In Northern California’s Cuyama Valley, there’s a growing community of hoteliers, winemakers, and artisans.
I must have been about 10 years old when I first glimpsed the Cuyama Valley.
Very occasionally, we saw signs of human habitation along the two-lane road.
The pool at Cuyama Buckhorn, a recently revamped 1950s motel.Jessica Sample
It was as though we had stepped not merely back in time but outside of it.
Flowers are the big draw here, although theyre fleeting, lasting only a few weeks in the spring.
Rough camping on the plain can be a tough sell.
From left: A guest room at Cuyama Buckhorn; the smokehouse platter at the hotel’s restaurant.Jessica Sample
Usually, when I drove out, I went alone.
My family and I arrived before check-in time, so we had lunch at the Buckhorns restaurant.
An obscure Townes Van Zandt track wafted through the speakers.
From left: Em Johnson and Jack Forinash, directors of the Blue Sky Center, a community-development organization in the Cuyama Valley; cacti on the grounds of the center.Jessica Sample
The place felt shiny and new, but also well-loved.
Our room was peppered with local character: an old cowboy hat, a well-worn trail guidebook.
But the greatest asset of the place was soon revealed: the folks who call Cuyama home.
A tasting at Condor’s Hope, with the vineyard’s Zinfandel (left) and Pedro Ximénez.Jessica Sample
One day, out for a drive, they saw that the boarded-up Buckhorn was for sale.
Were all up here together, Vance told me one night at the Buckhorn bar.
If somebody has a problem, its everyones problem.
There are just so many people around I could call on to help.
Richfield became ARCO, and in the 1970s, ARCO left, along with most of the regions jobs.
Still, Cuyama held on, primarily through agriculture.
(Its said the baby carrot was invented here in 1984.)
Its goal is to both support the community and expand it, pulling in creative entrepreneurs and tourists alike.
It even hosts paying guests in a covered wagon and similar-looking huts.
One afternoon, I toured a group of former Richfield buildings with Jack Forinash, Blue Skys executive director.
All of these, Forinash suggested, were living, breathing business cards for the community.
Plenty in Cuyama is still off the beaten path, though.
Another afternoon we drove to a hilltop vineyard calledCondors Hope.
Gliessman and Jaffe are agroecologists.
What this means practically is quite radical.
The hardy plants lose fewer grapes than most during prolonged droughts and winter freezes.
The grapes are smaller, Gliessman explained.
The skins are thicker.
The wine tastes better, too.
I like to think that Robbie and I are old vines, he said.
I knew exactly what he meant.
