MADAME DEFARGE WOULD NOT BE PLEASED
Oh how the queen of revenge would spin if she knew how so many of us choose to celebrate Bastille Day.
The celebrants above, Larry, Mary Margret, Tom and Lana, cases in point, have reveled in the delights of France and by some force of nature have been drawn to the American Provence'. But there are limits and so in form from which Madame DeFarge and the Jacques' would recoil as decadent, we civilized the process. After all who wants to toast the Great Terror which followed the storming of the Bastille? If you are lost I refer you to either Dicken's Tale of Two Cities, or a precursory read of the French Revolution.
Being an artful and adventurous crowd we worked our way into the Paso Robles appellation to take up residence at an Olive Farm with true French management. Loyal they are to their history, Bastille Day was celebrated with a light feast beneath the spreading Oleander blooms and gracious shade of Olive and Mulberry trees. Wine? Yes. And a never ending supply of Pommes Frites, done in olive oil of course.
Sun kissed, blessed by breeze, beauty and American oenology, Bastille day was recorded as probably Thomas Jefferson would have appreciated.
And just to show good form, the merry party meandered to a nearby vintner of Cal-Italia wines. Salute! A votre sante! Cheers.
After such international merriment a bit of the breeze along the Cambria coast was a sweet tonic.
Liberte', égalité, fraternité! Noble still, though easier in notion than nation.
To history, then….
See you down the trail.
