Trucking Apples to a Winery

Saturday was another sweltering day so, not wanting to expend much energy, I decided to check out an antique truck show in Winchester. I've always adored American trucks, their huge size and power so intimidating in a fascinating way. I'm just drawn to them. The vehicles here today had been scrubbed and polished, their chrome and glass dazzling in the bright sunshine, and proud owners sat under shady canopies, willing to answer any questions about their prized possessions. I had no idea what kind of questions to ask, and really wasn't bothered about engine size or what was under the hoods. I just wanted to admire their stunning bodywork, and examine all the decorative details. Hood ornaments, lights and paint jobs were all scrutinized by yours truly as I circled them all, savoring the wafts of engine oil as I passed them by.

 I loved the chrome starburst paneling on this cab and actually had a question about whether those circular dents were bullet marks. They certainly couldn't be hail, but the owner wasn't around, so I had to assume it was an unfortunate vandal attack.

 There were a few new models and I fell in love with this Mack. It looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie, transporting aliens to Area 51 or was an Apocalypse survivor getaway vehicle. It likely hauled sacks of potatoes in real life, but not in my imagination.

This truck lured me closer with its dark and ominous exterior. I've always been a little frightened of these huge beasts after watching Duel, a 1971 movie, in my youth. These monster trucks were something never seen in England and their sheer size with their deep roaring engines always terrified me. I still feel uneasy whenever I see one behind me in my rear view or side view mirror when driving. I have Stephen King to thank for that instilled fear, but I'm still drawn towards them when they're silently standing still with engines off.

As I was photographing a couple of shiny behemoths, a couple of ladies called me over to show me the interior of their trailer, so I happily obliged, trotting over to the steps. The doors were covered with metal logos and plates, collected for over 50 years, and inside was a little home for traveling. Truck bench seats, (I would love these for my home), led to a double bed at the end, curtains in place for privacy. They told me it was very warm and cozy during the winter yet managed to stay cool in the summer if breezes blew through. It did look comfy, a great party venue at these such events, and it certainly beat a tent.

Of course there were some gorgeous hood ornaments, some I'd never seen before. The detail of the outfits on the Mack fire truck dogs were amazing. And it was a first for me to spot the little Mack dogs on the headlights. I've decided that I need a Mack dog to sit on Big Red, that would be a first. A red kayak floating across a lake with a little chrome woofer sparkling in the sun. I wonder if there's a cat hood ornament out there for sale....

 

The sun was relentless, forcing folks to skirt around close to the trucks and find some refuge in their looming shadows, but the sticky humidity was making the strap of my heavy camera rub sorely against my neck. My bag was stuck to my back and I was yearning to return to the AC in my car. I took one last shot, a selfie in the chromed wheel of a truck and then retreated to the parking lot. But it had been amazing to see so many wonderfully preserved, much loved trucks at one show.
As I drove towards home I decided to stop and pick some apples. I usually eat two daily on work days and the soggy pithy fruits in the stores were obviously left over from last year. So I stopped at Marker-Miller Orchards, just outside Winchester.

Although very commercialized, and full of small children, the farm was well organized. And I'd much rather see kids here, in the fresh air, eating fruit, rather than hanging out with their parents in a brewery which seems to be the rage right now. There were 3 types of apples which I was interested in trying. I prefer tart flavors, rather than the sweet candy apples that others like. Red Stayman, Rome and Crispin were the ones I walked towards, swinging my plastic bag and already strategising my route. I'd walk down the rows, munch on a few samples, and then walk back towards the start before filling my bag, which I knew would be heavy. The Red Staymans were easily the best, crisp and crunchy, full of flavor, juices running down my chin as I battled to close my jaw in a bite on the huge fruits. The Rome apples were dark and a little dry, the Crispins too sugary. The trees were loaded with fruit, all of it show standard, with no blemishes. Perfect baubles begging to be plucked. And pluck I did. One hand tugging the apples from their branches, while I ate with my other hand, my bag on my arm. There was none of that horrible waxy preservative found on store apples, just a slight dusty film, and when polished against my t-shirt, they shone like jewels. And yes, I did pick the glowing globe above, nestled on its emerald leaves. After taking its photo I couldn't leave it behind. I filled my bag so much that I could barely hold the handles together and had to cradle it like a baby as I walked to the car. I'll definitely be back here next year, maybe before the end of this season.
On Sunday I decided to drive out to an old house that I'd seen posted on a Facebook page of abandoned homes in VA. Jeff and I had driven past it earlier on in the year but hadn't been sure whether it was empty or not, so had decided to pass it by.

It was close to a main road and even when I drove down the driveway my car was still visible to passing vehicles so I had to make my visit short. It was definitely empty but was also tightly locked up. Peering through the windows I could make out a few possessions left behind yet none were the dusty old broken antiques I'd been hoping to spy. No old rockers covered in cobwebs with dusty glasses standing on a warped table. Just piles of rubbish and carrier bags. I roamed around the back garden and then left, not wanting to explain my presence to any police that had been alerted by motorists spotting a female looking in windows of an empty house.

Disappointed, I drove down country lanes, heading for home. I pulled over when I spotted a herd of bison in a field. Never having seen any close up before, I hung over the fence, hoping their curiosity would draw them over. But the poor beasts didn't look too happy in the heat. Plagued by clouds of flies, they stood or laid, looking miserable, and likely longing for the fall weather. I thought they looked really skinny but then realized the photos I'd seen of them had shown them wearing their shaggy winter coats, making them look much bigger and more formidable than they appeared today. I hopped back into the car and before arriving home, I made a last minute decision to stop at a local winery I'd had my eye on for a time. Not being a fan of larger commercialized wineries, Chester Gap Cellars is tiny, only open 3 days a week, and very inviting with friendly staff. Perched on the apex of a 1000ft hill and overlooking the mountains, it has a beautiful view. The tasting wasn't overpriced and I was delighted to discover I enjoyed all that I tried, nearly all of them dry. My favorite was the Petit Verdot, a dark cherry and red currant blend, aged for 24 months in oak barrels. It was scrumptious. I had a glass and joined a couple of ladies outside on the small patio, fresh cool breezes breaking up the humidity of the afternoon. I had planned to have just the one and head for home, but found myself chatting with the owner and another couple, who were also visiting for the first time, and so a second glass was purchased. Justin is planting Chardonnay grapes and hopes to produce the wine in 5 years. 2 years of cutting the grapes back as they grow to encourage strong root growth on the slopes and then 2 years of producing grapes before he can make the wine. I'm happy to wait, and plan on making this little gem, tucked away in the hills, my local winery. A lovely end to my weekend!