We heard there was a wine trail in Connecticut but didn’t entirely believe it. So Saturday morning, after breakfast and our daily gym excursion, we loaded up into Chris’ car armed with a bottle of water, a full insulin pump, and no map.
“We shouldn’t bring a map. It will just make us more lost.”
Directionally challenged and agreeing that “north” meant “in front of the car” (vs. “west,” which meant “to the left”), we heading up Route 7 towards the White Silo Winery.
It was like a scene out of Sideways. Tiny little farm off the side of a country road, far from the chaos of New York City, a woman behind a small wooden counter served fruit wines and told us the stories of how the wines were crafted from succulent raspberries and blackberries.
After the tasting and buying a bottle of rhubarb wine, we poked around the farm a bit. Found a wheelbarrow hiding behind a fence, casting shadows on the thickets of berries.
Our next stop was the Hopkins Winery up the “trail” a small bit.
Perfect driving weather: cool, crisp, and hosted by a sunbathed landscape. We stopped the car every so often to explore the scenery. We found these train tracks lining the edge of a small river.
Towards our second stop, we spied a waterfall near a quaint street of shops. Chris climbed down into the ravine (and slipped on the slope, dipping his elbow in the dirt) to take a few pictures.
Arriving at Hopkins Winery, we tasted the award-winning wines and toured the fermenting room. (Which, by name, reminded me of the Inventing Room from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – the Gene Wilder version, not the creepy Johnny Depp disaster.)
Chris took stock of Hopkins’ finest …
And I snapped pictures of the blooming labels.
Charmed by the country charm of western Connecticut, we retired to the vineyard gardens and (after I promptly fell in a ditch and Chris tried to eat the contraband grapes that were twining around the silo) enjoyed the sunset.