The Lake

Beautiful Lake Chelan from Tsillan Cellars' vineyards.

Lake Chelan.

In the dead of winter - my down coat a veritable extremity and my pallor closely resembling the hue of a bone fish - I close my eyes and dream of that place.

I pull up a picture from the previous summer and stare with yearning.

I think of my afternoon swims to the floating dock.

I imagine myself on our deck, the frosty glass of my mixed drink a reprieve from the heat.

I smell the balmy wind as it blows down through the winding channel of the lake.

I see the orchards and the vineyards that run for miles, and the sun setting below the crisp and jagged line of the forested Cascade Mountain Range.

This isn't just any lake. No, Ma'am.

Tsillan Cellars vineyard, overlooking the lake.

Long and narrow, it cuts deeply through the foothills of the Cascades.

On the far west end is the remote hamlet of Stehekin, reached only by foot, air, or water. Then there's Manson, a small, quaint town on the north shore. Finally, Chelan, the lake's biggest city, which sits on the far east end.

The lake is fed by roughly 100 glaciers that trickle down from the surrounding mountains. Which makes the water a liiiiitle bit chilly, but so clean and beautiful. In certain places, the color rivals that of the Caribbean.

It's the third deepest lake in the Unites States, with a maximum depth of 1,500 feet {though the eastern-most end, near the city of Chelan, seems pretty shallow in comparison...you can usually see the sandy bottom}.

Having a drink at Benson's.

There are over 200 acres of wine grapes and over 20 wineries in the area. My favorites {in no particular order}: Tsillan Cellars, Nefarious Cellars, Benson Vineyards Estate Winery, Vin du Lac Winery, Tunnel Hill Winery, Karma Winery. New vineyards and wineries are cropping up ever year.

There are hundreds of miles of hiking trails in the summer, and in the off-season, when an average of 39 inches of snow typically falls, the hillsides beckon to the winter sport enthusiast.

The lake gets over 300 days of sunshine. What the hell?! Being a Seattelite, and living only 160 miles east, it's hard to believe that such a place exists within driving distance.

Chelan is one of my very favorite escapes year-round. If you haven't already visited, you should definitely make plans. Learn more here.

As a child, I spent my summers vacationing on the lake, and as an adult, I still spend as much time in Chelan as possible.

I love this lake, but I am only the latest in my line of people to feel that way.

Back in the late 1800s, my Basque ancestors ran massive herds of sheep through the surrounding hillsides.

Dusty, tired, and stinking of lanolin, they'd often stop to rest in what was then the small town of Chelan. They would stay with their friends, the Campbells, a family well-known today for their lakefront resort.

My great-grandma returned to visit the Campbells for her honeymoon in 1918.

Her grandson, my father, spent many summers playing on its shores.

And fittingly, The Russian and I honeymooned in Chelan and Stehekin, as well.

Now, our children come with us.

The days and weeks blend together in a glorious mess of sunscreen, grimy feet, and pink cheeks.

So, like me and all of those relatives before me, they will grow up with the smell of lake and pine forever embedded in their memories.

For us, it's a second home.

A place to escape to or put down roots.

Whatever it is, it's surely amazing.

For the Love of Eggs

I think eggs are beautiful.

Bird eggs, specifically. {Snake eggs give me the heebie jeebies...too soft and elongated....bleck!}

I love the gentle shape of birds' eggs. I love their milky colors. I love their hard shells.

Brown, white, cream, peach, blue, green. Speckled.

Visually, they're perfect. At least to me.

That's not to say that I can't appreciate the taste of an egg. I'm an omnivore, after all. {But puulease keep those hard boiled abominations away from me!}

Yes, I do eat them, but this is about my appreciation for their outer beauty.

I love to run my fingers over their sides. To feel the weight of them in my hands.

They make me happy.

And have you heard of the Tinamou?

Tinamous are from Mexico, Central America, and South America. They're plain birds - brown/gray/tan, ground-dwelling creatures with trim, little bodies.

Nothing to write home about, at least not in my bird-judgin' opinion.

But don't let the bland plumage fool you. Tinamous lay the most gorgeous eggs. Ever. EVER.

Deeply colored and glossy, they come in a myriad of colors: turquoise to pink to aubergine to slate to dusty rose. They're coated in a porcelain-like shell that gives them the look of carved and varnished stones.

I've never seen these eggs in person, but I guarantee if I did, my heart would flutter.

In fact, I had an egg-induced flutter moment the other day at a friend's house.

They've got a coop and run in their back yard, and those three hens of theirs produce more eggs than they can handle.

Several had already been laid, but we waited patiently while one slow-moving old biddy took her sweet, sweet time finishing up. We'd crack the door to the nesting box and she'd squint her dark eyes at us, as if to say, 'Seriously? Have you no shame?'

We did not. And we checked back every few minutes until she begrudgingly retreated to her roost.

That night I made a spinach, garlic, and mozzerella frittata with those eight lovely eggs. They tasted soooo much better than store-bought {at least in my imagination}.

Even if it was a little sad to crack 'em open.

Oh, for the love of eggs.