"Swinging Along the Open Road, in the Fall of the Year...."

About thirty minutes north and west from here one reaches the old vineyards, some 75 years old, interlaced with the new, some just ready for planting. My friend Elaine and I took a drive Wednesday to soak in the beauty. We met few cars but many bicyclists on the rural roads. I couldn't help remembering the old camp song "Swinging Along." I croaked and "ah"ed while she drove.

It was a delightful adventure. Not quite like October in Maine or Colorado, and not as orange as Hope Valley on the Eastern Sierra, but boasting a palette all its own.