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We did it. Five of us in one van making our way across two states – a road trip. Gabe and I have always talked about taking our family on a road trip. We have glamorized life on the road. Visions of roads shaded by towering trees snaking along rivers and canyons. We’d make stops to allow the kids to stretch their legs, take a quick family photo, eat at an unknown place that would forever make it’s mark in our memory for its unexpected charm and delicious food. And then reality would remind us that even one hour in the car with three little ones can leave everyone in tears. We would quickly make some excuse for why it wouldn’t work, the logistics would bog us down and we’d forever be caught in this – “yeah, that’d be nice but it’s never going to happen.”

And then we got a very generous offer to tour Oregon for a week with Travel Oregon. The logistics were worked out, the plan was made and we adjusted our schedules to actually do it. There were still moments of fear – “How would the kids do in the car for that long? Would we enjoy any of it?”

I am thrilled to report that we did it, we loved it and we survived.

The trip had us tasting wine, touring breweries and roaming through orchards. Each place provided a spot for the kids to expend built up energy and I took great joy seeing my kids chasing one another through orchards and picnicking next to trellised rows of plump grapes.

I think my father-in-law says it best – vacations with kids are not for relaxing, they are for building memories. Having those expectations have helped me to really enjoy our family trips and not to be too selfish with my time.

There were plenty of times when I was frustrated with their lack of appreciation and patience. Quite often they were more content to return to the van so they could play their games than listen to someone explain the process of apple to hard cider. And they failed to see the splendor of the enormous,  nearly 100 year old beams that supported the lodge we were staying in – kids these day, geesh. But I was often shaken out of my foul moods by their joy in the simple things – a hotel bed to jump on, a pet fish to care for, a ball partnered with a patch of grass and a cool glass of root beer.

What thrills me the most is that we did it and now my mind is reeling with the possibilities of where to go next.

I’m sharing some of my favorite views of the trip. We’ve been to Oregon countless times but on this particular trip, Oregon stole my heart. Let’s just say when we came home there may have been a few Portland real estate searches (don’t panic Mom, I’m only partially serious).

Blue Mountain Cider Company

Watermill Winery

We arrived in Pendelton on Sunday then woke up bright and early for a quick drive to Milton-Freewater. I sat contentedly staring out the window as the subtle rolling hills practically glowed of gold in the sun. It’s a far cry from the green and trees that I’ve grown accustomed to on my drives.

We were given an extensive tour at the Blue Mountain Cider Company seeing the entire process of apple to hard cider. The kids were thrilled by the apples that accompanied the tour although Ivy was most taken by the cat she found at the orchard.

Petit Noirs

In such a small town I was surprised (and thrilled) to find Petit Noirs. A small, family run shop specializing in handmade chocolates. Each flavor thrilled and many touted the bounty that surrounds the area – Pendelton Whiskey Praline?! Yes.

Be sure to try the Parisian – my favorite with the perfect bit of rose and orange blossom blended with dark chocolate. And don’t go home without a few nougats in your pocket. I’ll report back later on the Cherry Chocolate Merlot Marmelade but for now I will continue to hoard it and take great joy just knowing it sits in my cupboard.

I could have stayed in this space for hours, lingering among the chocolates, nougat, chocolate marmelades and talking with Lan as her passion for the craft was intoxicating.

Hood River was our next stop and the one that had us asking ourselves, “Could we live here?” What’s not to love about a town directly on a river, a crystal clear view of Mt. Hood and countless breweries?

Our favorite stop in Hood River was at the Pfriem Family Brewers. They opened their doors for us warmly and we stayed for hours. We watched Josh (owner and head brewer) craft a fresh batch before we sat with he and his family over a bountiful meal that included plates piled high with various pickles, mussels, frites, and towering onion rings with aioli.

The food and the beers both have Belgium on the mind as Josh is heavily influenced by the country but with his vast experience in brewing, Josh manages to put his own stamp on each of his beers. The beers are rich in flavor with some hinting at cardamom and  deep floral hop flavors that stays true to the Northwest.

Our time at Pfriem showed me the importance of this trip and the great joy and responsibility of telling the stories of those we met along the way. Gabe and I were both blown away by their passion and were inspired by seeing this family taking a leap and making their dreams a reality. They’ve invested thousands of hours into the beer, the food, the space while raising two young children – a task I know is difficult in and of itself. It takes an incredible amount of passion for the craft to do such a thing and I find nothing more inspiring than watching others take so much pride in their work. They have much to be proud of as their beers are among the best I’ve tasted.

