Running into the Sun

Sometimes you feel fortunate just to have been asked to take a road trip on a certifiably gorgeous day.

And then it just keep getting better.

Our first goal was lunch and Tanglewood Ordinary presented itself just as the driver acknowledged he was hungry.

And the family dining outpost, with its bottomless fried chicken and sides - cole slaw, biscuits, cornbread, stewed tomatoes, mashed potatoes, black eyed peas, green beans - plus a second protein (in our case, pot roast), more than took care of some growling stomachs.

Our server, Zach looked to be about twelve, but since he delivered our Zorin Prosecco, I'm going to assume he was older.

I couldn't have been more surprised at the music, which began with Marvin Gaye and went downhill, but perhaps that's a function of starting at the top.

There's a particular charm to eating in a restaurant that's part rec room, part simulated log cabin and part home on the range while the Spinners' "Rubberband Man" is playing overhead.

Fully stuffed on wings and legs, my affable date and I soldiered on to First Colony Winery.

The purpose was a complete wine tasting, but my ulterior motive involved my previous visit to First Colony last November.

Then, I'd seen piles of rushes, part of the supplies to build a new thatched roof on the winery.

Today, nine months later, the bodacious new thatched roof was a thing of beauty, topped by a weathervane of a chicken, turning with the wind.

And not just lovely because of the use of age-old thatching techniques but because of the quality of the workmanship on the roof.

It wasn't just a run of the mill thatched roof, it revealed itself in three different ways.

One part of the roof was just rushes, neatly trimmed at the end, over the line of the house. Another part was like a cross-section, a side cut view of the rushes.

But the most intriguing section was purely decorative, with an "X" under a half curve, one after another, patterned along the roof line.

If only I could have seen part of the process to make that happen.

On the deck off to the side of the tasting room, a band called Mid Life Crisis did a credible job with songs such as "King of the Road" and "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright" to a rapt, wine-swilling crowd and a couple of dogs.

Inside the tasting room, we'd timed it perfectly and the bustling crowds soon dissipated and we had the room to ourselves.

Moving through what our taster called the "porch pounders" - Chardonnay 2012, Rose 2013 and the Zephyr blend - also known as easy-drinking summertime wines, we savored Petit Verdot 2012 and marveled at Claret 2012, surprisingly not cloying despite 3% residual sugar.

Afterwards, we retired to the deck under the trees with the masses, glasses of the refreshing and fruit forward Rose to nourish us.

Couples danced and the rest of us watched as the band demonstrated why they always end up staying past the time their set ends: people are having too good a time to stop.

But we had bigger fish to fry and once our pink was history, headed up the hill to Blenheim Winery for our final goal and the main event.

It was my first farm to table Hill and Holler dinner and it was a doozy.

Chef Kyle Bailey of D.C.'s  Birch and Barley and Church Key was preparing food while the entertainment was to be Jackson Browne.

Kind of a big deal.

I'm not sure I would have even said I was a fan, but an opportunity to see him live - especially at this point- seemed like a once in a lifetime opportunity. I was over the moon at having been invited.

Despite every attendee having been warned not to wear heels, there were dozens of women who ignored the advice and, as a result, spent the evening taking mincing steps in platform and spike-heeled shoes on a field of grass.

For the record, I wore flats.

The view was magnificent, looking out over a valley and toward mountains, everything especially deeply colored as dusk set in.

After a period of mingling (looking at old books in the library, talking to someone I knew ages ago, chatting up a stranger) with butternut squash soup with creme fraiche being passed, we took our seats under a canopy, all 140 of us.

Seems they'd tried to cap it at 100, then 125 and finally pulled in the reins at 140.

The only thing I can say in their defense is that it was a benefit for the Environmental Working Group so it was all for a good cause.

Next to me was Tom, a biologist, who quickly introduced himself and told me his age and his wife's name. Across from me sat the husband of a woman with the Environmental Working Group, while he worked with the Chesapeake Bay administration.

Looking around, the crowd was decidedly un-Richmond looking. In fact, most people looked so D.C., very self-important and busy.

As a native Washingtonian, I can make blanket generalizations like that about my people.

Everyone had barely found a resting place when Jackson himself took to the stage.

Looking remarkably like he did in the '70s (or at least pictures of him), the dark-haired Browne said, "I'm just going to sing three songs and hope they go with the wine pairings."

As if "Baby Blue" and "Looking East" wouldn't go with any wine. Pshaw.

His voice sounded amazingly like it did on the radio back in the day when Jackson Browne was on the radio, so it was no small thrill to hear him.

His encore was (duh) "Runnin' on Empty."

Gotta do what you can just to keep your love alive
Trying not to confuse it with what you do to survive

And then, poof! He was gone and it was farm table time.

Everything was served family style and first came cool pickled watermelon rind and marinated radish salad with arugula.

Panzanella, one of my favorite summer dishes, of Bellair Farms tomatoes, fresh pulled mozzarella and garlic with toasted bread came fast on its heels and both were paired with Stinson Vineyards Sauvignon Blanc.

With the deep blue of the sky fading to dark, we were served earthy gemelli with ground lamb, roasted peppers, cumin and yogurt, paired with Pollak Vineyards Cabernet Franc 2012.

A bit of conversation and I soon learned that the man across from me lives in Takoma Park, that last bastion of hippiedom in Maryland, although he seemed the antithesis of loosey-goosey hippies.

To go with King Family Meritage 2012, we had succulent roasted farm chicken with sweet potato and okra followed by beef tenderloin with eggplant and oyster mushrooms.

By this point, people's eyes were starting to glaze over with so much food and wine and beer (shucks, I didn't even mention the Blue Mountain Brewery selection that was also paired with that last course) being delivered regularly.

The pros among us persevered.

Dessert was pound cake with local peaches and cow's milk ricotta, served with a glass of Foggy Ridge Pippin Gold cider.

As you can imagine, by this point everyone was everyone's friend and the decibel level under the canopy had grown quite high blotting out the stillness of the landscape around us.

Everyone was still a little bit high about having just seen Jackson Browne perform and certainly the lovely meal and generously-flowing wine didn't hurt the vibe any.

Everyone I know, everywhere I go
People need some reason to believe
I don't know about anyone but me
If it takes all night, that'll be alright
If I can get you to smile before I leave

I don't know about anyone but me, but my smile was ear to ear long before I left.

Color me fortunate and then some.