During the last 1980’s, riding the car with no boys but female bonding was the in thing. Tripping around is a trip from place to place; pure adrenalin devoid of drugs, sex and rock and roll. Should there be marijuana, it’s all for recreation use only; let’s smoke a “J” is what we said. Destination: Naramata, British Columbia, Canada.
Janet, a friend with Russian family in the country side wanted to visit them. I have car, why not. Those were the times of footloose period from Brian Adams to Bruce Springsteen. We visited the Russian Doukhobors and Freedomites. Can’t really tell which one is which for all I know they are human being just like me. Being introduced to Babushka who are so hospitable and all we did was eat their Borscht. This was my initiation to a Russian family. Lovely people.
The best part is Naramata. We stayed in a cabin of Janet’s cousin, in the middle of an orchard, on top of the mountain, overlooking the Okanagan Lake. The air is so pure and intoxicating. Smell of lavender, cherry blossoms and apples blossoms permeate the atmosphere.
But I was dog tired from driving around that day. Hit the sack, lights out and nothing, literally nothing could wake me up the following day.
In a deep slumber, I can smell a different aroma all too familiar that tops the natural sweet scent of Naramata. JAVA… java… java… Ah, definitely, I am in heaven. Starbucks was not in the picture then. The smell is so close to my nose and I heard this dulcet voice calling me over and over again “P-e-r-p-e-t-u-a”. I must have responded “Yes, Lord, here I am.”
I opened my eye, Janet holding a pot of coffee at my bedside. Now that’s what I call heavenly delight. JAVA and Naramata: God’s country.
Naramata, here I come.
Picture courtesy of Naramata’s office site.