The best six months of my life came about a year after graduating from college. No, I wasn't on a grand world tour. I was working my tail off as a carpenter. A combination of luck, chutzpah and good timing helped my friend, Charlie, and I get jobs on the estate of well known film director in the Napa Valley. Our task was to remodel a huge barn on the property into a state of the art mixing room. We figured it would take about three months. It took closer to six.
Since we couldn't commute every day from Berkeley, the film director graciously rented us a three bedroom cottage in St. Helena, about six miles up the road from his estate. The fully furnished little house backed onto vineyards, and had a swimming pool, barbeque and a television that picked up MASH reruns from about six California cities. Our routine was simple and sublime: Get up and work from 8 to 5, then head back to the house, take a swim, throw something on the barbie, uncork one our newest, local discoveries, and then settle in for a couple hours of Hawkeye and Trapper John. On weekends, I'd hike and bike the valley, stop in at tastings around the valley (with the education in wine I received, I should have been paying the film director), and then finish the weekend off with a mud bath and massage in Calistoga. It was heaven.
I've been back to Napa many times since then, but never quite felt the same magic. True, these were mostly quick weekend trips, but even attempts at a little taste of the past never quite measured up.
Earlier this summer a friend and I planned a motorcycle trip around California. Because she'd done some work for Auberge Resorts (among other exquisite properties, they own Rancho Encantado in Santa Fe), she was curious to see the Calistoga Ranch. She told me that the odd thing about the 157 acre property was that it was originallty a trailer court out in the woods, southeast of Calistoga. When Auberge bought it, they assumed they'd get the zoning they needed to develop their resort. Evidently, it never happened. As a result, all the 47 units they built had to be on temporary foundations and resting on axles. According to my friend, once a year the property manager had to visit the California Department of Motor Vehicles to re-register the 'vehicles'.
My expectations for the visit were tempered.
My heart starting beating faster, however, when we rode up the narrow, shaded lane to the Ranch, bordered by forest on one side and vineyards on the other. At the minimalit reception area where one leaves their vehicles for the duration of their visit, the attentive and professional staff had us checked in and on our way to our lodge aboard one of the ranch's elaborate golf carts in mere minutes. That's right, I said 'our lodge'. As in 'private' and 'all to ourselves'.
These individual lodges come in a variety of configurations—one room, one bedroom, two bedroom, etc. Ours, a one bedroom, was an ingenious use of indoor and outdoor space. Though only a grape seed throw from our neighbors on either side, we had to strain our necks to make out their units. On entering our lodge, we walked through a gate and on to a deck overlooking a dry stream bed and a dense canopy of trees. In the middle of the deck, of course, was the requisite California redwood hot tub. A tree grew from the middle of the deck. The two living areas—a living room with wet bar, half bath and fireplace was a seperate structure from the one that contained our bedroom and full bath. The resulting configuration orients one to the outdoors and also freed the architect from constructing the standard box. The two units are arranged in a way that assures maximum privacy. We never wanted to leave.
Ok, after quaffing a bottle of champagne in the hot tub, we decided to visit the ranch's restaurant. It was a good 15 minute hike up the road (we could have called a golf cart, but decided the walk would clear our heads) past a gorgeous little man-made lake with geese and duck engaging in water sports. The restaurant overlooks the lake and has a wide open design that allows every diner to partake of the view.
We were having too good a time to be conservative. We ordered the dinners of several courses. The evening was a blur of great wine and orgasmic murmurs over every bite of Chef Aaron Wright's cooking. Three words: braised pork belly.
Yes, I was finally back in the Napa Valley of my dreams, and the magic was there at Calistoga Ranch.
http://www.calistogaranch.com/home/
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