For the past four years, my mom and her BFF have been raving about a B and B called Les Lavandes. My parents and their couple-version of BFFs like to go wine tasting, and Hermann, Mo., has wineries up the Riesling. They visited Hermann a few years ago, loved the antiquing and the countryside and the wine, and so this weekend, my mom and her friend took me along on a repeat of their little outing.

Took me along or made me chaperone. You decide.

The wineries I could take or leave.

The antique stores (with all their vintage Pyrex) weren’t bad either.

But being in the country was tops.

And yes, I just said “tops” like I’m an eighty-year-old grandma.

Richard met Myrta when she was a stewardess for Swiss Air. It’s one of the most adorable, trans-continental, high-flying, sweet stories you’ll ever hear.

He makes the manly parts of breakfast (frittatas, sausage, coffee).

And being the gentle spirit she is, she sets the pretty table, makes the dainty food, and speaks in a delightfully Swiss accent.

She just returned from a reunion trip to Monaco, France, with some of her stewardess girlfriends. This year, fashion consists of all things nautical in France, she told me, so she quickly named me “Little Miss Monaco.

While my mom and her friend sat inside with Myrta–sharing flying stories and enjoying sips of Limóncello and giggling so loudly I could hear them doors away until 10 p.m.–I sat out on the back steps of the deck in darkness, listening to hoot owls, truck tires on a gravel road and frogs, looking up at layers of stars and the spotlight of the moon.

It was good for me. It’ll be good for you. So, join the club. Head down south to Les Levandes. Let Myrta cook for you. Get Richard to pour you some coffee. Listen to the silence. Put a little gravel in your travel. Your soul will thank you for it.