All of the people we met on this trip are striving to put their product out into the world – to share a taste, their joy, their lives. With many of our stops I was surprised to find the operations much smaller than I had envisioned. These are few people doing great work with local ingredients crafted expertly. I felt so honored to have met everyone I did and as I said before, it is a joy to be able to tell you all about them.

The Pfriem family touts this message; “Proudly Crafted, Humbly Offered”. Since reading that on the back of my glass while enjoying the Belgian Strong Blonde, I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. This is how I want to live – striving to create something with great passion and pride and to be able to humbly share it without seeking the glory for myself but allowing the work to reflect something greater.

I can think of no better way of describing Josh and his family. He spoke with great experience, passion and care about the beer, the food and their newly opened space but he didn’t try to sell us on the beer, he simply served it to us. The beer sold itself.

McCurdy Orchards

Clear Creek Distillery

Mt. Hood Adventure

We left Hood River to head into the mountains. Along the way we made several stops along the Fruit Loop alternating our pit stops between wineries and orchards.

Our first stop was at McCurdy Orchards where they painstakingly grow pears and apples in bottles to be bathed in Pear eau-de-vie and Apple Brandy. Each bottle is carefully slipped onto a young fruit and suspended with twine from branches above and below the bottle. The trees are littered with hanging bottles gleaming in the sun.

By the late afternoon we found ourselves near the top of Mt. Hood and checked into Timberline Lodge – a historic lodge, crafted by artisans in 1938 under the WPA (Works Progress Administration) established by Franklin Roosevelt. Gabe and I marveled at the massive beams supporting this towering lodge and hunted for the many intricate carvings found throughout. Walking around the lodge you can’t help but think about who all has stayed there in ist vibrant history and recall frightening scenes from The Shining as it was here that much of the exterior of that eery movie was filmed (eery is an understatement – I still have nightmares. REDRUM. Let’s move 0n).

The kids were so excited to follow one of the many paths right outside of the lodge. They spotted snow and didn’t want to stop until their little fingers dipped into the icy mash. I led them to snow and was rewarded with an onslaught of snowballs thrown my back. No respect I tell you.

We left the lodge in the morning seeking a bit of an adventure with Greg, our guide. You see, I have this sort of dream that our family would forage together. That we’d spend our weekends camping along the river, wondering through the woods and cooking a feast over a fire with our findings. The thing is that in order to become this sort of family we must do it. We don’t do it. But we tested the waters on this trip as we were led on a bit of a wander through the woods. We saw salmon flipping through the river having just returned from the ocean. We spotted and snacked on Huckleberries and learned Oregon’s state flower produces a deeply purple berry, called an Oregon grape. We snacked on those too along the trail. My vision of our foraging clan just may come to fruition as the kids loved the hike, albeit brief.

From there we made our way to Portland where we were warmly welcomed at Hotel Monaco. The kids were greeted with some new stuffed animal friends and a goldfish to care for while we were there.

I spent the next few days enjoying all the festivities around Feast Portland and drank far too much coffee – Portland, you know good coffee. Also, did I ever tell you about the time I made bitters with Mark Bitterman? More on that soon.

And now you see why we’ve been checking out Oregon real estate.

Thanks so much to Travel Oregon for the great trip and for everyone we met along the way – your stories, your products and your passion has forever made our lives richer. Thank you.

This post was from a recent trip to St. Lucia. I was sent by HighLine Foods to travel the island sampling and studying the seafood culture. I took my job very seriously by eating as much fish as I could. I enjoyed every moment. You can read more about my trip at the Seafood Spot.

In the shade of cocoa trees and the towering Petit Piton sits Boucan – a restaurant dressed in the finest dark woods and modern design with an intriguing menu dotted with cocoa, in all its various forms, throughout.

Like seeing a favorite celebrity in real life I was star struck as the walk up to the restaurant entrance was lined with trees heavy with cocoa pods. As a lifetime devout chocolate lover this was the first time I had seen cocoa pods in their native habitat and it filled me with a silly giddiness.

That same giddiness found me again as I tasted spicy local greens coated in a sweet white chocolate dressing. And then again as I sampled my husband’s cocoa nib crusted Dorado and as I dipped my seared tuna in a cocoa pesto. I doused much of my food in freshly ground cocoa nibs using the grinder provided at the table. I was released from the childhood rule of not eating chocolate for dinner, breaking it freely by putting cocoa nibs on virtually everything all-the-while being perpetually stunned when the flavors worked beautifully together.

Full on a pleasantly spiced curry studded with fish and plantains, and a chocolate tasting carrying us from nibs to a cool, lightly sweet chocolate drink, we sat down with the chef to talk with him about St. Lucia and his incredible talent that he brought to the island.

