by Claire Cook
“It was my dream,” I said. “I have every right to be in charge of it.”
“Settle down, you two,” Rosie said. “I do enough refereeing when I’m home.”
We studied our festival brochures silently.
“Okay,” I said. “It looks like the street fair opens at nine, and then the farm buses begin service to the farms from the street fair bus stop at nine-thirty, and the farms open at ten. There are four buses, A, B, C, and D, and each one goes to two of the eight lavender farms, and they run continuously till six.”
“Whatever,” Rosie said. “We’ll just follow you.”
“When does the winery tour start?” Tess asked.
“It’s self-guided,” I said. “So we can go anytime.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Tess said. “They drive you to the lavender but make you drive yourself to the booze?”
“Wait,” I said. “It says you can also taste the local wines at the Wine & Beer Garden at the street fair. A selection of two wines from each winery will be available for tasting and purchase.”
“I like that,” Tess said. “It’s so much more efficient. If you factor in street fair shopping and eating, it’s total multitasking.”
“But the whole point is to see the vineyards,” Rosie said.
“No,” Tess said. “The point is to drink the wine.”
Tess’s and Rosie’s brochures were back on the table, and they were focusing on breakfast. I took another bite of my rich, buttery, exotic coffee cake.
“Okay, what else should we do while we’re here?” Tess asked.
“Who made me the social director?” I asked.
“You have great leadership skills,” Rosie said.
“So do I,” Tess said. “But I’m on vacation.”
I flipped my brochure over. “Ooh,” I said. “There’s a Puffin Sunset Marine Dinner Cruise. Let’s see, a two-hour tour, expect to see tufted puffins, rhinoceros auklets, and other seabirds.”
“I love puffins,” Tess said. “Whenever we took the kids to the aquarium, they were my favorite. Maybe we should go there sometime, just the three of us.”
“Right,” I said. “Like I’d go anywhere near water with you and your laundry detergent ever again.”
“I didn’t even think of that,” Tess said. “Bubbles in the aquarium would be genius. Imagine all the media coverage we’d get. We’d just have to figure out where to put the puffins.”
AS SOON AS we finished breakfast, we headed for the street fair. The closer we got, the more we could smell the lavender.
“It’s like being wrapped in lavender,” Tess said. “It’s so sensual. Kind of sexy and relaxing at the same time.”
“I can’t figure out if it’s more floral or woody,” I said.
“Musky,” Rosie said. “To me, it’s almost musky. Hey, did you know that the riverside washerwomen in Provence were called lavandières? They used to sing a song about while there are still clothes to wash, who needs men.”
“That’s so twisted,” Tess said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe we could stay here, find a river, and become Sequim lavandières. I read in the brochure that the Sequim-Dungeness Valley gets less than twenty inches of rain per year. It’s so close to Seattle, you’d think the weather would be the same, but they actually call this area the blue hole. The microclimate is remarkably similar to Provence. That’s why lavender grows so well here.”
“I can show you how to make lavender water,” Rosie said. “It’s great to spray on your sheets and towels before you put them in the dryer.”
“Excuse me?” Tess said.
“Sorry,” Rosie said. “I meant before you hang them on the line. You can also add it to the final rinse in your washing machine. Or spray it on your pillow before you go to bed, to give you peaceful dreams.”
* * *
LAVENDER WATER
2 cups distilled water
2 oz. vodka or isopropyl alcohol
15 drops lavender essential oil
Mix all ingredients and pour through a funnel into a glass container you’ve sterilized by placing it in boiling water for 4 to 5 minutes.
* * *
“If you splash some on your temples, it’s supposed to help overcome exhaustion,” Rosie said. “It’s a natural insect repellant, too, and you can also use it as a mouthwash.”
“What can’t lavender water do?” Tess said. She stopped and looked at her pedometer. “Twelve hundred and three steps from Sequim Suites to the street fair,” she said. “That’s great. If we do five round-trips a day, we’ve got….”
