This past week I was blessed – yes, blessed – with two examples of what “community” really means. First off, the Indie Banditas accepted me as one of their own; mostly I think so they wouldn’t have to change their promotional materials with gender-appropriate terminology. I got a chance to meet a lot of great people and hold them captive long enough until they cried: “Enough already, I’ll buy your damn book.”
The second? Well, more about that in a moment.
I also stumbled across a couple of great sayings. Philosophic gems which, in a few short syllables, summarize the Universe’s unvarying truths.
One, while not actually germane to the story, came from the second group I had a chance to spend some time with. I was told: “If you’re gonna have a moose inside, you need a really big house.” Even now I am unsure of its import.
The other came from a 19th Century Scottish philosopher, warrior, farmer, and Rugby star named Nelson Henderson, who may have, in fact, not been much of a philosopher nor Scottish. He stated: “The true meaning of life is to plant trees under whose shade you do not expect to sit.” This aphorism, when carefully analyzed, can be argued to make no sense at all, and to that end has been edited frequently in mostly vain attempts to change that drawback. Nonetheless, credit-where-credit-is-due, so for now I’ll just note that Rugby, with its cranial injury potential, and philosophy, are a pretty unlikely pairing.
But hopeless planting is, once again, the situation I find myself in and, as usual, I am at complete loss as to explain why.
A few weeks back, I delved into my adventure in making cider and, to take advantage of my mistake in the original equipment purchase, wine. Last week, I touched briefly on switching the micro-farm over to growing marijuana to support the newly legalized herb as it provides a gateway to hard drugs and a life of misery for yet unborn generations of stoners. For purely economic reasons this seemed to be a bad idea. When I looked at other local agricultural endeavors, however, the one product that seemed to be handling the economic downturn as least as well as McDonalds and Walmart was: wine.
When I get the same one-word answer to two completely unrelated questions I start paying attention. It might just be a Sign from the Universe. And, as one ancient mystic said: “If wine is the answer, you probably can’t remember the question.”
This insight was coupled with the arrival of my two “Vino Italiano” wine kits from Amazon, purchased because they were the only ones with free shipping. Upon opening one of the boxes – the Valpolicella if you must know – I was confronted with two observations. The first was that I am so gonna screw this up, and the second was a strong suspicion that fine wine could not be produced from a mix of grape-juice concentrate of unknown provenance, packed in a plastic bag.
I needed to do some more research.
Fortunately, Bainbridge Island is home to seven wineries, a disproportionally large percentage of which are happily within a comfortable walking distance of the micro-farm. I laced up my boots, put on my sunglasses against the brilliant – no, really – sunshine and wandered off, uphill and down, until I came to a sign reading: “Wine Tasting Today.” I strolled up the gravel lane to Perennial Vintners, knocked on the door, and introduced myself to Mike Lempriere, proprietor, purveyor, and maker of award winning wines. Also a complete font of knowledge.
Bainbridge Island is in the middle of the Puget Sound Viticultural Area (PSVA), which means, in a nutshell, that you can label your wines “Puget Sound”, much as you can “Burgundy”, “Napa Valley”, or “Rhine” if that’s where they come from. It sounds impressive, but, given that even the great state of New Jersey has threeviticultural areas, I’m guessing that it’s easier to get yourself a viticultural area than it is a prize at a third grade talent contest. While the designation does give the region some cred, viticulurally speaking, it doesn’t change the fact that the cool, damp winters and cool, dry summers make it nearly impossible to grow grapes here. This is evidenced by the counterintuitive fact that while the PSVA supports in excess of 100 wineries, there are only about eighty acres (out of 5,536,000) being used to grow actual grapes.
You do the math.
Despite this, Perennial Vintners gets by as the smallest commercial winery in the state on about two acres of locally grown, harvested, and fermented grapes.
Mike was very kind to provide me with a tasting of the five types of wine he is producing – including his Magelica, a dessert wine I am sure they serve in Heaven just after the flan de coco. His tasting room is also located in the winery so as you sip and chat, you are surrounded by large stainless-steel tanks, filled to different levels with frementing and aging wine. Lots and lots of wine.
To a wannabe vintner, this was paradise. Mike was kind – despite his bemused smile – as I talked about what I wanted to get out of my kit experience and he carefully talked me through the pitfalls he had suffered on his way to becoming a commercial winemaker producing his hand-crafted, estate-grown wines.
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“I grow the grapes and make all the wine right here on the property,” he said. “I’m the only one around.”
“Ooooooohhhh…” My hero!
Following the tasting, Mike took me on a tour of his vineyards and talked about the different types of grapes he’s growing, the rootstocks he’s experimenting with, and the tricks he’s learned about successfully growing grapes on Bainbridge Island. I mentioned that if I were to take up serious winemaking, I would want to grow Pinot Noir grapes.
“Oh.” His face darkened. “That one will break your heart.”
He shook off the memory and we headed up and down the rows of grapes as Mike detailed the waxing and waning of the seasons and the tasks allotted for each. He showed me how to set the trellises for Bainbridge’s micro-climate. He talked about pruning and growth and thinning and grafting and harvesting. His eyes got wider and wider by the moment. I knew I was dealing with a Master. Someone, who through no fault of his own, had been swept away by his passion of making wine from grapes he grew himself. I was left with only one thought.
Hey, I could do this!
As my reverie faded and the picture of the micro-farm awash in green vines and ripening grapes faded from view, Mike’s voice seeped back into my consciousness and I heard the words “…we do a lot of work with volunteers.”
Volunteers? Are you shitting me? I can practice on your stuff? Perfect!
“We’ll be bottling the Syrah next week,” he said as he started walking back to the winery.
This past Tuesday arrived, and for once, the day threatened rain. Not enough to deter me from the twenty-minute walk over to Perennial Vintners, but just enough to let me know that, from time-to-time, it might rain here. For inspiration, I approached the winery through the vineyard – Ahh! Grapes! – and entered. Several people were already there and as we discussed the operation three more wandered in. Mike set up the production sequence and the seven of us were assigned to one of the tasks at hand: get the cases and stage them, spritz some CO2 into the bottles, fill them with wine, cork them, clean them, put them in the case, and stack the case on a pallet. There were sixty-four cases to process – 768 bottles. Off we went.
After a half hour, someone shouted: “Ten o’clock,” and the production line became a hive of energetic chattering and laughter as Mike walked around and handed everyone a glass of the very wine we were bottling. You know that saying, “We will serve no wine before it’s time?” Well, that time is ten o’clock. AM.
Working now like a well-lubricated machine, the moving and bottling and stacking proceeded apace, the glasses were kept full, and we knocked out all sixty-four cases in a little less than two hours. Cleanup followed and while the filler was being taken apart, wine started cascading out.
Not a drop hit the floor.
Reinforced by lunch – and more wine – we started labeling a couple of previously bottled batches, chatting amongst ourselves. It was here that I learned the little ditty about mooses and houses along with the fact that the people I was working with were all members of an elite cadre of winery volunteers. They migrate, like flitting birds, from winery to winery helping with the tasks, asking only for lunch and a couple bottles of Müller Thurgau 2010.
So, today I embark on my winemaking career. The kits are ready. Instructions read. I’ve spent some time working in a winery and feel confident in my ability to pull this off. In another four weeks I’ll have my very first batch of Chateau du Cartón. After that, it’ll be time to plant the Pinot Noir.
Vines whose wines I can never expect to drink.