Yes- a safe, beautiful bike path from one end of the valley to the other and beyond. We’re beside ourselves with excitement thinking of the possibilities, and thinking of creative ways to make it happen.

For our part here at the Boonville Hotel, we’ll be hosting a fundraising lunch for Cycked this upcoming Saturday, the 15th of October. From 12:30 to 3:00 we’ll be serving up pizza from the wood fired oven in the courtyard & slow roasted pork sandwiches.  (Okay, so maybe we just wanted a good excuse to fire up that oven before it gets too cold. But you’ll have to admit, as excuses go, this is a darned good one.) All proceeds go to Cycked.

comfortable chairs by the entrance

A few photos of the Sun Room, part two in the Road House Trilogy.

come in

open the shower onto the deck

To what do I refer? Well, we have two more rooms to offer – and a third on the way – for a total of 15 by the end of September.

These pictures of the Road House’s Back Room can hardly do it justice, since they were taken with my limited point ‘n’ click equipment and skill.  You’ll have to come in and see them for yourself.

Nothing is happier than a hammock, doing it's job well.

This summer has been a mild one, comparatively. A few scorchers, but for the most part these days seem to demand an unhurried enjoyment from us. Of course, we’re happy to oblige. There are moments when, between maintaining the day-to-day and keeping pace with the momentum of our new projects and endeavors, we feel a little frenetic. And then we need to remember the mantra, “Walk, don’t run.” Better yet, stroll. Be leisurely even. It’s an insult to the beauty of these days to hurry through them.

Blackberries ripening.

See, if you rush you might miss things like the green to red to black spectrum of wild summer fruits. Blackberries are practically synonymous with August. The little jewel berries ripening sweet and tart last only  a short time, but they’re so abundant. There is nothing like picking one off the vine, all sun-warm and juicy and putting it right into your mouth. Unless its having a few over our shortcake with warm cream sauce.

A treasure hunt for the first ripe tomatoes begins at the head of this trail.

This morning , Cyle brought in summer squash and cucumbers from the garden. This could mean ratatouille and gazpacho coming up in the next few days. The basil is distractingly fragrant. The bees must find it so, as well. As for myself, one moment I’m looking up at the sunflower and cardoon flowers and the way the colors of their flowers change against the sky in relation to the position of the sun. The next, I’m sprawled on the path looking at the basil flowering or at the stripes on the zinnia petals. These distractions are welcome. What we have to do will wait. 

The hot days are wonderful, not the least for the lesson they bring: surrender to the season.

The days start out cool enough for us to do and move with vigor. As they progress into the heat we slow to a graceful swim through the swelter. We look forward expectantly to the four o’clock wind that comes down through the valley. When the heat begins to give way to the evening we turn on low-humming fans and slide up the windows. By the time we are ready to retire for the night the sheets are chilly against skin that’s been sun-baked all day, and the comforter is abandoned. The sounds of insects chirping and leaves rustling come through the open apertures and affect our dreams. In the morning, to keep some of the night air to ourselves a while longer, we close up the windows and blinds against summer’s generous proximity to the sun.

Today the weather has a more mellow temperament than it did a few days ago. We’re happy for the gentle reprieve.

Thanks, Polly and Rita - you do such wonderful things with these arm fulls of flowers.

The flowers that Polly and Rita brought from the Apple Farm today stand a chance of making it through the week unwilted in their vases. This time of year the variety of color, size and shape in the blossoms and foliage provide endless combinations for their creative combining.

Six helping hands. Take it easy, guys - come in for some lemonade once in a while!

In the garden today we’re lucky to have Tucker, Krissy and Cyle lending a helping hand (well, six helping hands if you do the math, I guess…). Sara has assigned tasks with a view toward expanding the garden from the modest bounty of the last few years to an immodest exuberance. In October, you’ll be able to see for yourself the full flowering of this particular project. And when you come by here you’ll also be tempted to rest a bit in the hammock that’s being slung under a few elms out back. And why not, anyway? I promise, it will still be warm enough by then to justify a bit of lazing in a breeze.

Is it just me, or is anyone else out there unable to resist laying down on top of a perfectly made bed in the middle of the day?  If there is a little sunshine in the room and you happen to walk by, and, well, ok,  just for a moment…  it is too much to resist. If you happen to have a book handy, you could end up there for a good long time.

A little tug here and a pat there smooths out the wrinkles when you get up, and you can go about the day, knowing that a comfortable bed is waiting.

