500 miles. 11 hours. 1 1/2 tons of grapes.

Today, I took a day off from the day job to ride with my husband over the mountains and into the vineyards to pick up this year’s Merlot grapes.

We started early, in the rain, in a cab-over. This means the cab is over the front axel, which means that every bump in the road bumps more. By Cle Elum, we reached the sunny side of the state, and we had breakfast on the roll. Rolls, masquerading as bagels, with cream cheese. And coffee in Buffalo China cups–sloshing.

Our first stop was Sagemoor to pick up an empty bin.

(The dogs followed me around while I took a few photographs. I like to have that kind of an entourage.)

(The view: Hanford from the vineyard.)

Then we had a quick stop in Pasco to drop off wine for the Tri-Cities Wine Festival.

After that, we drove to Alder Ridge to pick up our Merlot. Two bins at a time, into the truck.

(These are white-wine grapes. We weren’t picking up these.)

(To the West–if I walked through these rows, I’d quickly reach the Columbia River.)

(Tom by some CloudLift bins of Merlot, more to come…)

I saw more of my states, rode on roads I’d never seen. I sat in the cab with a folder of poems on my lap–ready for revisions should I be inspired even though I knew that I would be entranced by the scenery, by the world streaming by outside.

I haven’t connected this to writing–exactly–but it’s about following your dreams. Today, I was riding along with Tom and his dream. And all the road and vineyards and orchards and streams remind me that I can follow my dream–one poem at a time. (Or a bunch at a time–more on that later.)