After exploring the colonial-era cemetery, and before sampling all of the Rosé recently, we walked to the vineyard through the town of Southold on the North Fork of Long Island. The town was settled in 1640 and feels like a more down-to-earth, slightly less fancy version of the Hamptons.

The walk to the vineyard was idyllic—until we ran out of sidewalk completely—and every house we passed was cuter than the one before. I have a weakness for cedar shingles and anything remotely colonial or New England-y and Southold has an abundance of all of these styles.

At one point we stopped at a yard sale—one of the things I miss most since moving to New York—that was partially covered with an awning. Jen wondered out loud if it might be the kind used to cover gravesites during funerals—and we got our answer when we passed the matching funeral home not too far from the sale.

We passed a mailbox shaped like a barn and a few actual barns, homemade flower bouquets for sale, a farm selling goat cheese and eggs, a street actually named "Peanut Alley," and a welder that was advertising his services with a collection of rusty doctors' chairs (#yardgoals). I'm sure I can't actually afford to ever live in Southold but I can at least spend the day pretending I do for the cost of a roundtrip train ride.