Woodinville, or might I say, Seattle's front porch, the mighty town of about 15,000 lifts the veil on the famed Walla Walla Valley Wine Country. A part of Washington I doubt many Seattleites have actually visited.
Walla Walla always reminded me of home: rolling hills, anxious farmers, and tractors holding up highways. It's funny how you forget such things once you leave what folks here call "the flyover states."
Farm country can be chic, but it is less than luxurious. It is full of hard work, calloused hands, and overtime. Walla Walla doesn't quite fit what most city folks want out of life.
Woodinville shows off what Walla Walla creates, season after season. Fine wine. With over 130 tasting rooms to choose from in this town, I'm not sure you're ever more than a hay bale's throw away from a glass in these parts.
Geez, my Ozark is showing.
Woodinville packages this wine into tasting rooms, memberships, fancy sitting rooms, and glorious excuses to linger. I'm fascinated with the community that encapsulates Woodinville. Mount Rainier shows its grandeur when the weather is kind, the valley springs with flowers in every color, and the wine brings people together.
Whether you are a wine drinker or not, the culture exists all around you. From an art piece in the entryway of the one and only The SOMM Hotel, a sasquatch holding a wine glass, to Wine Alley signs perched in the middle of town and wine glasses sold in every gift shop, you can't escape it.
From affordable to extravagant, there is wine here for everyone. And as spaces like Harvest and The Yard pop up, the allure of Woodinville will continue. But my fascination is piqued when I think about driving past the vineyards in the Walla Walla Valley, a sight arguably more beautiful than the flowers that perch in the Woodinville valleys. Perfectly laid rows of vines nestle into the hillsides, showing you that fractals do exist, and humans have a hand in them, too.
The stories that live in those vines are what intrigue me. As more money, intrigue, and people flood into Woodinville, I wonder how many of them know about the stories living in the Walla Walla Valley.
As a newish resident of Woodinville, I continue to see the value these tasting rooms bring: connections, memories, and state pride. But I've heard little of the stories of the farmland that creates these delicious wines, or of the people who work hard each day, experts in their craft, shipping bottles to Woodinville to share the amazing bounty.
My next trip to Walla Walla will be a different one, rooted in exploring the wine that binds Seattleites together. Maybe Walla Walla was a crack in the Seattle Freeze after all. But of course, we often overlook the land and the hands that feed us.