More Musings
Two nights ago the moon rise was the most impressive, beautiful thing I’ve seen in a while. It came over the horizon, just above the vines, as bright as a headlight on a car, completely full, with the soft lovely glow of reflected starlight like a huge pearl winking in the sun. Anthony, Vince and I stopped working for a moment to take it in before turning back to the task at hand, the task that seems to be ever present at hand, that of processing grapes into wine.
When winemaking first appealed to me one of the greatest allure was the tie that the winemaker has with his land, his fruit, the seasons, growing cycles, weather, insects, bacteria; in a nutshell, I loved the idea of being in touch with all of the millions of components and players that go into making wine and having my life tied up along with all of those components. I love the idea of being a guide to those components, not to interfere or have a specific goal in mind as to what the wine will eventually become, but to mitigate any problems to allow the terrior to express itself to the greatest extent that it can. To make wines that truly show the vintage, the year, the place and life and energy that went into the fruit.
Have I learned how to do that? No. I don’t think it’s someone that can be taught, I think it’s something that I’m going to have to figure out on my own along with the guidance of people who I think have figured it out for themselves and their land. I also don’t think that it’s something that I’ll ever learn as long as I’m traveling and working for eight or nine weeks at a winery at a time.
Even though New Zealand keeps growing on me in leaps and bounds and every day I feel stronger roots anchoring me here, the Valley, my Willamette Valley that I love, keeps calling me back. I’ve found myself once again browsing land listings at home; 20 acres in Carlton, 35 acres in Gaston, 15 acres in Amity. I feel like I need to stamp my name across a hillside and claim it with a flag like a settler of the old west. I don’t even know that I would want to or could do anything with that land for a long time, but I just want it to be mine, to start developing a relationship with that piece of land. I’ve been reading a series of lectures by Ruldolf Steiner and he talks a lot about the relationship that a farmer has with his land and how it’s vitally essential to the health of the farm, for the farmer to have a personal, hands on relationship with every part of the process. He talks a lot about the “knowledge of the peasants”, how a simple, uneducated farmer (he gave the lectures in Switzerland in 1924 so agriculture degrees and things of this sort were probably uncommon or didn’t exist), instictively or through experience knows when his land needs to be fertilized, the manner the crop needs pruned, or when to sow the seeds, etc. How the “uneducated peasant” is enacting really scientifically complex procedures, and because of the relationship that he has with his land, he knows exactly what it needs and how to treat it. I want that.
The best anology I can think of to describe how I’m feeling is maternal. I think a lot of women my age feel a maternal instinct towards making babies and being a Mom, but I’m feeling like I want to be the “Mom” of a piece of property planted with vines, and the wine that the property produces. I want to take care of it, know it, and put myself into it the way a good Mom does her kids. I guess I want that theoretical piece of property to be my own little oasis, my own life project, and in a way my own creation. And I want to see that land succeed, to produce something wonderful that shows to everyone else, wherever they are in the world, whenever they have the chance to drink it, the complex and wonderful personality of the place.
So even though every day my back and shoulders are knotted and sore, and 4 days out of 7 I tear up and try not to cry because I’m exhausted, and even though my hands look like I’m a mechanic and I bruise my shins a hundred times a day, I’m still completely starry eyed and enamoured with making wine. This has been a wonderful experience.
