A few weeks ago I went wine tasting in Amador county.  I went in a limo with mostly people I didn’t know but a few that I did.  Gab and I were the youngest, and I was impressed with the efficiency and professionalism with which our older companions constructed a day of debauchery.  Before leaving there were mimosas being gulped, a hearty breakfast being finished, and a batch of cocktails being poured.  We got out the door well before noon, stowed a full-sized cooler full of alcohol in the trunk, and popped a bottle of champagne as soon as the limo got rolling.
It turns out that Amador county is gorgeous, despite the rather unsightly beginning of the trip from Sacramento on Jackson highway.  It was a winter day but the temperature gradually rose and the ground began to pick up into lovely rolling hills, and the clouds parted and let in the crispy December sunlight.  We turned the music up and held our bubbly and looked out at the spectacular clouds and hills.  We stopped just before reaching our first winery and picked up sandwiches – pre-ordered from a pre-selected deli (again, older people know how to roll), and getting out we all felt a little tipsy and quite content and the sunlight felt so good on our skin.  After paying for our sandwiches I ambled back to the bathroom, savoring, as I often do, an empty establishment and a capacious bathroom.  Sort of like stretching out in your hotel room, I find exploring a new building in a leisurely fashion, then relieving myself without the slightest hurry or discomfort very pleasing.  I looked at the pictures on the wall and at myself in the mirror, washing my hands in warm water, then striding rather quickly out as I realized everybody was probably waiting for me.  
Our driver was great.  His name was Steve and he wore secret agent-like sunglasses, a short crew-cut, and a dark suit.  Steve looked like he’d been through a thing or two in life, and was very happy to be leading the simple, sober life (at least while on the job) of limo driver.  He took his job seriously, and stood just off to the side of our party as we sat down at the first winery – outside on a patio overlooking rows of gnarled, leafless vines.  Steve busied himself with some sort of wine magazine, but was obviously not reading a word on the page, as he kept glancing up and around and smiling at everybody.  The first tasting was very pleasant – lots of whites and zins and pinos, and I swirled around and sniffed and swished and liked most every single wine, and especially the salami and crostini snacks in the center of the table.  It was so beautiful outside we didn’t really want to leave.  Gab and I moseyed out to the gravel road and into the bright sun, snapping some photos and noticing all four cars parked in a row were Volkswagen.  We were all feeling thoroughly tipsy at this point, but the fatigue of the day had yet to set in, and so we laughed and soaked up the sun and posed for pictures on an old, rusty, but very picturesque truck.  Steve took the role as photographer very seriously, darting back and forth exchanging cameras with the girls.
Our second stop was at Bray Vineyards.  We tasted wine inside at the bar, and the place had a casual, comfortable vibe which was perfect for our party to really ramp up the party.  There were barrels full of buttons, and wines named “Brayzen Hussy”.  Our previous pourer was some rosy-cheeked and fast-talking attorney; here we were served by t-shirt wearing folks – one older fellow, one younger fellow, and a pregnant lady.  Gab and I found a slot near the end of the bar and were served by the younger fellow Eric – a tall and good-natured chap with a penchant for sarcasm.  Although he served us wine, he was far from obsequious, and we began to develop a bit of a banter.  I examined the sign hanging on the wall behind him – a yellow roadsign depicting a farmer popping a wheely on his tractor and guzzling a bottle of wine.  The sign read “farm responsibly”.
I soon became bothered by the contradictory nature of the sign, and pointed this out to Eric:
“That sign doesn’t really make sense.  If the message is to farm responsibly, shouldn’t there be a big ‘X’ over the farmer?”
Eric turned and looked at the sign, then back to me: “I think you’re putting a little too much thought into this”.
Our audience (2 people) laughed, but I went on: 
“I’m not really – the sign is a complete contradiction – I mean if the message really is to ‘farm responsibly’, the sign should show somebody farming responsibly.  If it shows somebody not farming responsibly, there should be a big “X” over it – like a ‘no smoking’ sign.”
Eric insisted that “it was just a sign”, and that I was really giving this too much thought, and the ensuing conversation focused on the fact that I was wearing a sport coat, and how when I’d first introduced myself that morning, people wondered just who exactly I thought I was.  My taking issue with a simple, funny, sign was obviously further proof that I took myself too seriously.
To make matters worse, in an attempt to explain why the drawing clearly depicted an irresponsible piece of farming, I mimicked the farmer rearing backwards on his tractor and swigging a bottle of wine, and I smacked my glass of wine right over onto the counter, spilling the contents.  This was quite funny, and Eric was quite kind to clean it up, but I’m pretty sure he got in a jab about my responsibility (I felt much better a few seconds later when somebody in our party toppled an entire row of wine bottles, smashing a few glasses in the process).
Eventually I gave up the argument – obviously I wasn’t about to convince Bray vineyards to change their sign, and I went back to my wine (which was excellent), and the conversation drifted elsewhere and I ended up buying 2 bottles and then we all sat down to lunch in the sun.
We stopped at one more winery, people got a little bit more drunk, conversations heated up, and eventually we all returned to reality and Sacramento in our long white limousine.
But I never forgot that sign and its frustrating contradiction.  And my question to you my dear readers, is this: was I really putting too much thought into that little sign?  Is it too much to ask that printed, posted, and sold items such as this sign – unofficial as they may be – adhere to some principles of grammatical and visual integrity?  Am I so off-base to call attention to such inconsistency?  AM I THE ONLY PERSON THAT THINKS THAT SIGN IS A SLAP IN THE FACE TO THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, THE HUMAN MIND, AND CRITICAL THOUGHT?