Last week we flew to northern California for Thanksgiving. We go to Sonoma periodically to visit family, and every few trips or so we make a point of driving out to the coast to eat oysters. We haven’t made the pilgrimage in a few years, since our three-year-old daughter was a placid infant zonked out in her fleece sling, so this time we needed an outing that would satisfy rascally toddlers, and not just their bivalve-obsessed parents and grandparents. On days like these, you can either plan the details or wing it, and—being lazy and on vacation—we just winged it. Happily, what unfolded was a practically perfect, serendipitous day on the Sonoma coast.