I Left My Heart North of San Francisco (Part 4)

The evening we got back from Napa we got word of a special treat in the making for K. “Mr. Tom,” Christine’s husband, was able to wrap up his Southern California duties early and had caught a flight from L.A. to San Francisco and would be joining us for dinner. K adores Mr. Tom, so it was kept a secret from her as a surprise. At dinner time we all walked downtown to McNear’s restaurant where we subtly got a table with one extra seat. As we were seated and reviewing the menu Mr. Tom came walking in. In an instant a shocked K leapt out of her chair and up into Mr. Tom’s arms and clung to him like he was saving her from ravaging wolves. Between K and Mr. Tom, and our kids chatting Miss Christine’s ear off about their Napa adventures, the dinner had a lively buzz throughout, and continued on the walk home as Mr. Tom and Miss Christine literally had their hands full with a gaggle of kids clinging to them and chattering on.

Miss Christine's grapes

Later that evening, after everyone but Stacy, Hiroko and I had gone to bed, and we were sitting around the kitchen island I got to try a cream liqueur I’d never seen before: Fulton's Harvest Pumpkin Pie Cream, a rich, sweet Bailey’s like liqueur with a lot of warm fall spices. It was phenomenal and it was all I could do to keep it to a polite sample. I mentioned it to Christine the next morning and she said it was a pretty hard-to-find bottle and whenever they could find it they bought out the lot!

Alas, the next day was Friday, our drive home day. We had no specific timeline to meet, so we lolly-gagged as much as possible – another leisurely breakfast with Christine’s mystical fruit and sausages, another couple hours of pool play, some poolside reading and chatting for the adults. It was, I think, the most stress-free end-of-vacation day I’ve ever had.

Note the sausages of infinite deliciousness
at the head of the table.

"Cue the John Williams theme... NOW!"

"Buddy," Miss Christine's right-hand man.

K!  Behind you!!!  <dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun>

A novel idea with a few noted shortcomings.

A better approach?

After breakfast and while the kids were playing in the pool or piled on Mr. Tom, I took advantage of the quiet to explore the house again. I’d been all throughout it during the week, but more or less in a utilitarian way – I saw the rooms only because I was passing through them to get somewhere else. I took some time this morning, however, to slowly walk through the house and the grounds and enjoy the rich architecture, detailed design and overarching sense of peace and away-ness that pervaded it all.

Deer scouting!  Christine has a family of deer
that live on her and her neighbor's property.

The original carriage house behind the main house.

Scrollwork detail

The coveted turret room.

Typical Petaluma morning fog. What a
difference an hour or two makes!

The carriage house attic.

Exploring the carriage house.

  

Miss Christine's fantastic apples.

The formal dining room could have been the setting
for innumerable Agatha Christie plots.

Col. Mustard in the Drawing Room with a Candlestick

Ladies, you should only go up or down this staircase if you are
wearing  a caftan and holding one of those long cigarette extenders.

For example...

Tiffany windows are distributed thoughout the house,
including a phenomenal suite ascending the staircase.

Hiroko's turret room.

"Daddy, I'm ready for my close-up now."

Eventually we could stall no more, so we emptied Balch Castle of the sizable freight we’d planted there and said our goodbyes. I remember thinking what a truly unique vacation it had been – by far the least troublesome and hectic one we’d spent together. The little anxiety we had about what to expect as we drove up had dissipated within minutes of our arrival. Christine (and then Tom), who barely knew us, had made us feel so welcome and free and included, it was rather stunning. N had summed it up well on our very first day there. We felt like royalty staying in Christine’s Castle.

Homeward bound.

In the late hours of the night, after the seemingly unending drudgery of I-5 through the San Joaquin Valley and dropping off Hiroko and K in Torrance, we finally staggered through our doors. Our unpacking consisted only of emptying the car into the house. As I was about midway through the extraction of the multiple strata of suitcases and carry-on bags, I found another little surprise. Surreptitiously tucked in among our mounds of luggage was a fresh bottle of Fulton’s Harvest that Mr. Tom had smuggled aboard while we weren’t looking. It’s seal didn’t last the night.