Rough Around the Edges

Yesterday afternoon, after we had already dug potatoes and stacked wood, A. wanted to go down to the beach to work on some boat stuff. It was a gorgeous day, 75 degrees and sunny. Probably the last really warm weekend we'll have this year. Cubby had just awakened from his last nap of the day, so we went to down to the beach with A. After doing his boat stuff and starting the water pump, A. asked if we wanted to go in the boat. Okay, I said, but no fishing.

Which is how we found ourselves in my future brother-in-law's boat heading for a winery.

There are lots of wineries in our area, but we rarely visit them. But it was like the boat just made its way there on its own. Or maybe that was A. at the tiller. Whatever, the point is that we went to a winery without any planning whatsover.

Do you know the sort of people that go to wineries and pull up at lakeside docks to do wine tastings? People in speedboats and cropped pants with cute sandals. Not people who pull up in Mississippi River fishing boats wearing holey, stained t-shirts, paint-stained jeans and hiking boots, towing a toddler wearing a grubby white t-shirt and pants with a hole in the knee.

I can't imagine what we looked like to those people at the winery. But it didn't matter. We got our bottle of wine, plus a bottle of water and some bread and cheese for Cubby. We sat on the lawn of the winery drinking wine and eating cheese, looking at the lake, watching Cubby gnaw on his bread and play with the tiny plastic cups. He was perfectly happy. We were perfectly happy. Life was good, ratty clothing be damned.

We should do that more often. But maybe next time I'll change my pants.