Chef Jon Bentham runs the sleek, black, open kitchen at Boucan. While the food served isn’t necessarily traditional St. Lucian cuisine the ingredients definitely are with 95% of what is used in the kitchen coming from various locations on the island. Chef Jon proudly spoke of their own garden on the property which supplies the restaurant with fresh organic herbs and greens. And of course all the cocoa he could ever dream of using is located a few steps away from the kitchen.

Chef Jon and his staff work closely with the locals insuring them the finest ingredients. With the success of the restaurant, it’s a wonderful economic boost for many St. Lucian farmers. “We’re happy, the farmer’s are happy. Everyone’s happy.” Chef Jon proudly proclaimed.

I walked away happy as well and encouraged to see such a wonderfully inventive restaurant flourishing and taking full advantage of all the incredible bounty found on the island.

In Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott describes the process of writing to that of watching a Polaroid develop. Once the photo has been taken the image remains unclear for what often feels  like a painstakingly long time.

As with writing it’s only the faint shadows of a story that first emerge. The image and words are monotone and lacking in details but with perseverance, and in my case often, frustrations, the arduous process slowly starts to reveal a complete picture with stunning details, vivid colors and a scene that you couldn’t have even imagined.

When you try and look at the Polaroid before it’s fully developed or finish a story without working it out and giving it the time it deserves then you miss out on much of the detail that gives the piece life.

I can’t help but think that this analogy also works with traveling too, probably because I’ve been doing a lot of it lately and while reading this part of the book I was sipping Rum Punch while the Caribbean sun wrapped me warmly. I give you permission to roll your eyes in my general direction.

With each recent trip I assigned the adventure an already formed Polaroid without my even realizing it. I had set aside expectations and pre-conceived notions of what I should expect and what I planned to glean from the trip before I had even packed my bags.

On many of my recent trips I spent the first few days frustrated that the reality didn’t resemble the image that my Polaroid so clearly displayed. I fussed over failed expectations and tried my best to control the outcome until I finally realized (and realized again, sometimes it takes me awhile to learn a lesson) that I need to allow this experience to tell me it’s story rather than force one on it.

Once I allowed myself to simply experience I was open to changing of plans, fully experiencing the beauty of that place and the differences of culture. I was able to clearly listen to the story of the trip and the blurry scenes of the Polaroid began to reveal themselves into an image that exceeded my previous shallow expectations.

While I realize that it is nearly impossible not to enter in without some expectations, my hope for future trips is that I can quickly forget my Polaroid in order to make way for the one that is yet to be revealed.

Less than 24 hours in Bruges, Belgium – what do you do?

Eat as much as you possibly can, of course!

My Bruges (don’t ask me how to pronounce it, I practiced for a week which evoked many laughs and odd hacking noises) to-do list was as follows:

1. Drink a Belgian beer

2. Eat fries

3. Eat waffles

4. Eat and buy chocolate

That is a chocolate induced smile right there.

I’m happy to report that even in my limited time in that beautiful country I completed the to-do list and then some.

Upon my return I’ve created a new to-do list:

1. Make waffles as good as the Belgian’s do – particularly the Liege waffle.

2. Make Flemish stew.

3. Find a great source for Belgian beer in Seattle then drink some.

4. Plan my return trip to Belgium.

Of course there is more to this stunning city than the food. Like wandering the brick-paved streets in the middle of the night in silence as you take in the stunning architecture, the way the moon reflects on the frozen canal, and the warming thought of drinking a dark beer in a pub established in 1515 – oh, that’s food too, I’m hopeless.

I’m home. I may not be for long but it feels good to be here.

So much to process from this trip, as is the case with any trip, but this one in particular felt different from any other.

My dad summed it up pretty accurately as he reflected on his last trip to the Netherlands, “Stepping into that country felt like I was coming home.”

As with many of my revelations it took food for me to feel just as my dad described. Each bite was familiar and deeply comforting. With the anticipation of experiencing an entirely new culture I was greeted to one I had already known. At first I felt disappointed by this as it’s typically it’s the differences, when traveling, that evoke change and awe in me. As the trip rolled on I realized that what to me had seemed like a typical childhood was one that was deeply Dutch. The country, people, food, and traditions were already a part of me. Through this understanding I learned much more about myself, my family, and a deeper knowledge of the culture in which my family originated.

I leave the Netherlands with a great sense of pride, a hunger to learn more, and a strong fervent to instill in my children much of the traditions that marked my childhood. I also leave with boxes and boxes of Hagelslag (chocolate sprinkles typically served on white bread with butter), inspirations for many meals to come, stronger family relationships and new friendships with family I had never known.