Rosie and I looked at each other.
“Twelve thousand and thirty,” Tess said. “Boy, do you two need to do elementary school over again.”
We each paid our fifteen dollars for the farm tours at the ticket booth and pinned on our FESTIVAL SUPPORT buttons. “I can’t believe this is for all three days, including transportation,” Rosie said. “I bet Provence is way more expensive.”
“They probably gave us the senior citizen discount,” Tess said. “I bet it’s the only price they have.”
“Knock it off,” I said. “There are plenty of younger people here.”
I looked around to be sure. There were families with strollers, clumps of friends, plus couples of all ages and sexual orientations, most wearing shorts and T-shirts.
We joined the throng milling past rows of booths set up under colorful umbrellas along both sides of Fir Street. “Is it my imagination,” Tess whispered, “or are there lots of gay people here? Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
Two women walked by wearing identical purple outfits and holding hands. “I think it’s a lavender thing,” I said while I looked at my power watch. “Okay, I say let’s do a quick walk up and down the street to check it out and then jump on the first bus to the farms.”
Even before you open your mouth, your feet are always a dead giveaway that you’re not from around here. After a stroll past the booths, we climbed aboard Bus B with a bunch of T-shirted people. I’d expected mostly locals, but the range of accents and footwear was fascinating. The woman diagonally across the aisle in front of me sounded Australian and was wearing an Italian two-toned red patent leather Italian sneaker, maybe Zagmani.
Across from her, a single fluorescent green and orange Puma Argentina was air-tapping in the center of the aisle. Last I’d heard, Puma Argentinas were hot in England, and neon colors were growing in popularity in Europe and heading this way. The Onitsuka Tiger, the Japanese sneaker worn by Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, were all the rage in the Netherlands at one time.
My head was filled to the brim with sneaker factoids I’d never need again. The first rubber-soled shoes, called plimsolls, were made in the early 1800s or possibly as early as the late 1700s. Goodyear made the first canvas and rubber Keds in 1892. Sneakers were mostly worn by athletes until Hollywood picked up on the fashion, first in the 1930s and then in a big way in the 1950s when James Dean started wearing his signature jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers.
I closed my eyes and listened to the chatter on the bus, accents blending together like the countless styles of athletic shoes, the myriad layers of the scent of lavender. I could pick out a voice that sounded like home behind me, plus a couple of southern accents up in front. I’d read that the Pacific Northwest accent was subtle but sounded slightly creaky, and unlike the rest of the country, people who lived there pronounced the vowels in caught and cot exactly the same. I listened some more, but I didn’t hear anyone creaking, or talking about caught or cots.
My phone rang. I fished it out of my purse. unavailable, the screen read.
“Hello,” I said. Tess and Rosie looked over at me.
“It’s Michael,” Michael’s voice said.
“Why are you calling me?” I said.
“Boy, do you have a double,” he said.
“What?” I said.
“Yeah, a dead ringer for you. She even lives in Marshbury. It’s all over the local
news. Some nut and her friend covered the common with bubbles. They must have used one of those bubble makers.”
“Laundry detergent,” I said.
“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t see that part.”
“Listen,” I said. “I have to go. I’m in Sequim and my bus is just pulling into the lavender farm.”
“Where?”
I flipped my phone shut.
“I am so dying to know who that was,” Tess said.
Since Tess was sitting beside me on the bus, it was easy to elbow her.
“Ouch,” she said.
“It’s all over the news,” I said.
“Relax,” Tess said. “They’ll never find you here.”
“Us,” I said. “They’ll never find us here.”
“Wow,” Rosie said as soon as we stepped off the bus. “Lavender fields forever.”
There were rows and rows of undulating lavender, in gorgeous shades of purple, blue, white, and pink, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Most were in full bloom, but some of the bushes had been sheared to a mushroom shape, with bunches of lavender tied into bouquets and resting crisscrossed over the top.
