In a word, heavy. There is a lot happening in the world right now that is downright weighty. Stepping out for some air seems sensible. Early this morning, as the sun was just starting its rise, I stood on my back porch to enjoy the new cold in the quiet of nearly dark. It felt great. Bracing and beautiful, the orange sun leaking on the horizon through the trees, it was a spectacular thing to see, paired with that smell only the chilly shreds of autumn can layer into the air. It went so quickly. I needed more.
I rang the rooted bell and Shelley was more than willing to oblige a trip somewhere nearby where we could evoke the same sense of fall. On a ridge slope just on the Lower Valley side of the gap, we decided to enjoy some outdoor time on the lovely patio at the all sparkling wine Treveri Cellars. 
If you haven’t been there, go. If you have, go back. Their outdoor seating is spread out around the building with vineyards and orchards immediately all around it. A west facing valley view tumbles out before you of the opposite ridge with Mount Adams in the distance. Just a glass of bubbly, one flat bread, and a charcuterie board later, we were lightyears away from the all of it.
We are comfortably in that place wedged between summer and fall that hits the sweet spot, weather wise, like no other time of year. The flowers are still blooming, and the sun is mild. Sitting in the sunshine, the post-equinox slanted beams warm on our skin, we just felt happy to be there. As we were chatting, a grape truck pulled up and went around back. Harvest. While we’re enjoying the fruits of labor, labor is still going on.
When we finished eating we went around back just as they were unloading. The gondolas were slowly being tipped into a crusher/destemmer. Sparkling wine has such a highfalutin connotation, in a way it’s refreshing to see the agricultural grit that goes into its making. Even bubbly has to put its pants on one leg at a time. The magical qualities imparted to these grapes by the time they hit their final destination in the bottle is a tribute to the winemakers.
While this time we were there to revel in the point of place, it seemed fitting that a rooted trip would end with us out back, watching a giant load of green grape clusters being augured into wine. We both left feeling bit lighter despite filling our bellies, grateful that this is just another day in the Yakima Valley.