The Bathhouse
Calistoga Ranch
Calistoga, CA

"This is my first massage," my 90-year-old mother announced as Peggy, her massage therapist, helped her onto the well-cushioned table.

"Ahhhh, that feels good," Mom said when Peggy put the hot towel on her cold feet, "I think I’m going to like this."

It was the last I heard from Mom for fifty minutes.

We’d just made it on time to our appointments at Calistoga Ranch’s Bathhouse. It was pouring rain, holiday traffic was backed-up and, to be honest, I hadn’t left enough time. A golf cart had whizzed us from the front desk up through the Ranch’s hills. We raced down the steps and up again to our treatments. It was astonishing how quickly we relaxed.

The Bathhouse, shrouded in mist and shining with rain, felt a thousand miles from nowhere. Quietly, the staff assured us all was well and led us to a double treatment room where I could keep my eye on mom. However, Emily, my massage therapist, was very slowly removing my glasses and covering my eyes with a scented towel as she explained how they arrived at their signature oil. They had collected samples from the Ranch of all that smelled best—eucalyptus, California bay laurel (spicier that regular bay) and orange—and sent them to a specialist to create their scented oil. It was a lively scent that was, nonetheless, soothing. Combined with Emily’s comfort-kneading hands, my worries drained away.

The next thing I remember was astonishment at how Emily could locate the precise muscle in my butt that relaxed my whole leg—working my muscle and stretching my leg at the same time. She then walked her hands up my back and along my shoulder blades working the knots out of all those muscle connections.

Eventually, I heard Mom purr and assumed that, like me, she was getting her feet massaged. How wonderful it is to have someone massage your feet! Maybe foot massage belongs in the high school curriculum. In a clever, final move, Emily wrapped each of my feet in a moist, warm towel. Then simultaneously she pulled, stretching my feet and removing the oil.

Emily and Peggy wrapped Mom and me in pre-warmed terry cloth robes and lead us to two over-stuffed armchairs in front of a cheery fireplace. They wrapped us in cushy blankets, and then brought us chamomile tea and cool lemon water. There we sat in our post-mortem massage state totally spa-ed out. Mom fell asleep.

I gazed around at the spa's indoor-outdoor space. The treatment rooms and office were regular rooms. The sitting areas, however, had only a covered trellis roof that variously skirted around trees. To our left, we could see the woods. The rain and the birds sounded along with the fire’s crackle as the smell of its smoke and the woodsy damp gently encircled us.

"This was definitely worth waiting for," Mom said as she awoke.

Kate Crawford    January, 2009