“That’s to show a harvest in progress,” Rosie said. “Over there is where you pick your own.” Sure enough, there was a sign that said U PICK—$5/TWIST TIE.
“I don’t get it,” Tess said.
“You get as big a bouquet as you can get the twist tie around,” Rosie said.
“Ooh, I love a challenge,” Tess said.
My cell phone rang again. I fished in my purse and pulled it out. UNAVAILABLE, my caller ID said.
“Hello,” I said.
“You hung up before I had a chance to say what I needed to say,” Michael said.
“Fine,” I said. “Shoot.”
“Okay, well, it’s just that I’ve been wondering if we should give it another try. I’ve missed you. And, man, I just don’t know what to do with myself since I stopped working. I get up, I make coffee, I read the paper—”
“No thanks,” I said. “But maybe you should give Sherry a call.”
There was dead silence on the other end.
“Sorry,” I said. “That was beneath me. Okay, here’s the thing. You had your chance, and you totally, irrevocably blew it. I’ve moved on. And now I’m in the middle of an amazing vacation with some fabulous new friends. So if you’ll excuse me…”
As soon as I hung up, Tess put an arm over my shoulder. “We are fabulous, aren’t we? And you have a much more interesting social life than I gave you credit for.”
“Come on,” Rosie said. “Let’s go get a snack. We’ve got twenty minutes before the essential oil distillation demonstration starts.”
Tess rolled her eyes. “Yeah, don’t make us late for that,” she said.
TESS SMILED AT two men who were wearing sandals and white socks pulled up to their shins and talking in some unidentifiable language. “Cute guys around here, especially if you like bald heads and ponytails. Maybe you should ask somebody for a date, Noreen.”
“Or you could,” I said. “Though, who knows, if I wandered around by myself, I might meet my soul mate coming out of the Porta Potti.”
Tess leaned back on her elbows. “Go ahead,” she said. “We’ll wait here. Don’t worry, what happens in Squid stays in Squid.”
We were stretched out at the edge of a huge field of lavender. “It’s almost like Dorothy in her field of poppies,” I said. “Pretty soon we’re all going to start getting sleepy and have to curl up and take a nap.”
“And probably get trampled to death,” Tess said as a woman tripped over her foot and excused herself. “Dorothy had a lot more personal space in that poppy field.”
“They’re all great, but I think this is my favorite farm so far,” Rosie said. She sat up and looked around. “Look, it’s like a series of Monet paintings—everywhere you look, there’s a new composition. I mean, whoever owns this farm has vision.”
“And let’s not forget the business angle,” I said. “They sell everything but lavender kitchen sinks in that gift shop.”
“And I totally love that picture of Jimi Hendrix over the cash register,” Tess said. “Who says brain cells lost in the ’60s don’t regenerate.”
My phone rang. I flipped it open. UNAVAILABLE, it said.
I shook my head. “What,” I said.
“Noreen? Hi, it’s Rick.”
“Rick,” I said.
“Listen, I know I’m past the expiration date, but when I didn’t see you at group today, it just hit me that I might never see you again. I mean, you sure sounded ready to graduate last time. So, anyway, I was hoping you’d like to go out tonight.”
“And do what?” I asked, because I was curious.
“Wii tennis at the senior center?” he said.
I didn’t say anything.
“Kidding,” he said. “I was kidding. Dinner. A movie. Dinner and a movie. None of the above. Whatever you want to do.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m in Sequim.”
“What’s a squim?”
“It’s a town in Washington State. I’m here with some friends at a lavender festival.”
“How about next week?”
“Let’s talk about it next week,” I said.
“So will I see you in group on Monday?” he said.
“Maybe,” I said. “Depends on how tired I am. Maybe Monday or maybe Friday.”
“Okay, well, have a good time. See you next week, Noreen.”
“Different guy?” Rosie said after I’d closed my phone again.
