a shot that's clear enough to go back to later because I think I might want one of these.

The riesling isn't bad.

Next up is Boundary Breaks, close to Lodi Point, where we'd been two days ago. Boundary Breaks is our favorite. I even like all of their rieslings ("like" meaning I'll drink half a glass over the course of an hour if Jack reminds me that the glass is there).

As I look out the window, something rubs against my legs the way a cat would. I look down to see the new critter at Boundary Breaks. He's a rescue pup named Ziggy.

We spend a long time chatting with one of the owners. He and his partner have finally quit their day jobs.

Next up is Sheldrake Point Winery over on the west side of Cayuga. On our way, I stop for goats.

The first thing we see when we step inside is a kitty on the deck. I have to make friends with her.

Brown Kitty, they call her. That's the best they can do? Not even Shelly?  Geez. I take one more photo of her through the door as she cleans herself; it's the only time she stops moving.

We're hungry. The folks behind the counter suggest the Busy Bee down the road. As soon as we get there I realize we'd passed this place on our bikes too.

The Busy Bee reminds me of the Sergeantsville General Store: half of the store is shelves of food and souvenirs (remember the gewgaws Sun had for sale in the center aisle?); there's a deli counter; there's a spacious seating area; and there appear to be regulars (think of the white-haired radio announcer from the station next door who's always at Sergeantsville when we are).  There's even an enclosed porch to pass through before entering the store. The food is good, too.

It's 2:00. The rain has stopped. To get to Heart and Hands we drive up and around to the other side of Cayuga.

After that, I text Tom that we'll be home around 5:00. We finish the trip by finishing the circle around the lake.  For most of the way, we can't see it. Of the three lakes we've been to (Keuka, Seneca, and Cayuga), Seneca has the best views from the road.

Tom texts back that they should return around 5:00 too. I only see his answer when I park the car in the driveway, and when I look up, there they are.

"How was the hike?"

Tom has mud down one side of his jeans. They'd gone five miles and it was tougher than they'd thought it would be.

We're going to dinner at a bowling alley. It's a bowling alley with a bar. It's a bowling alley with a bar and a kitchen. It's a bowling alley with a bar and a kitchen and performance space. It's bizarre.

On our way home, we stop for ice cream again.

When we get back, Tom finds a flat (ha!) route and shortens it so that we can get a little ride in tomorrow before we leave Ithaca. If the roads are dry, we'll go.

Meanwhile, I'll upload some more photos and start packing.