Harvest 2009; the most lovely one yet
What a lovely harvest this has been, what a marvelous, magnetic connection has been created between me and the planet, a kind of invisible extension of the senses. Eyes keenly deducing color changes and variation in the fruit, carefully watching for the tiniest start of mold. Ears listening for the breeze to change, for the patter of rain drops on the roof. The taste of sulfur when I’m cleaning a fermenter and the indescribable taste when one walks into the winery in the morning, telling your brain that the yeasts are doing their job. Muscles sore, shins and elbows bruised from work, fingers and nerves numb from exhaustion and overuse - knowing that your energy worked alongside the energy of the yeasts, and bacteria, and your fellow workmates - the crew.
But far and away the sense that has been teased, coxed, tantalized, enticed and flirted with the most is smell. I feel like I just finished up two solid months of an orchestra for my nose. God the smells.
During pump-overs I liked to put on headphones, close my eyes - shut out the rest of the world and breathe deep. Fermenting Chardonnay with explosions of peaches, ginger, gardenia, sun soaked hay. Pinot noir that smells so floral, so spicy, so brambly and intoxicating, my heart lurches and I don’t want to breathe out because I’m afraid of losing touch with the fleeting glory for one second.
Digging out a 9 ton fermenter one day; one of my most memorable days during this harvest, my muscles flexing in happy joy at getting to work so hard, beads of sweat at my brow, the scent, the glorious smell of Pinot noir all around me, in my pores, my eyelashes, my atoms. A co-worker leaned over the side of the tank and asked if I was wearing perfume and I was so happy that he noticed how lovely the scent was too. So happy to have that confirmation that it wasn’t just in my head, it truly was something special. It wasn’t any perfume any person could make, it was the perfect smell of flawless fruit and a clean, happy ferment.
Barreling is another delicious, enticing, beautiful moment of tranquil, meditative loveliness where I get a head rush because I keep breathing so deep, trying to capture that smell and not let it go. Along with the fruit contributions the barrels make me think of gingersnap cookies and vanilla cake rising slowly in the oven. A dark, dry oak forest in late summer when the leaves are starting to fall and crackle. Toasty gorgeous brioche and sappy, green branches.
I don’t want it to end; I’m like a junkie - refusing to put down roots, buy a house, get one steady job, or pursue a boyfriend - all so I can chase the scents. A full on addict; even now my eyes tearing up at the thought of being away from it until next harvest. Is it addiction, or would a better word be love? Because really, when my eyes are closed and my ears are full of music and my sense of smell is overwhelmed by perfection, pure, unadulterated, heavenly glory, it is the most serene, unclouded, perfect beauty that I know.