“Mmm,” I said.
“You know,” Tess said. “I used to feel a little bit sorry for you, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Come on,” Rosie said. “Even I’ve had enough lavender for the day. Let’s go find a winery.”
This time I drove, while Tess and Rosie opened up winery tour maps.
“Okay,” Tess said. “We’ve got our choice of seven award-winning artisan wineries.”
“Just pick the closest one,” I said. “It’s not like we know anything about wine anyway.”
“Speak for yourself,” Tess said. “Sideways is one of my favorite movies.”
“Okay,” Rosie said. “Let’s try the ‘small family-owned winery on a wooded shoulder of Lost Mountain, in the Olympic foothills.’ It’s right in Sequim. Okay, head west on 101.”
“What a great spot,” I said when we pulled into the parking lot. What I was really thinking was what a romantic place to bring a date. The weathered wood building had a secluded, tree-canopied patio tucked in next to it. If I ever came back again, I wondered who’d be with me.
The tasting room was dark, almost like the inside of an oak barrel.
“Have you ever done this before?” I whispered. I wasn’t sure whether to pretend to be just looking or to make my way boldly up to the wine bar.
The woman standing behind the bar must have known we were rookies. “Step right up,” she said with a big smile. We each paid a small tasting fee and she handed us a menu. “You can choose any five wines to sample. We’ve got them listed in the best order for tasting, starting with the lightest, pinot grigio, and moving toward our boldest cabernet sauvignon. We specialize in robust reds made without sulfites.”
She turned to pour for three women standing next to us at the bar.
“This is so cool,” Rosie whispered. “I’m dying to spit in that big brass spittoon.”
“Don’t waste it,” Tess said. “I think they only give you half an ounce with each pour.”
We decided to skip the whites and jump right into the robust reds.
“That’s what we did, too,” one of the women standing next to us said. “You here for the lavender festival?”
We nodded.
“I have a small lavender farm in Massachusetts,” Rosie said. “I’m ready to pack it up and move it out here. They’re really on to something. You put eight lavender farms together and suddenly there’s a culture.”
One of the women laughed. “We were just plotting how we could move here from Ohio and start our own winery.”
“Nice jacket,” Tess said to the one who’d spoken.
“Chico’s,” she said. “Love that blouse.”
“Thanks,” Tess said. “J. Jill.”
“Ohmigod,” one of the other women said. “We found the best Target on the way up. I got these great exercise pants marked down to practically nothing.”
“Gotta love Tarjay,” I said. I tried to check out their feet to see if they were wearing sneakers and, if so, what kind they were, but it was too dark. “Are you walkers?”
“Kayakers,” Chico’s Jacket said. “We did three hours of sea kaya-king on Dungeness Bay this morning. Talk about an upper body workout.”
“Wow,” I said. “We’re planning to walk the Dungeness Spit out to the lighthouse while we’re here.” When she didn’t look that impressed, I added, “Five miles each way.”
“Over rough terrain,” Tess said.
Rosie rolled her eyes. “On our hands.”
Everybody laughed. I took a sip of our second wine, a cabernet franc, or cab franc, as I’d know enough to call it from now on.
The tallest of the three women reached for a cracker. “Whatever you do, don’t miss the REI flagship store in Seattle while you’re out here. It’s got a sixty-five-foot climbing wall.”
“Only sixty-five feet?” I said.
Day 27
17,777 steps
TESS ADDED SOME MORE LAVENDER HONEY TO HER TEA. “I can’t believe we couldn’t even stay awake for the puffin cruise last night,” she said. “We’re a disgrace.”
Rosie took a bite of a tiny doughnut sprinkled with lavender sugar. “These are so good,” she said. “No we’re not. We just had a busy day. And we’ve got another one today.”
Tess shook her head. “And I still can’t believe we haven’t found lavender black currant champagne anywhere. Maybe it’s a bait and switch.”
