Let me start off with an explanation about why I've stayed at several wineries/vineyards along my journey so far. I'm a member of Harvest Hosts, a program through which RVers can stay at host locations overnight (or longer, if the host will allow it), and many of these hosts are wineries, vineyards, breweries, museums, farms, and other interesting attractions. RVers get a free place to stay, and the hosts get customers. I've often opted to stay at a Harvest Hosts location instead of staying at an RV park or campground, thinking it will be a money saver...
I left Roswell, NM (what a hilarious place) on Friday and headed to west Texas. My stop for the night was a lovely vineyard/winery in Brownfield, TX, off a lonely highway, several miles down a dusty red road. The winery/vineyard is a family-owned/run operation. I was stopped on the road in front of the family house by one of the children, a tall dark-haired kid of about 17. With him came 14 barking, yapping dogs of varying breeds, sizes, and colors. Henry was fa-reaking out, squealing from open window to open window. He was excited to see his people. I immediately exited the vehicle to be inspected and received by the pack.
The kid handed me a clipboard with some sort of waiver I needed to sign, and I signed it from a crouched position surrounded by dogs. I tried to pet as many as I could. Some were skittish and kept their distance, but several let me love on them. One included a 9-mo-old Great Pyrenees named Blizzard, who was white, tinged with red dust. She leaned into me and wrapped her right front leg around my left leg, snuggled in hard, wanting all I had to give.
The kid encouraged me to get back into my vehicle and make my way over to near the barn where Harvest Hosts RVers were to make camp. Two other young teenagers, probably a brother and a sister, came out of the house to help round up the dogs and herd them back to the shady porch of the large house. It was clear they'd done this before. The kid's smile conveyed he wasn't happy that I had gotten out of my vehicle, because of the dog situation, but was being nice about it.
Blizzard followed us to our camp spot, and I loved on her for hours, until she was later forced by the kid to go back to the house.
I had made an appointment for a tasting for that evening. Now, this was weird. I'd never had to make an appointment for a wine tasting. Usually with these wineries, they have an "open" time and a "closed" time, and you show up in between the open and closed and drink the wine. But, really? What do I know about wine?
When it was X o'clock, I went to the barn for the tasting. I was surprised to be greeted by the kid again. He presented me with a glass and a menu and started in on describing what I was about to taste (drink). I remember a bunch of fancy words, enveloping more common words such as "sweeter" and "drier." What the exact fancy words were, I couldn't tell you. I was so distracted by the $$$$ on the menu that I could not comprehend any words I learned beyond the age of 6.
I stopped him after the second wine, telling him I didn't feel well, pointing to the cheapest wine (sweet) on the menu, saying "I'll take that one."
On my way out, I just had to ask, "Are you old enough to drink wine?"
"Yes. I'm 21."
"Oh! I was sure you weren't older than 17."
He smiled. That same smile from before.
I then recognized in him the youth of a younger sibling who is one among many. Lives in a large house with his family. Out on a flat 40 acres in the middle of west Texas. Farming life in a modern age. Probably home schooled. He only knows what he's been told to know.
"Does your whole family work on the vineyard?" I had no idea what trap I was setting for myself by continuing to ask him questions.
In an android voice, he answered, "Yes. My whole family works on the vineyard. When I was a kid, we lived in a 4,000-square-foot house in the middle of the woods in Alabama. My dad was a chemist, but he didn't really like being a chemist. We had come out here for a visit, and my dad really liked the idea of being a farmer, but he said the only way he'd give up his job to move out here to be a farmer is if our house burned down or if he got fired from his job."
I'm on the edge of my seat, so to speak, since I was standing. "Oh no! Don't tell me the house burned down," picking the more exciting of the two options.
"No," the kid said with a slight chuckle. "He got a new supervisor that he didn't get along with, so he quit, and we moved out to here. My parents were tired of getting paychecks from...wherever paychecks come from, and they thought it would be better for us to be farmers, since God controls the weather."
I really was starting to not feel well.
"You see, we believe that Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, died on the cross for our sins. Man is very sinful, and Jesus Christ died for our sinful ways. We believe in heaven ever after and eternal salvation. We'd rather get paychecks from God."
This is the very first person in the State of Texas I had spoken to. WTF!, is putting it lightly.
II said to myself, Kerrie, don't laugh, don't scream, don't redden or whiten. Just smile and say something nice.
"Well, can you ask God to turn down the wind a notch? I could use a break."
Without irony, he said, "It's west Texas. It's windy."
The next morning, as I readied the trailer for our departure, I realized I had lost the very important metal pipe needed to leverage the sway-bar chains on and off of the trailer hitch. I had been so good, so thoughtful, so in the moment about putting it back in its assigned location after every use (something I rarely do, ask Jason), for the purpose of not losing it. It's the only one I had! I had left it setting on the hitch in Roswell!! Son of a bitch!!!
I quickly Googled "RV parts store brownfield tx." All the RV-related businesses were closed until 9 AM. It was 7:30 AM, and I needed out.
I noted that an auto parts store among the other business options was open. I gave them a jingle. Richard was the second person in Texas I talked to.
I explained my situation. "Yeah, I know what yer talkin' about. I have four R.V.s myself. I don't have that exact pype yer talkin' about, but I bet I got sum'n here that'll work for ya."
"Fantastic, Richard. I'll be there in 10."
Indeed, Richard had a 4-foot piece of square metal tubing, and it would work. The pipe I'd lost was only about a foot long. Four feet was more than I needed. Richard instructed one of his employees to go into the back of the store and cut the tubing into three equal sections. "And, don't forget to sand down those edges after ya cut it," he yelled at the door leading into the back.
"Thank you so much, Richard. I really appreciate your help."
"I'd go do it myself," he said from his stool behind the front counter. "But, I have cancer and a broken arm," motioning to his right arm, which showed no obvious signs of being broken. "Also, that's why I'm wearing this." He tugged at his mask. "I can't mix COVID with cancer."
"No. No. I'm guessing that wouldn't be good. It's probably a good idea that you are wearing a mask," I said.
"Well, it's company policy. Otherwise, I wouldn't wear it."
Oh boy. I'm sensing something.
"You know that COVID was created by Bill Gates and Fauci [pronounced Fossy] in a lab in Wuhan, right? Yeah, Bill Gates was trying for population control, and the virus escaped the lab, and it all just got out of control."
A laugh escaped my face, out of control.
"You know Fauci [pronounced Fossy] is up supposed to be answering questions by the senate, and he can't answer 'em. He says that the virus wasn't made in a lab. They asked him, 'How'd that virus escape from the lab?,' and he can't answer 'em."
Richard's blood pressure was rising as he spoke. I'm not sure this is good for his cancer or broken arm.
"Well, you can't prove a negative," I reservedly responded. (I need to gtfo of here!!!!)
"No. You can't," he said but quickly realized my response was not in fact an agreement with what he was sayin.
"Wait. Oh yes you can! Fauci [pronounced Fossy] can prove it by explaining how the virus escaped Wuhan."
In a matter of less than 24 hours in west Texas, WTF!, is putting it lightly.
Thank gawd, the guy from the back came forward with the three evenly sliced sections of tubing. This changed the subject from the verge of complete insanity to me paying for my shit and getting tfo.
At the edge of town, I stopped to gas up. The shop at the station advertised "Fried Pie." I love pie, and it was time for breakfast. A perfect coincidence.
Fried pie is dough wrapped around pie filling, all of which has been deep fried. Just as I'm sure you imagined.
I got cherry. It was delicious.
Good and sweet and sure to be the death of me.
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