San Miguel, Calif. — Tractors do not yet rival cruise ships as vacation icons. But they would if my 2-year-old were in charge.
Thanks to the obscure video "Farm Country Ahead," my son is obsessed with agricultural machinery, hay bales and cows. So my boyfriend, Chris, and I did what doting parents do: We set out to find him some.
Recreational tractor access, it turns out, is surprisingly limited for us urbanites. We found ours through a farm stay -- the sort of agrarian B & B that's long been available in Europe but wasn't legalized in California until 2000. So far, only a handful of farms offer guest accommodations; some let you pick fruit, others offer wine tasting and cooking classes.
But we were looking for tractors and cows, which led us last month to the Work Family Guest Ranch, a 12,000-acre cattle farm in the remote hills of Monterey County. We chose it for its acreage and animals -- 400 cows, several dozen horses and a handful of goats, sheep and chickens.
Carpenter's naptime had come and gone in the car by the time we got close to San Miguel, about 200 miles north of Los Angeles. "Keep driving 'til you think you're lost," a stranger told us when we asked for guidance. "Then keep driving some more." Nearly an hour after we had pulled off U.S. 101 onto country highways, we arrived at a barbed-wire gate. We passed a crumbling farmhouse, a bustling stable and a man on a dirt-encrusted motorbike before finding farm patriarch George Work, a 68-year-old third-generation cattle rancher with a white Abe Lincoln beard.
Within 15 minutes, we'd met a herd of goats and Henry, the dog; we'd climbed into the seat of a parked tractor and watched another one in action. Back in the SUV, George pointed us up the steep, three-quarters-mile hill to the main house. It was the first, and probably only, time Chris ever needed his SUV's four-wheel drive. He was thrilled.
More thrilling was the view from the Works' ranch-style house, which takes in miles of lush green land unencumbered by a single urban sight or sound. Responding to the crunch of tires on gravel, Elaine Work emerged from her kitchen with a big smile and an extended hand, the scent of peanut butter in her wake.
After unloading into our two-bedroom bungalow (read: mobile home), we found George in the kitchen with a pile of fresh peanut butter cookies and hot coffee. Three cats and a miniature poodle enticed Carpenter outside to the patio. We followed and were treated to a spectacular watercolor sunset. Elaine came out as well, to pick greens from her garden -- that evening's salad.
