A few weeks ago my husband and I headed south to California wine country on a brief spring break jaunt. Spring officially arrived on the day we left our home in Southern Oregon to travel down I-5 over the Siskiyou Pass (elevation 4,310 feet), past Mt. Shasta and Lake Shasta, on south and then eventually west towards the north end of San Francisco Bay — but you wouldn’t know it from the weather. Word was out that a cold, moisture-laden system was headed our way, and we cringed at the thought of having to put chains on to get through the mountains. Fortunately, although we did encounter torrential rains on the way south and saw plenty of snow on the side of the road, none of the white stuff interfered with the journey. I actually enjoyed the drive quite a lot; although I’ve driven into my southern neighbor several times, it’s always been during the warm, dry summer months. At that time of year, Lake Shasta is ringed by several dozen feet of bare, red-brown banks as the level of the reservoir is lowered (especially in the last several years of drought), and the hills are covered in dry, brown grass. For one whose eyes are accustomed to vistas of endless evergreen forests, it’s not the most appealing sight. I saw the region in a whole new light on this trip, though. Although Lake Shasta’s bathtub ring is still evident, it’s a much narrower one, promising that the drought is finally broken. Once we’d dropped down out of the mountains, bright green grass spread across the valley floors and up and over the hills, a lush and lovely carpet even on a rain-drenched day. The interstate ran between acres of olive and almond orchards for miles on end. In some cases the trees were furred with just the barest hint of green, but in others we enjoyed that fresh tint mingled with the palest pink of blossoms. As we neared the bay, I couldn’t get enough of the sight of the soft, round hills dotted with oak trees and looking more alive than I’d ever seen them in that cloak of green. As we entered the Sonoma Valley and made our way north to Santa Rosa, Windsor and Healdsburg, vineyards popped into view. The vines are still bare and brown, pruned to their winter austerity, and thanks to the recent heavy rains, many were in standing water. However, that bright green of the new grass between the rows promised that they would soon be emerging from dormancy. More on what we came to California for — the wine and the food — tomorrow. — Patty Vanikiotis, associate editor/copy editor