(Map of All Yamhill-Carlton AVA Wineries- http://www.winesnw.com/nwill_yamhill-carlton_map.html)

The Willamette Valley of Oregon is a huge region more than one hundred miles long (160+ km) and at places as much as thirty miles across. It runs all the way from Portland at the far northern border of the state down past Eugene. The soil is incredibly fertile owing to a series of massive ice age floods that brought with them acres and acres of topsoil sweeping down the Columbia River Gorge all the way from Montana. The topsoil in some areas of the valley is more than 1km deep in places and, along with a wet but mild climate, it’s well known as being some of the best farmland in the world.

The Yamhill Valley AVA (American Viticultural Area) is a sub-region of the bigger valley that is particularly well known for it’s fertile agricultural lands. Early pioneers farmed the area beginning in the early 1800’s, growing mostly wheat, rye and other grains. In the 1900’s the area became well-known for its fruit crops: Apples, pears, berries and also hazelnuts. Beginning in the 1970’s, much of the land that used to be fruit orchards was converted over to grape vineyards. The cool wet climate with gently rolling hills, a long growing season and soil permeated with decades of sweet fruit crops is perfect for varietals such as Pinot Noir and Pinot Grigio. So, accordingly, there are a number of wineries both large and small that have set up shop in the little towns of Yamhill, Carlton and Gaston.

The sheer number of wineries around the area was daunting for the Pittsburgh visitors. None of them knew the first thing about wineries, wine tasting or which wineries were better than others. The biggest wineries - Kramer, Elk Cove, and WillaKenzie Estates - names that were at least vaguely familiar because their wines were sold nationwide - were mostly on the north side of the valley, however, so that was where the group decided to start their search.

They drove north from McMinnville through the center of Yamhill proper and then headed even further north driving through the beautiful rolling green hills. The soft morning light shone down on the springtime green of the countryside. There were endless lines of vines stretching along the spine of the hill and curving around the knolls. The trees were in full-leaf and the little groves of trees and patches of browner fields that broke up the expanse of vines only added to the beauty of the view. Justin thought that it looked more like pictures he’d seen of Italy than someplace in the United States. His drawing hand was just itching to put some of the scenes he was looking out at down on paper, but it would have to wait until they found the man they’d come all this way for.

Kramer Vineyards - BTW, I have NO affiliation with any of these wineries, I just like to drink wine! - http://www.kramervineyards.com/

The first stop was Kramer Vineyards. It was one of the oldest wineries in the state, with more than 30 years of experience making Pinot Noir. The winery had a huge tasting room set up on the estate, with a lovely big patio full of tables and shaded by grape vines growing on trellises all around. The three neophytes, approached the bar where a smiling woman was pouring out small glasses of various different wines for guests who would then take their drinks off towards one of the patio tables. Emmett pulled his shoulders back and stood up to his full 6’2” height then assumed a knowing air and approached the bar with all the assumed confidence he could gather, pulling his two much less assured friends behind him.

“Hello. Welcome to Kramer Vineyards,” the smiling woman wielding all the bottles greeted them. “Do you know what vintage you’d like to taste first?”

Of course, this was not nearly as simple of a question as it sounded. On the top of the bar in front of them, there was an array of at least eight different wine bottles. Next to the wine, were wine glasses ready to be filled, bowls with various small snacks in them and laminated menu cards with information about each and every wine produced by the vineyard. It was all a little bit intimidating if you didn’t know what the hell you were doing.

Taking over when Emmett seemed to falter, Justin thought it best to just admit their lack of experience and let the kind wine-lady guide them. “Hi. We don’t actually know anything about wine tasting,” Justin confessed. “We’re visiting from Pittsburgh - which, as far as I know, doesn’t have much in the way of wineries. But, anyway, we have no idea what to try first.”

“Not a problem,” the amiable woman laughed and immediately picked up a bottle of chardonnay, pouring a small amount into each of three glasses. “We get a lot of people here tasting for their first time. And it’s refreshing that you actually admitted it instead of pretending like so many others do. So, let me walk you through our wines and exactly how to taste wine properly.”

