Road Trip

Waking at 2:30 a.m. and not being able to go back to sleep, I begin to pack mentally for our five-day adventure—short for us, but who’s counting? Weather Bug forecasts rain with highs of 71° F.  To me this means winter clothes—boots, jeans, long sleeved sweaters.  I know just what I’ll wear, which is a long way from the white slacks and colorful whirl of silk that I had originally planned on for lunch at the Laurel Tree.

At six a.m. I am deep into packing and rethinking last night’s mental list. I stay away from winter.  It is the middle of April.  It is Texas after all —I must have been mad! Lightweight tops, linen wraps and sandals fill the suitcase.  As an afterthought, I throw in close-toed shoes and a sweatshirt— purchased in Maine during the summer I nearly froze to death—just in case.

We leave fifteen minutes early—only because I’m ready—which I never expected to be.  Google Maps says we will arrive at the 4B Ranch in one hour and fifty-six minutes.  The country roads twist and turn. Climb and dip.  The fog turns into a heavy mist.  I have never seen Texas so green—even without my cherished sunshine, the hills—drenched in color—are beautiful.

The BMW Z3 in front of us crawls down the road.  Michael cringes and complains about women drivers.

“How do you know it’s a woman—it could be a guy.”

Michael hopes she will turn right, as we need to turn left. Luck is not with him.

Miles down the road we are finally able to pass the cautiously driven roadster. I look into the driver’s window—neatly coifed mid-length blond hair—I dig into my purse to pay off the five dollar bet I lost.

The 4B Ranch in Medina

Leaving Medina—the apple capital of Texas—I call the owner of our two-day rental as promised, letting him know we will be there soon. I get a recording.  Not a good sign.  My mission in life is to worry—I worry.

Turning right onto a caliche road we drive into the heart of the hills. This is exciting…despite the fog.  Driving over a low water crossing—a friendly little stream trickling along—directs my worry to other concerns.  The forecast for tomorrow and Monday is thunderstorms. Constant rain. Knowing the hill country’s creeks and streams and rivers and the roaring rage of too much water in too short a time Michael and I glance at each other…eyebrows raised.

We approach a rustic gate.  I give Michael the gate code.  We are now on a very narrow paved road, a broken row of green tufts snakes through the center of the asphalt. The tiny road climbs—never dips.  We pass two towering chimneys sans house—there are stories here I am sure—but who will tell them?

We reach another gate.  I give Michael the code.  A mile down the road there is another gate and another code.  We follow our noses to the lodge.  There are cars, but no people.  I receive a questioning look from the driver’s side of the car.

“There’s a dog—that’s a good sign.”

Michael opens the door and the Jack Russell jumps into his lap, ready to go.  As I exit the car the Jack Russell moves to the passenger seat. Jeff, the owner appears, reprimanding Rosie as Michael scoops up the friendly pup and deposits her on the ground.

Standing in the middle of this 700-acre ranch I feel we are on the top of Medina County.  I wish there was sun so we could see the 360° view.  What surrounds us is a sea of mist—silver upon green upon silver upon green—dissolving into the sky.

“I think I picked the wrong weekend for our adventure,” I tell Jeff.  He shrugs, “Texas weather.”

It is a very damp sixty-four degrees—I shiver.

The two-bedroom guest lodge is pristine. It sparkles. The ceiling soars. Wild game trophies line the walls of the great room.  There is a warthog—I’ve never seen a warthog before. I don’t even check the kitchen; we will only be here for two days. The furniture is soft squishy leather.  There is a porch swing.  An outdoor kitchen.  An outdoor TV! A fire pit. There is everything here…but the sun.

The Laurel Tree in Utopia

Sun or no sun, we must hurry.  Our lunch reservations are for noon, and the trip down the hill and through the gates adds unexpected time onto our journey to Utopia and the Laurel Tree. This is our annual April pilgrimage to see the poppies in the fields and lawns that surround the restaurant—and of course to have lunch.

As always, lunch is lovely.  A four-course lunch reasonably priced. A prized bottle of wine we brought with us to wash it all down. A charming bistro in the middle of nowhere decorated with charm and whimsy and French country flair.  I think I am living the good life. I can’t stop smiling—maybe it’s the wine.

Laurel, the chef and owner, stops by to chat.  We ask about the treehouse she is building in the arms of the giant spreading oak in the backyard.   A hide-a-way place for two—no more than six—to dine and celebrate special occasions—or just to dine—because you can.  I ask Laurel to put us on the waiting list once the treehouse is complete—sometime in early summer.

Back at the 4B Ranch

On the way back to the ranch we stop at the tiny grocery store in Utopia and purchase a few things for dinner. Back at our temporary home the sun appears.  Then disappears. Then appears again.  And disappears. I grab my sweatshirt, pulling it on over my head. We walk the large perimeter of the hilltop, searching for the wild game and longhorns that roam these ranch-lands.

Michael grills local sausages to create his own version of a chili dog. The Fisher Paykel grill exudes warmth.  I pull a chair up to the bar and watch him cook.