GNATS IN MY PINOT

I finally quit tearing up somewhere south of Grant's Pass on I-5. Leaving home, and the people and place you love best, is hard. But that's all 500 miles behind me now, here in this little campground near Lodi, a scarlet sunset my evening view, picking gnats from my pinot.

It used to be, when I would leave on a solo road trip, the moment I backed out of the driveway, shifted into “D,” and headed somewhere fun, I'd be wracked with guilt. We would have said our goodbyes with hugs, kisses, and tears, but inside there was always this impatience to be gone, to start another adventure. How can you not feel at least a little guilty at your luck? Someone has to cover for your wandering – taking care of things, watering plants, caring for pets and animals. Sneaking off in the dead of night might be easier.

Not this time. I didn't feel guilty, just sad to leave. Apparently, I've become quite the homebody. Driving through Oregon's gloomy fog and mist didn't help my mood. But then for a few moments, the sun broke over the mountains and through swirling fog, turning lines of ridges an emerald glow against the shadowed valleys. Oh yeah, that's why I'm doing this, I realized.

Today was about driving, with a couple of birding stops. 52 kinds, the best a merlin shooting by like a dark arrow. Tomorrow will include some of my favorite southern California landscapes, and an unusual, way-back encounter. 

 Yesterday: KIPPEE KI-YAY

http://wayneaschmidt.blogspot.com/2018/03/yippee-ki-yay.html