How To Taste Wine - http://www.wikihow.com/Taste-Wine

It took the trio about forty five minutes to taste the entire selection of the wines offered, starting with the drier, white wines like the chardonnay and the pinot grigio. The kind Wine-Lady, explained how to judge the wine by looking at it’s color, smelling the bouquet and then tasting it. She explained a little about the chemical properties of different wines and the way it tastes different on different parts of the palate, how to aspirate the wine as you taste it and how the taste can change once more air is introduced. She also showed them how the taste of some wines changes and can be drastically improved when paired with different foods. It was amazing, for instance, how the heavy, almost syrupy red wines, miraculously changed when they were paired up with say a bite of chocolate, making them (almost) the best thing anyone had ever had in his or her mouth.

In the end, they bought four bottles of wine and tipped the Wine-Lady generously before they left. It was one of the most educational experiences Justin had ever had with alcohol involved. Who knew you’d have to have a basic understanding of chemistry in order to be able to drink wine properly.

Armed with their new found expertise in the art of wine tasting, the group toddled off, just a tad tipsy, to the next winery and then the next and then the next. They were having so much fun that they actually kept forgetting to ask any of their hosts about the location of the Wine Grower’s Association meeting. It wasn’t until they were just about to leave the fourth tasting room on their tour, that they noticed some of the other tasters dumping out the majority of their wine into little stainless steel buckets set up on the bar top.

“Why the fuck are you throwing out all that good wine,” Daphne injected herself into the other group’s conversation, emboldened by her already full morning’s worth of wine tasting.

With a thoroughly snooty tone of voice, the older woman standing next to Daphne informed her that, “serious tasters never drink a whole glass, my dear. Even though the portions served here aren’t that large, you don’t want to get drunk. And, if you plan to spend an entire day tasting wine, you simply can NOT drink every drop you’re served.” The woman, along with the rest of her pompous group of sycophants all tittered condescendingly at Daphne.

“Ohhhhhh! I get it,” Daphne replied with a saccharine sweet and clearly fake smile. “You mean that you don’t want to deal with the dregs, is that it?”

“Why, yes. That’s exactly what I mean,” the arrogant old woman answered, again with a derogatory little laugh.

“I never waste my time with the dregs, myself,” Daph explained, as she calmly lifted up what was left of her last glass of wine and then deliberately poured the contents over the head of the snobby woman. “The dregs of society, that is. I prefer to drink all my wine!”

The uptight woman, now drenched in a lovely estate bottled cabernet sauvignon, sputtered. Her companions began to get angry at Daphne in between efforts to help the dripping woman clean herself off. One of the servers was giggling while the other was looking scandalized at the scene taking place in front of her in the usually staid environment of the well-established vineyard. Justin and Emmett were stunned at first, but having known Daphne for several years it wasn’t exactly unexpected that she would react accordingly to anyone dissing her or her friends. Luckily, the three eastern visitors came to their senses before everyone else around them had decided exactly how to react. They grabbed ahold of Daphne and ran for their car then sped out of there, laughing at the uproar that was following them and the memory of the haughty woman who’d been brought down to earth by the scrappy and indomitable Daphne.

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The incident with the snobby wine tasters killed their buzz and brought them all back to reality enough that they realized they needed a bit of a break from the fun of drinking all that wine. It also happened to be lunchtime. It was unanimously decided that they needed some real food in them before they engaged in any more wine tasting for the day. So the group decided to take a little break, refuel, regroup, and then go from there.

The first restaurant they happened across was the Trask Mountain Outpost. The building itself looked like a log cabin. It was right off the main highway in Yamhill, though, and the group decided to give it a try. Inside it seemed like a cozy little family-type place. There were interesting knick-knacks hanging on the wall and a huge stuffed Moose’s head over the cash register in the front. While, they hadn’t seen any moose yet while they’d been in Oregon, they had seen pretty much everything else, so it didn’t phase the travelers all that much.

The food was unpretentious but yummy and after their pretentious morning of pretending to be knowledgeable wine connoisseurs, it was exactly what they wanted. Everyone had a sandwich and a soda and there was even homemade apple pie for dessert. The server was a nice young local kid who couldn’t have been more than 16 or so, but he did a great job nonetheless. The only complaint they might have had was that everyone in the place seemed to disappear right after they’d been served their dessert but before they could pay their tab.

“Sorry about making you wait for this,” the server said when he finally emerged from the kitchen about twenty minutes later. “We’re catering this big luncheon meeting down in Carlton today and the guys who picked up the order about twenty minutes before you got here forgot all the desserts. Joe needed some help getting everything ready so he can run the delivery over. So, how was everything,” he asked as he took Em’s credit card and began to ring up their lunch.

