One of the things my husband and I have always had in common is that we love wide open spaces. My husband grew up on a Montana cattle ranch, so he’s a country boy at heart. And while I’m certainly less rugged than he is, I do love the countryside. Normally, if there is a way to get from point A to point B via country roads, we’ll take it, even if it doubles our travel time.

So when we drove to Virginia last weekend to go wine tasting with friends, we naturally took the back roads. And I spent the entire drive fantasizing about which rural estate I’d buy when I won the lottery and had a few million to spare.

The wine tasting was fun, thanks to our friends, but certainly not as entertaining as envisioning myself as a wealthy landowner. Now, I enjoy wine, don’t get me wrong. After spending four years in Spain and even more near Napa Valley (California), how could I not? But the entire tasting experience has always seemed so pretentious to me. I really don’t know much about wine, aside from what I like. And I feel silly standing around discussing the flavors (“buttery,” “a hint of lemon,” “needs to mature,” “subtle yet robust”). I’m much more at home sitting on a lowly bar stool in Spain, with used paper napkins and olive pits at my feet, drinking the cheapest wine on tap — which invariably tastes far better than anything I can find here. And it’s really hard for me to keep a straight face while I swirl the wine around my glass — as if I really care about letting it breathe! (In the photo, you can see me at the far end of the bar — sunglasses and green blouse — holding up my wine glass and trying not to laugh as I picture myself in the movie “Sideways.”

I will admit — as a weird aside — that I’m probably more opinionated about corks than the wine itself. I can’t stand fake corks. And worse, I’ve learned through some research that these new synthetics are destroying endangered habitats sustained by cork oak trees. So support natural corks!

So what’s the point of this rant? Probably only to say that I won’t be planting a vineyard of my own when I win the lottery. Instead, I’ll buy myself a few hundred acres of rolling farmland, or go back to Spain, buy a small cottage surrounded by cork and olive groves, and then hike those sunny dirt roads to the nearest pueblo for a great glass of dry, red wine. Hmmm…that sure sounds appealing. Any idea what the lottery is up to this week?