Depending on which room you have here, your mattress will be either a McRoskey or a Keetsa. The McRoskeys are made by hand in San Francisco and have a devoted following – which is to be expected of a company that has been around for over a century. The Keetsas are from a newer company and are made with eco-friendliness as well as comfort in mind. After polling friends and co-workers, we chose soft but supportive models for the rooms. This decision – with very few exceptions- has resulted in many a well-rested traveler.

The beds are made up with light but warm down comforters and pillows. In many of our rooms we use Coyuchi linens, which we love for their low impact on the environment and their wonderful feel on the skin.

After a day spent in pleasant anticipation of lifting the covers and slipping into the smooth, cool sheets, as you drift into sleep with a smile playing faintly on your lips, your last thought before you begin dreaming might be of an entirely different pleasurable anticipation: “Mmmmmm, coffee in the morning.”

One of the best things that happens in May is that the Farmer’s Market resumes. We have for years now been happy to host the market in our little lot on the corner of Lambert Lane and 128. Umbrellas and canvases pop up early on Saturday mornings to shelter tables laden with offerings from the threat of rain. It’s good to see the familiar faces from Petit Teton, Lovin’ Blooms, Floodgate Farm, Yorkville Olive Oil and others, back after a winter spending their Saturday mornings peddling their wares on the front porch of Lauren’s Cafe down the street from us.

Also coming up in June is the Sierra Nevada World Music Festival. The local response tends to one of two: battening down the hatches and emerging from our homes only after the 10,000 reggae fans have let town; or, jumping into the fracas and reveling in the (rare in a small town) opportunity for abandon that the anonymity of a crowd affords.

When the very happy day comes (soon, we hope!) that the sun comes out to play, so will we all. Tomatoes will grow big and juicy, in our own garden as well as in the private and market gardens all round the valley. It’s a little early to be thinking of panzanella, but dreaming about it is something else entirely.

This is… let’s see now… the third? fourth? time we’ve had paintings by Carol here over the last few years, and we’re delighted each time. The colors are rich and deep. Impressions of lightheartedness give way to a cascade of melancholy, hope, pride, tension and power, as you consider the stories the paintings tell. I almost want to use the word “charming,” but it doesn’t do justice to the depth of feeling.

We hope you have an opportunity sometime to see Carol’s artwork for yourself. (Hint: this may be your chance! Come see us!) Around here, our lives are certainly the richer for it.

May we be candid? We have our favorite guests. We hope they know who they are. When they call to make a dinner reservation, they don’t want to know what will be served. They say, “I’m sure it will be amazing.” They allow themselves to be pleased.

A fair bit of time is spent crafting each night’s menu – Melinda mulls over recipes and Johnny brings home inspiration from restaurants and eateries. We talk to the local farmers and make meals of their offerings. “What would you want for dessert after braised oxtails?” might be typical of the questions Melinda asks during these discussions. Her eyes shine wickedly, the sugary temptress – no one can say no to her when she offers dessert.

Most afternoons begin with Brennan or Lidia coming in to lightly toast the black peppercorns and grind them by hand in a molcajete. The spicy fullness fills the kitchen as further preparations begin. Meats are rubbed with d’esplette and salt, or chicken is pulled from it’s brine. Then a trip around the garden with a pair of snipers, to collect the bay, oregano, thyme, rosemary, basil or mint – all so humble and honestly good when fresh that it could break your heart. Another trip around the garden for braising or salad greens, while inside a smooth and unbroken dressing is whisked up. Brennon accomplishes this with casual care, an elegant insouciance that is the quintessence of the plates we bring to each table.

Mr. and Mrs. R___ are regulars here, have been for years. After they’re seated and we’ve all asked after one another’s families, they sometimes scandalize us (and each other) by each having their own glass of wine, rather than sharing. As the meal goes on,  courses are relished and the plates removed. As we collect the spotless plates, Mr. R___ jokes, “I didn’t like that at all.” It keeps us on our toes, thinking of some snappy retort. But of course he loved it – the proof is in the pudding, (or lack of said pudding, a few scattered crumbs evincing the enjoyed consumption thereof).

On the other hand, a diner at a prix fixe meal may find him or her self sitting in front of a dish that wouldn’t ordinarily be of their choosing. This moment, when a diner is contemplating the duck, farro and braised greens in front of them, is a kind of crisis of uncertainty. But the resolution is certain. We often hear, “I have never liked lamb (mussels, mustard, duck…) until tonight.” What this means, really, is that a preconceived idea has been laid aside in favor of a willingness to have a good time. Well done.