The magic word ‘Meeting’ got everyone’s immediate attention.

“That wouldn’t happen to be the meeting of the Wine Grower’s Association, would it,” Justin asked with baited breath.

“Actually, yes . . . I thought you guys were from out of town. How do you know about the Wine Grower’s meeting?”

“YES!” all three Pittsburghers cheered as one!

“We’re trying to get there. I’m supposed to meet someone there, but . . . well, we didn’t know exactly where the meeting was being held and . . . Please, please, please, tell us where it is,” Justin begged.

“Joe? Where’s the Wine Grower’s thing happening?” the server yelled into the depths of the kitchen.

“Barking Frog,” came the disembodied voice from the back.

“Right, it’s at the Barking Frog Winery, which is down in Carlton,” the server started to explain, but was interrupted by the voice from the back again.

“They’re not at the Tasting Room. It’s out at the vineyard off Fir Crest. Over by Twelve Wine.”

“Okay. Thanks, Joe,” the server yelled back and then proceeded to try and give them directions to the vineyards of the Barking Frog Winery.

“Just out of curiosity,” Daphne asked even as Justin was tugging at her arm to get her move faster towards the car, “what did the guys who picked up the order look like?”

“Don’t know . . .” the server stopped and had to think about it for a bit. “The guy that paid was just ordinary looking, I guess, brown hair, not too tall . . . Oh, but the other guy with him wasn’t bad looking. Tall. Good hair. Studly, sorta.”

“Brian!” the three visitors crowed in unison as they stormed out of the restaurant.

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Unfortunately, more than an hour later, they were still driving around in circles looking for the damned Barking Frog Vineyards. It turns out that the windey little dirt roads that meandered through the hills of the Yamhill Valley were NOT very well marked. Without Emmett’s smart phone or Daphne’s laptop, they were without modern GPS assistance and had to rely solely on the verbal directions they’d been given by the guys back at the restaurant. However, after they made it to Carlton and then turned off the main road that headed up into the wilderness, they’d become ridiculously lost within only minutes.

And, except for lots and lots of trees, some random livestock - a cow here and there, a forlorn-looking donkey and even a couple of llamas in one field - there didn’t seem to be much life on these old back roads. At least not human life that was capable of giving comprehensible directions.

They’d managed to wave down one older local woman who was picking up her mail from the mailbox out on the main road before she could get back in her truck and drive off up the abandoned-looking, rutted, one-lane drive that presumably led eventually to her home. She’d never heard of the Barking Frog Winery. She figured it was one of them new places that seemed to just come and go these days. The only helpful suggestion granny had was to drive over to the Peterson’s - who lived ‘across the way about two miles over’ - since they were young folks and probably would have a better idea where this ‘Barking’ place was.

The travelers drove about two miles over, but couldn’t find anyplace that looked like it might qualify as a home across the way. They kept driving and eventually found themselves right back in Carlton. So, they turned around and tried once again to follow the directions they’d been given.

And, ended up back in Yamhill.

And then again, back in Carlton.

Finally, admitting defeat, they pulled into the only gas station in the area, a small shack-like place over behind the post-office in Carlton, and asked the grizzled old attendant to direct them. This guy claimed to know the winery at least. But Justin could already tell that his directions weren’t going to be much help. He figured that they’d probably be able to find the ‘The old Auto Parts store’ - where they were supposed to turn left - but the rest of the directions - such as, turn right about a mile after they passed ‘Old Bernie’s Barn’ and drive till you get to that big old oak tree that leans over the highway by the river - would be more problematic. Justin’s hopes of ever finding the vineyard or Brian sunk even more.

Strangely enough, though, Emmett seemed to understand the old-timer’s directions perfectly. As they drove off, Em told them how that was just exactly how folks back in Hazelhurst would have given directions and gushed about how much easier it was to find things if you referenced landmarks that didn’t move rather than street signs that tended to disappear in the country. Neither Justin nor Daphne dared to contradict him, since they were city kids and completely out of their element out here in the wilds of farm country.

Then, almost miraculously, just when they thought they were once again lost, there was a well-maintained gravel road that led off to the right with a beautiful modern-looking sign next to it announcing that they’d finally made it to their destination.

Cheering wildly, the little economy rental car full of people drove up the small road until they finally came to a nice, newish building made of field-stone with a real paved parking lot. They’d made it! They’d found the winery! ‘Wine ho’!

