I'm home and chilling (literally) with Curriecat, the latest episode of True Blood, and a huge oscillating fan set to "high," after a whirlwind weekend road trip with my mom and dad. We set off for the Okanagan to pick up 160 pounds of peaches to can, but stopped along the way for some lake swimming, wine tasting, and fruit feasting. It was a very welcome break given how stressful things are at the moment.

After dinner at my favorite Acme Cafe on Friday evening, we set off on our adventure. We stopped for the night at Harrison Lake, where we had rented a lakefront condo. Our innkeepers were friendly but eccentric; when we called them from the road to tell them we would likely be late for our 8 pm check-in time, they cheerfully informed us that they'd leave a tarp out for us to sleep under. Of course, they were waiting for us when we arrived, but playfully turned all the exterior lights out as we pulled up to their office. We bought ice cream cones and sat on a bench facing the lake, watching the stars, and turned in for an early night.

We awoke yesterday morning to a lovely day. I went for a run around the lake, before it got too hot, and came back to find my parents sitting on the same bench by the lake, sipping coffee. After I showered, we were off to Agassiz for breakfast at a little cafe and a fuel up for the Murano before we hit the road for Osoyoos.

We arrived at Spirit Ridge around 3 in the afternoon. The spa and resort is set on the hill above the lake. The property is dotted with stunning metal sculptures by Okanagan artist Smoke Marchand, and surrounded by vineyards. Our "desert suite" wasn't ready when we arrived, so we went over to the Nk'mip Cellars, which is the first First Nations-owned winery in North America, for a wine tasting. The combination of work fatigue and intense 30-plus desert heat meant I was a wee bit tipsy before we left the cellars, Mom and Dad to go to church and me, to visit the Osoyoos Indian Band's Desert Cultural Centre. I'm sure it was very informative, but when I found myself staring at a drum for an inordinate amount of time, I decided to totter back to our suite for a nap instead.

We heard a rumour there was a Wal-Mart in Oroville, Washington, a mere 15 minute drive from Spirit Ridge, and decided we'd go across the border for dinner and some cheap shopping (who could resist the siren call of Advil PM and Cheddar Cheez Combos? Certainly not me). We were sadly deceived about the metropolis of Oroville, a downtrodden little ghost of a town where empty fruit boxes stood piled on corners and the main street was virtually boarded up. We pressed on to Omak, which was not much more inspiring than Oroville, but did in fact have the much sought-after Wal-Mart (yes, I know, I know. I preach about buying local, and then off I go to Wal-Mart. I know. It's just AMERICAN Wal-Marts, you understand), filled with Hispanic cowboys who work the surrounding fruit fields.

The entire drive to and from Omak was eerie. Only minutes away from the bustling businesses of Osoyoos, this part of Washington state seemed practically deserted, businesses and homes boarded up, roads unlit and crumbling. The only places that seemed well taken care of were the churches, of which there were many: Baptist, Seventh Day Adventist, Catholic, LDS and Jehovah's Witness. We didn't see a soul until we reached Omak. As we passed each "town," I would Wikipedia the place on my iPhone and ask my parents to guess the population. The story was the same, from Oroville to Tonasket, on and on: under 1,000 people, an economy fuelled primarily by agriculture but hard hit by the economic downturn, median household income around $20,000. Our excursion seemed to firmly eliminate any doubts as to who was recovering more quickly from the recession - two countries, one region; sharing a river, climate and industry; one thriving, one desolate and barren. While I had started the drive cracking jokes, I felt sombre as we continued further on into the state. I felt relieved when we returned home to Canada and Spirit Ridge, safe, sound and solvent, later that night.

This morning we left Osoyoos and after a swim in the lake, headed to Burrowing Owl to pick up some wines to take home, and then out to the Similkameen Valley to finally pick up our peaches, which were waiting for us in Keremeos at Parsons Fruitstand. The family has been farming their land since 1908, and my dad had made arrangements with the current owner, Quentin Parsons, for our load. The place was hopping when we arrived, and another Parsons family member, Maurice, dragged a wagon positively laden down with cartons of peaches out to the Murano. My dad remarked on how busy the place was. "This year's been a good year, I think." Maurice said with a smile. "Quentin hasn't been complaining like he did last year." While the car was being loaded with peaches, I quickly picked up cherries, honey, nectarines, plums, tomatoes and a fabulous fresh blackberry milkshake. I looked around at the customers sitting in the orchard eating hot buttered corn, or lining up with pounds and pounds of glossy cherries and fragrant peaches, and thought it might be nice to be a farmer. Difficult, but nice.

And then we were homeward bound on the Hope-Princeton highway. We stopped in Hedley (population: 400) at the Gold Dust Pub, located in the old mine manager's quarters, for lunch. The place was...well, rustic, and I felt a little uncomfortable as locals stared at us as we entered the place. I was relieved to be able to climb into the backseat of the Murano for a nap on the final leg of our journey, falling asleep to the sound of my parents' voices, just as I had when we travelled these roads when I was a kid.

Snarls of traffic on Highway One from Chilliwack to Vancouver, and now, here I am home again, jiggity-jig, wishing I had a few more days to enjoy the finer things in life, like family, fruit, wine and sunshine. I had a dream last night that I bought an Osoyoos motor-court, one of the rundown 1960s properties that line the lake, and restored it to its former glory, complete with a fabulous destination restaurant, coffee bar and wine shop. I bugged my dad, the tourism expert, about it the entire ride home, fishing for advice on whether this was one of my approximately 1,578,342 pipe dreams that might actually work. I think tonight I'll go to bed dreaming of little white washed bungalows dotting a beach somewhere...