It was a dark and stormy night…

It was just an overnight trip to Calistoga with a few chores added in. We would pick up a light fixture we had ordered months ago from a little store we’d found up there. There would be dinner out in a cool building I’d been admiring. We would follow that with a visit to a friend’s to look at their tile and hardwood for inspiration for our own house, and then a one-night stay in a Bed and Breakfast.
It was even supposed to rain the whole time. We decided to go anyway. At least we’d get our lamp errand done. The bar was set pretty low. But before it was over, this unremarkable little trip ended up setting off the tuning fork of my soul. For it’s in the little unexpected moments where life can come into sharp focus.
A couple weeks ago I got a call from a man with a middle eastern accent telling us our light fixture had arrived from Istanbul. Cool. We now had an excuse for an overnight getaway in the Napa Valley. Never mind that it could have been handled as an afternoon driving errand. That didn’t sound like nearly as much fun!

Fanny’s Bed & Breakfast in Calistoga. (Photo by Steve McKee)

A few days before we left, I went online and took five minutes to see if the lowest price B&B looked like an acceptable choice. “Fanny’s” was a craftsman bungalow in Calistoga that the reviewers said had small but cute rooms and a killer good breakfast in the morning. Good enough.
We arrived in Calistoga in a steady rain to find our home-for-the-night to be a small shingled house with tall trees on every side, just a couple blocks from the little downtown. We had a choice of two rooms upstairs. Both rooms had a sloped ceiling that the bed fit under. I liked the one that seemed extra cozy.
When we stopped by “Ottoman Art” in nearby St Helena to pick up our light fixture we were told by a young man named Omar to return in the morning after he had a chance to pick up the lamp at their storage facility. Fine with us. Time for dinner!
We walked the two blocks to our restaurant along wet sidewalks past dripping storefront awnings to arrive at “Archetype,” a restaurant I’d been wanting to experience if only for the building it occupied. It had oversized wooden windows set into white painted brick with a little forecourt and a two-sided fireplace facing the sidewalk.
The inside did not disappoint. Vertical wood plank walls were painted white to match the network of crisscrossed overhead beams which served to filter the light from several skylights tucked away up there. It was somehow both modern in attitude but also old-timey and familiar at the same time.
We found our way to bar stools at a curved counter that overlooked the kitchen with its checkerboard floor. The staff went about their work while we chatted with the barkeep and nursed our beverages while happily looking about the room. There is just something appealing about old materials used in new ways.
After being seated at a table over by the big glass wall at the front we were served what I recall was a fine meal. Mine had a really nice mix of flavors, whatever it was. Somehow I always remember the space I’m in much more than I remember the food I’m served. I’m okay with that.
Then it was time to visit the Johnson’s a few blocks away to check in with them and the house we designed together three years ago. I wanted one more look around the inside to get ideas for finishes and notice any insights about such things.
The design ethos in the Napa Valley is pretty cutting edge these days. They’ve moved past many of the design elements that we regular folk in Solano County like to do. The sleek minimalism of mid-century modernism is what’s hot. Except now it’s achieved with things like long rectangular tiles and a color palette that doesn’t stray much from grays and whites. There’s not much use for stamped concrete for the design hipsters of Napa. Neither do they much go for strong paint colors nor for the use of ledgestone.
Happily, the Johnson house had enough natural wood touches here and there to enrich the senses. An art wall allowed for a big introduction of color that was pretty enjoyable. I was glad to see we had done a good job with the lighting at that wall.
After that, it was time to end our night a few miles up a dark and rainy Highway 29 at our B&B in Calistoga. We arrived just fine and I parked the car in front, followed by a hop over the rain-filled gutter and a hustle to get inside, past the overstuffed chairs sitting empty in the glow from the fireplace, and upstairs to our garret bedroom to change into comfy dry clothes. Soon it was back down to sit by the fire and look through some really unusual coffee table books and share trippy images with each other.
After we were back upstairs and finally ready to settle down for our long winter’s nap, I lit a tea candle to serve as a nightlight. The slight chill to the room meant that pulling covers over every shoulder was in order, as well as the clutching of one’s snuggy warm bedmate. Lying there at peace would have been enough, but then, in the stillness, we could hear the muffled drumming of rain on the roof just a couple feet above our pillows. We lay there just listening to the drone of the rain. Sometimes it was soft, other times stronger. Just above us, cold water rainwater flowed in the dark down a slope of composition shingles. Inside, it was all softness and warmth and a candlelit glow. Time to snuggle up even more and make the sense of contentment complete.
The next day we drove home along wet roads made shiny by reflected sunlight. Our boxed up light fixture was safely buckled into the back seat. All was well. I mused out loud about how we had lucked into a “perfect storm” that brought various random factors into alignment just right to create the coziest night of sleep ever. What we had experienced was like a “snuggery” – something that Melody and I occasionally talk about – a place within a home that is designed to create enhanced feelings of shelter, especially when the weather turns bad. We had just experienced a version of that, and it was pretty damn nice.
So it turned out that the decision to continue with the trip in spite of the rain prediction had been a good one. That’s the lesson I sometimes need to be reminded of. Ignore the excuses. When in doubt, always go and get out in it. Just go.

Steve McKee is a Benicia architect.
He can be reached on the web at www.smckee.com or at (707) 746-6788
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