Did you say wine?

Oh, hello there, wanderer. How are you feeling today? A little lost, maybe— like the weight of things has settled somewhere between your shoulder blades and won't quite shrug loose? Mm. Yeah, I thought so. Come now. I know just the place.

Pack a bag full of savoury snacks, something to read on the car ride over— you know the book— something to put your mind at ease, but you really won't be reading as you watch the scenery shift from flatlands to elegant hilltops and beautiful forest and piney. Grab whatever shoes you have and let's go. Where, you ask? Why are we heading out to the Collingwood area, up in Grey County, Ontario— and we are taking the long way, the way that actually matters, because you'll learn what true beauty can be within worlds.

You'll fly into Toronto, and from there it's just under the two-hour mark north before the highway things out, the fields go gold, and the trees start closing in overhead like they're letting you in on something.

When I need to reboot— really reboot, not the kind where you close the laptop and call it "self-care"— I wander the hills. Grey County has a way of putting things back in order without asking you to explain yourself. My dogs come too, leashed and delighted, noses working overtime, and I count the endless waterfalls the way people count sheep.

We can start out right: the short trail into Hoggs Falls, just outside Flesherton on the Boyne River. It's barely half a kilometre in, hardly enough to call a hike, unless that someone is me— in which case that's about all the hiking I tend to do most days. You'll hear the water long before you see it— the low steady rush over limestone that makes you stop and bask in the view. I remember taking my father out here when I first moved to Canada. He stopped and looked at these very falls and smiled. Told me I did well for myself. It felt right.

From there we'll loop over to Eugenia Falls, where the river drops thirty metres into a valley locals still half-jokingly call Cuckoo Valley— named for the fool's gold rush that drew waves of hopefuls back in the 1850s. No one found gold then. Everybody still comes back anyway.

By the time we've walked back to the car— I'll call it my daily touch-grass tax— we'll move right towards the Ravenna Country Market, right at the corner of Grey Road 2 and Grey Road 119. This stop is non-negotiable. It's the only reason why I suggested coming up this way: for their sandwiches. The kind that you dream about. Literally, I have, especially when I was pregnant, and lunch meats were off the table. I might have spent an embarrassing number of afternoons fantasizing about their bread alone. Everything there is baked and made in-house— nothing manufactured, nothing pretending to be something that it isn't. I could live in that market from June to August. Just not in September, though— that's when the Apple Pie Trail opens up and the whole region tips over into cider and all things apples. We are unfortunately too early for that deliciousness this time.

Once we are fed and moving a little slower now, we'll drive the last stretch out to Georgian Hills Vineyards, tucked into the Beaver Valley about twenty minutes northwest of Collingwood itself. Their summer wine bar is exactly the kind of unhurried place you'll need by then. Flights of their cold-climate selection of whites and reds. Their ice wine is superb. If you're still hungry, the patio is set, and we could order more food. They've added more to their events calendar since I was last through, and darling, the choices are the most unfair: a Scandinave Spa Day/Wine & Charcuterie. We can do this one if your shoulders are still too heavy. Rest easy in warm thermal baths and a steam room while looking at the winery and enjoying a flight with charcuterie pairing.

Or I cannot state how badly I want to do this one— Walk & Wine with the Alpacas, which is a real, I swear, bookable thing. Picture this:

Glass in hand and an alpaca's lead in the other as we walk along the fields with the beautiful creatures. I've always wanted to walk with alpacas, and here I can— with booze. It's a win-win.

You choose. I won't pretend to be neutral. I'm partial to the alpaca — mostly because after everything I gorged at Ravenna Country Market, a walk sounds more like the responsible thing to do.

But I'll go with whatever you want. So come on. What are you waiting for?

The car is charged. The bags are in. I have my walking shoes on. Let's get this day started.