Em and Daph jumped out of the car as soon as it was parked. They were running towards the entrance and halfway there before they noticed that Justin wasn’t with them. Turning back, they saw that the young blond was barely out of the car.

“Justin! Come on! We’re here. We found the place! Come on, don’t you want to find this Brian guy?” Daphne bellowed at her slow moving friend.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say to him, Daph. I never figured it out. What if Brian IS here? What the fuck am I going to say to him . . . I got nothing . . .”

“Fuck that, Jus! Who the hell cares WHAT you say. You dragged us all clear across the country to find this guy, so grow some big hairy balls already and get your ass over here. I don’t care what you say, but you’re damn well going to say something after all the shit we’ve gone through to get here. Now, go in there and GET YOUR MAN!” Daphne ordered and simultaneously shoved Justin towards the entrance to the estate building.

With his friends’ support backing him up, Justin’s resolve returned and he headed inside the main doors with renewed purpose. Like all the wineries they’d been to today, the main tasting room was mostly just a big open area that was fronted by a bar. This time it was manned by a casually dressed gentleman with a salt-and-pepper beard. Justin made his way around the two other small groups of tasters who were already inside and approached the pourer waiting for him at the bar.

“Excuse me, um, we were, um, hoping to meet someone that was supposed to be here for the Wine Growers Association meeting,” Justin faltered.

“Sorry, son,” the older man replied, shaking his head. “The meeting ended almost an hour ago. I think everyone’s gone already.”

“Shit!” Emmett hollered, causing all eyes in the place to turn towards the tall, lanky, ostentatious queen. “Sorry . . .” Em waved in apology for his language. “Everybody is gone already? Are you sure? We came all this way . . .”

“Well, there might be a few folks left back there. You’re welcome to go back and check if you’d like,” the Barking Frog Man offered, holding open the drape covering the passageway back into the bowels of the winery’s facility. “The meeting room is clear at the back.”

The Pittsburgh Three sighed as they headed through the draped opening and made their way down a hallway lined on both sides with wine barrels. Nobody was cheering or running, now, though. Justin couldn’t believe that they’d come all this way for nothing. If Brian was gone already, it was hopeless.

Justin figured that he’d probably never see the beautiful brunet man again. He’d never have a chance to feel that perfect hard body pressed up against his own. He’d never taste those crushed-cranberry lips again. He’d never get a chance to finally say something witty and romantic and captivating to the man of his dreams. In fact, he’d probably die a hopeless lonely old queen without ever finding that perfect someone to love. It was useless, pointless, tragic almost. It was just like everything else in his bleak, depressing, hopeless life. Why even bother looking anymore. Justin’s life was over and he knew it would never be the same.

“I’d heard it was always rainy in Oregon, but all I can see is ‘Sunshine’,” came a sultry deep voice from the end of the hall in front of them.

Justin looked up in amazement just as Brian came walking out from behind the long row of wine barrels. The sexy man stopped in the middle of the walkway and smiled a bewitching half-smile at the approaching young blond man. All the potentially witty remarks that Justin had been mulling over for the entire trip instantly evaporated out of his brain the minute that smile hit him.

“Hi . . . I was just, um . . . just in the neighborhood and um, I thought . . .maybe you’d like to finish our dance,” Justin offered with a bashful smile.

Brian laughed sensually and then opened his arms wide, a sexy smirk adorning his gorgeous countenance. “Sounds wonderful, Sunshine. I just signed a huge new client, so it’s the perfect time to celebrate and I can’t think of a better way than dancing . . . with you.”

Justin stumbled forward, inextricably drawn into those inviting open arms. Daphne and Em stood together behind their friend, hugging each other in their happiness and smiled at the ridiculously romantic scene that was transpiring right in front of them. Just then the strains of a mellow slow rock tune filtered in from the direction of the tasting room. With a little chortle of laughter at the propitious circumstances that seemed to conspire against his decidedly unromantic nature, Brian wrapped his arms around the young man and they started to sway together.

Brian had already had more than enough wine for the day, but he didn’t mind in the least sipping at the luscious rosado lips of the young man that happened to just be in the neighborhood right when he needed a dance partner. He couldn’t think of a better way to end his trip. Maybe having to come to Oregon wasn’t such a bad thing after all . . .

Sip The Wine - by Rick Danko (1978) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q53twA7I02Q&feature=kp.

A mellow blues/rock tune to listen to while you drink your Oregon Pinot Noir.