Atlas Kasbah, Agadir

Anticipating what is said to be one of the worst snow storms that Seattle has seen in decades I find myself sitting on the couch, waiting for the snow with a beer in hand and falling deeply back into the images from Morocco. I have so much more to share with you all and I feel that if I don’t do it now it may never happen as February brings with it a new set of fun excursions. (!!)

Using my journal from that trip as a guide I’m reliving the details. At the end of each day I made a scattered list of all that that day entailed. I’ve learned from previous experiences that I tend to quickly forget the details and it’s in those where the real journey lies.

Each day was packed full of new sites, new sounds, and not enough sleep, leaving little time to write so what I do have written down is quite cryptic but it’s enough to help me return to that place.

On the fourth day we woke up at the Atlas Kasbah in Agadir. The stucco-like facade covered an exterior that resembled a castle. The surrounding landscape reminded me of the Umbrian region of Italy where I would look out over the cliffs of Orvieto and see vineyards, monasteries, and long winding roads leading to places I wanted to explore. Here the rolling hills weren’t covered in grape vines but of Argan trees and plants that looked prickly even from the distance of where I stood. The varying brown hues and absence of much green was a welcoming reminder that I was indeed in Africa.

The Atlas Kasbah is the dream of a husband and wife team. The kasbah is welcoming and immediately sets the scene of a place for respite and rejuvenation. I encouraged such behavior and found myself laying by a pale blue pool in the middle of November having just had a traditional Moroccan spa treatment. I lay back in the chaise for a moment soaking in the warmth of the sun and this rare moment of complete and utter relaxation.

You see those moments are a distant memory when three children are my daily routine. I was torn between the desire to just sit in that moment or record a few of the details in my journal as a way to sort of safe-keep that moment so I could live off of it for the months to come.

I anticipated the points in my days when I would need to stop and find a piece of that sun-filled happy place in order to find perspective in the midst of a messy house, screaming children, and an uncooked dinner.

Briefly I wrote of that hot sun and how the gentle breeze would interrupt at just the right moment, never allowing you to get too hot but making you miss its warmth before it returned. It took only a few seconds but I wrote of the pool and the vibrant gardens, the rosy orange glow of the kasbah at sunset, and the smell of Moroccan basil – softer and more subtle than our varieties. Then I lingered in that place cementing it in my mind and appreciating every aspect of it.

The scribbled details weren’t much but as the snow threatens and the kids perform their nightly regime of warding off sleep I am so thankful that I wrote.

Our last two days were in Marrakech and it is here that I vowed to return to this country. It seems that in every foreign country I visit it is always the city that I most love. The energy of its people, the sounds of excitement and life, and the smells; so inviting, yet so different.

I found it hard walking as with every step I found an image that I wanted to preserve. The colors filled me with inspiration in shades of blue and orange. I picked up a few items in the souk to help me relive fragments of Morocco and its culture – a tagine, spices like harissa, and ras al hanout, mint tea, and a pair of vibrant orange pointed shoes that I wear around our house daily.

At the end of our day we found silence and calm at the Four Seasons. I snuck deep into the bed eagerly anticipating the nightly Facetime date with my family. Over the phone I kissed and hugged each of my kids. I talked to a very tired husband who spoke freely of how excited he was that only two days separated us. I was excited too but also fearful.

Right after the page in my journal detailing the scene surrounding me and the warm Moroccan sun I wrote, “I’m afraid to leave for fear I’ll never return.”

It goes without saying that I missed my family it’s just that I wasn’t ready to leave. I wanted them to fetch a plane and meet me in Morocco instead of me heading home.

What better way to leave a place than not wanting to leave? The memories of that place are forever set to induce a pleasant longing. When you talk to others about it your entire face lights up and your insides swell. It becomes a mission, of sorts, to encourage others to venture there and demand they take you with them when they do go.

I do hope to return, but for now I am living in the details and in the feeling of never wanting to leave that place.

*update* The snow came and we’re at about 5 inches or so. For Seattle that’s life changing.

*Also, I made a blurb book from images from my trip. Many you’ve seen on the blog. The reason I tell you is more of a suggestion of what to do with travel photos. Instead of sitting on my computer I now have a beautiful coffee table book to peruse at my leisure and to share with others. As far as I know you can purchase the book if you want but I don’t make much, if any, money on it. Just wanted to share.

*Finally, thank you. I feel as if I forced you all to sit through my travel slideshow but rather than fall asleep and roll your eyes (well, maybe some of you did that) I was overwhelmed by the gracious responses to these posts. Thanks so much for encouraging me to share.

*Last thing, I promise. I was graciously sent to Morocco by the Moroccan tourism board. All photos and words are my own.

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