Cinderella Comes To

The possibilities sounded too good to be true. The potential ramifications that this opportunity might bring to my life astounded me. I was dizzy, yet sober.

With a stroke of the send now key, a spontaneous and cheeky little email whisked off to California had quickly escalated into an interview with a prospective employer on the west coast in an industry that I love. Randall Grahm liked my online review of two of his desert wines and yes, in fact, he did have a marketing position open. He offered to fly me out to Santa Cruz. I floated along in a surreal state of shock for days. Could this be? Would this be? Had my brass ring finally come around? And where were my golden slippers?

I left the California coast exactly six years prior and headed for the Southwest. After five years in Pagosa -- back then, a town with one stop light, one grocery market, and not one sushi or wine bar -- my ongoing refrain went something like: "Every day is the same here. Choices are too limited. Everybody knows everybody. People move too slowly. Does anyone wear a watch? Why don't we have any good restaurants?"

I thought I missed the Pacific Ocean that I had lived beside all my life. I thought I missed family and friends. I knew I missed simple things like stores with interesting inventory and restaurants with interesting food and wine, along with a population large enough to foster some healthy competition in the business community. I was tired of dull and monotonous; bored with quiet and slow; severely deprived of excitement, endless options and multiple choices. Or so I thought.

I flew into Monterey, the city I last called home. I was struck by the absence of any feelings of homecoming. I did not visit my last apartment to see what was growing in my flower garden. I did not race straight to the shore to touch the ocean and breathe the salt air. I got into the rental car and drove north to Santa Cruz while some subconscious, internal device kept me oriented east. A deeper, more authentic part of me was pulling me back to Pagosa.

Two-and-one-half days, four airports, one wacky interview, a quick overnighter with Mom and Grandma in Napa, and a plethora of major highways later my tiny plane prepared to land in Durango, surely the most user-friendly airport on Earth. The seasonal, late afternoon lightning storm was warming up for a majestic performance. The mountains and flatlands of southwest Colorado never looked as stunning to me as they did in the shadow and light display that early evening.

I drove home in a near-trance state of elation and gratitude, awed that I could travel miles on Highway160 and never see another car. No concrete walls divided multiple lanes crammed full of frenzied drivers who drove right up my rear, regardless of my speed. My eyes did not need to stay glued to the rear view mirror, only on the winding road ahead for deer crossing. "I can't believe I live here" was my spontaneous and deeply-felt mantra. After five years in the same place, 60 hours in another blessed me with beginner's eyes. I fell in love with my Pagosa life with an intensity not felt before. I was ferocious and protective of my lifestyle. I was deeply committed to preserving it.

As the weeks passed after my juxtapositional journey, my sense of wonder deepened for my quiet, uncomplicated and creatively fulfilling life. More often than not I awoke to deer in my yard, mere feet from my bedroom window. I acquiesced to no leash laws when I walked my dog, nor was she banned from any parks or beaches. I hardly ever noticed the wail of a siren, and the Big News in town that Summer was the installation of the second traffic light. I kept a log in which I recorded the precise dates of annual leaf break on my two, huge sentry aspen. The dates never deviated by more than five days. A family of birds nested just under my roof for five consecutive years and I bore up-close witness to the tenuous first flight lessons.

I did not get the dream job offer. The position was not made for me after all. It was not the possible move back to the California coast that was too good to be true; it was my daily existence in the verdant mountains of southwest Colorado that was the grand prize. I grabbed my own brass ring in June of 1996 when I moved here. I remain grateful to this day that I had the chance to explore something that I thought I wanted so badly -- a return to a more dynamic and exciting place and time.

Most days I move about in silent contentment, the whir of my computer, the snoring of the cats, and the chatter between my ears the only sounds. In Spring I wonder what new species of wildflower might appear spontaneously in my yard. Last Spring the Village Lake swans presented us with four cygnets who made their Winter home on Lake Forest, my lake. Last month their feathers turned from grey to white overnight. Come late Summer I will be tasting and smelling aphrodiasical Fall, the restorative elixir for my Summer-heat-weary soul. As the aspen flaunt their gold, I will be wondering if our first real snowfall will come before Halloween. When will the ski area open? How many times will my driveway need plowing? Will I ever experience the Real Winter that the old timers memorialize? These questions and observations give me a sense of continuity -- palpable access to the seasonal rhythms and patterned perfection of nature. Here in my Pagosa home I have the time, the silence, the slowed-down-enough pace and presence to witness these daily wonders. Talk about your dynamic and exciting lifestyles.

The one thing I do regret about not working for Bonny Doon is all that free wine. Grahm bottles a ton of interesting offerings under several different banners and their website is a great resource.The corporate mantra includes this promise: "Bonny Doon is the champion of the strange and the heterodox -- Ugly Duckling grape varieties whose very existence is threatened by the dominant Cabo/Chardo-centric paradigm." When I met with him, I brought a custom-made, pique assiette mosaic wine carafe. He quipped that I bust "shards" like he busts "chards". What a beautiful mind.

The Doon wines suffer from more year-to-year variation than I enjoy. It can be a tortured and frustrating love affair if you seek relative consistency in your wine producers. It's not too hard to find a decent sampling of Bonny Doon wines here in Pagosa -- each wine shop carries at least a few:

2003 Big House Red -- I just tried this wine last week and found it incredibly pleasing, smooth and warming, and very harmonious. Year-to-year this blend of syrah, petite syrah, zinfandel, carignane, barbera and malbec is pretty reliable. Aromatic fragrances tickle the nose and an exuberant burst of tart bing cherry fills the mouth upon first sip. Spice and plum appear mid-mouth with an earthy herbal, tobacco-laced finish. Had I known this vintage was so good I would have consumed more last Winter. I'll be looking for the 2004 to hit our shelves soon, but don't turn up your nose at the 2003.($11)

I praised the 2004 Big House Pink ($10) in a previous column but it's worth re-praising. Italian grape varietals are blended into a fragrant and fresh rosé replete with berries, citrus and light mineral notes. Do look for what Grahm calls "the more cerebral" and bone dry rosé, the Vin Gris de Cigare ($12), a blend of southern French grapes. The 2004 might still be around but the 2005 is on its heels.

I was delighted to find the 2004 Pacific Rim Chenin Blanc ($13) in New Mexico. This was a new one for me. I discovered crisp green apples and honey on the refreshing nose. It was softer in the mouth than I expected -- less acidic -- with strong mineral nuances and...butter? This got me musing about the winemaking in terms of oak aging and malolactic fermentation. I found this one to be unremarkable and disappointing, but drinkable.

The Pacific Rim Riesling ($12) is the most torturous and fickle of all my beloved Doon. The 2000 rocked my world. In 2001-- not so much rocking. I drank the 2002 all Summer long, but the 2003 disappointed. I tried to be patient until last month when I found the 2004. Can you spell "insipid"? It was watery and thin at first sip. My heart sank. It got a bit better as I drank on, but I found it to be far too light in fruit, acids and body. It's not bad, but it's not good. Maybe in a few months? Maybe next year?