Skip to main content

Out in the Sticks

I got to do something really fun the other day. I got to spend a couple of hours with two people who have created the life they want.

I had to drive way out there, miles from anywhere, to get to them, but the drive was worth it. After winding around on a farm road forever, I turned onto this dirt road that could not have possibly been wide enough for two cars. Fortunately, I didn't meet any on-coming traffic.

These people, Lee and Joy, bought all this land out here more than 20 years ago and decided to build a winery on it. It was full of crap, with overgrown briars and rusty old plows, and Joy said "a dog wouldn't have it." But they cleaned it up, planted a vineyard and built a winery. It's got an apartment in it, so they lived there for a while.

There was an abandoned farm house on the property originally built in 1831, the kind that started out as a small house but had room after room added on in a sort of haphazard way. Lee and Joy gutted the thing but saved the walls, and they added around it in a carefully planned way. So, now they have a four-guest-room B&B plus a larger apartment for themselves. Joy's grandfather's bed is in one of the guest rooms, and Lee's grandmother's quilt from 1882 hangs on the wall—it's "signed and dated" with embroidery thread.

Near the old house is a little stream that trickles down something like a waterfall that's not more than a one-foot drop, just enough to sound like a fountain. The couple have set up two chairs out there by the falls, and when all the guests have gone home, they sit out there with the crickets and the chirping frogs, and they drink their wine, and they shed the day. When visitors come for tasting or for dinner, they can't see those chairs. All they see is all the work Lee and Joy do to make them feel welcomed, to make sure they enjoy their meal and to see they can have the sort of wine they prefer.

But those chairs are just around the corner, and when they let me see them, I felt like I got to know them a little better. It's like when someone let's you see not just their tidy living room just inside the front door but their lived-in family room at the back of the house, too.

I also got to see the room where the wine ages, and the bottling room and the private room where Joy goes to hide out and to make stained glass windows. And I got to have some sassafras wine they make from sassafras leaves they pick out in the woods. I don't know how you make wine from leaves, but they have figured it out. Lee said you can make wine from anything, even manure if you'd like, but he said not to include that last bit in the article I was writing about them.

I left after my two-hour visit only because I had to, only because I knew they had work to do and they kind of needed me to get out of the way. Otherwise I would have spent the day exploring all the little treasures that are hidden on the property that represent years and years of amazing living these two people have had. I am always impressed and inspired by people who create their own opportunities and figure out how to carve out life the way they want it.

Comments

kyle@sift said…
I alwyas liked the idiom, out in the sticks.
What a great life they must have. I imagine it requires a lot of hard work.
PF said…
I love this place...but I've never seen it in the daylight!! I bet it's awesome to see, along with the dinner and the wine...ahhhhhh! Lee & Joy are wonderful hosts :)
Me too. They sound so interesting and content. Great story Robyn.
Shazza said…
I would gladly have that kind of life than work in an office all day!

Thanks Robyn - it's nice to know someone made their dreams come true!
MmeBenaut said…
Sounds like the perfect place to revisit, for a weekend with your husband. Ah, some spiced, mulled wine might be nice. I quite like ginger wine myself but it is more like a liqueur.
Anonymous said…
Sounds perfect. I know some people like that. It's a great life for them, but I don't think I could do it. Still, sometimes I'm jealous.
Mulled wine, Mme. Mmmm.
what a great story

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...