This week marked the end of the harvest for the vineyard where I work.  We have only two active ferments and after tonight I think it will be down to one.  I started working March 28th and can’t believe it’s been only seven weeks since I’ve been here; it feels like a lifetime since I’ve seen familiar, known faces and heard myself surrounded by only West Coast American accents.  I’ve found myself saying things like “reckon?” “cruisey” “too easy” and other New Zealand specific slang, but more importantly, I’ve learned so much more than I could have possibly expected or hoped for.

 With that in mind I should be elated, but instead I feel deflated - I wonder why that is.  Today David said that he thinks we all get so keyed up and are under so much stress during vintage, that once it slows down and we can breathe again, it’s almost like being shell shocked; you finally have time to feel the impact of all of the stresses you went through for the past weeks.  All I know is that I am insanely tired (lazy) and really really want to go home.  I miss Portland, I miss my family, friends, my own space with my own peeps.  Sitting here listening to Elliott Smith isn’t helping matters.  I’m vaguely excited about the next few weeks of traveling around New Zealand and seeing new places I’ve never been, but I really just wish I could have dinner with my family, sit around drinking wine and chatting with Soo, and sleep in my own bed. 

This past year has been the most unexpected, unpredictable, and turned on it’s head year that I’ve ever experienced.  I feel like I’ve rolled with it pretty well and learned to adjust to new situations as well as I could.  It’s been really interesting to test myself and see how I am in new circumstances that I never would have predicted I would find myself in.  My Mom told me that Luke (2.5 year old nephew) is extremely interested in his own body parts lately and will ask her, “What are these?  What is this called?” when pointing at his nipples or something - which I think is pretty amazingly self aware for a little kid.  But I guess that’s how I have felt these past few months, like, what’s this?  What do I think about this?  How am I going to deal with this?  And then testing myself out to see what happens and learn something new about myself.

I’m okay with traveling by myself.  I didn’t know how that would go but it doesn’t scare me anymore.  I had been worried that I would only enjoy traveling with someone else; experiencing it along with another person, but I’m good on my own, I still am interested in the world, I still enjoy new places and experiences, and the idea of going just about anywhere solo isn’t daunting at all - in fact the travel plans keep piling up, one upon another, in my head.  But that’s for later.  For now I’m just going to work another week or so here, help press off the remaining red ferments, and then head on my way to explore the sights, hikes, mountains, beaches and wines of this endearing little country.

And then go to my home!

I just bought a ticket to see Wilco (above) as well as a whole amazing line up at Lollapalooza in Chicago! I am so stoked, I’ve never been to the Windy City but have wanted to check it out for some time.

Itchy crazy restless travel bug that bit me; it just won’t let me have peace and tranquility. At least not just yet.

The vineyard, post harvest

Gorgeous sunsets every night

Inside the winery

The landscape ’round about

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.

So here are some shots of my new glamorous life, enjoy.

Arrival in Auckland after 18 hours of travel

First views of New Zealand

First sunrise in the vineyard

My buddy Snoop

Out bird scaring

A bird who was caught in the nets (I let him go)

A bunch of Pinot Gris

Carl and Steve

Ah yes, purple chapped hands, very glamorous

Fashionable “vintage” wear

Press load of Pinot Gris

10:41 p.m. So I’ve now been fed, sedated, watched Juno, and now feel like listening to music and writing. This is pretty posh actually - even if it is a long flight. A 13 hour flight, with a row all to myself, decent food, okay wine, and all of the electronic gadgits I could hope for to keep me occupied beats a lot of other forms of transportation I’ve utilized. I’m thinking back to my 36 hour travel days by bus in South America. Those days were enough to almost make a person suicidal, or homicidal depending on the person. I met a kid on this flight who is a winemaker, and going to be working in Central Otago. I guess I’m not so special after all. Juno made me cry a bit at the end. Not sure what about it got me choked up - the kids being kids and finding young love, the married couple breaking up, or the nice (kind of a little bit psycho) lady getting the baby. Maybe a culmination of all three. I think I’m going to watch No Country for Old Men next. Probably pass out asleep during.

7:45 a.m. Definitely a posh flight - I just got served Champagne (well, the wine snob in me won’t let me call it that, it was actually sparkling wine, not from Champagne). I wasn’t going to have any, but I overheard one of the flight attendants mention it (all the F.A. on this flight are young guys, what’s up with that?) so I asked and he said, “Yea, would you like some?” “No, I was just curious” said I, to which he replied, “come on Love, live a little.” I think I’m in trouble down here - anytime a guy calls me Love I’m like, powerless. Apparently I requested the low fat meals online because they keep bringing them. Yogurt and fruit are what I would prefer anyway, so that’s good. The night was good, surprisingly restful. The whole plane looked like there were sleeping - I suppose since were at about 1/3 capacity that makes sense. We’ll be landing in about 45 minutes, then I need to rush through customs, pray they don’t make me pay taxes because I am way over the limit on alcohol brought for personal consumption (supposed to be 4.5 liters, or about 6 bottles of wine, I’m carrying a case of wine and four large beers). Guess we’ll see how charming and persuasive I can be!

I’m all checked in; my case of wine and my insanely overweight bag (70 lbs, what the heck?  Certain people better be thankful for the beer and coffee I’m bringing), are on their way through the TSA super sleuths.  I just remembered that there is a Rogue Public House at the airport, and my Dad gave me a little fist of cash, so I’m having a final Dead Guy (maybe a Hazelnut Brown or a Chocolate Stout next) and listening to The The.  It’s a good day.

 The past 24 hours I kept getting really emotional when I started thinking about the trip, and I kept thinking I was freaked out to travel on my own.  But that’s not really the reason I’m so emotional right now.  I think I’m kind of overcome by the possibility of actually having something to do with winemaking.  I have been dreaming and thinking about this for three plus years and now that the dream has the potential to be a reality, now that I’m off to make it happen, it’s just really, it feels really big inside of me.  Like, it’s a bigger feeling than I can hold inside, which is extremely cool.  I don’t know how many of the people who read this blog have had the experience of cooking up a pretty big idea in their head and then bringing it to fruition, but it’s great.  It’s a wonderful sensation.  I had it when we left on our big trip, and I have it now. 

I’ve been snapping photos of everything - must document this occasion - but I packed my camera uploader cord thing in my checked baggage, so can’t include photos.  Those will have to wait.

I’m in for a long night!  Wonder if I can find any cheap DVDs around here to watch on my laptop tonight…. any recommendations?

Trillium seem like a little secret flower that no one knows about. They only grow in the forest, prefer the shade, and like to hide near ferns - so I think of them as being shy. I always look for them when I’m running in Forest Park, and feel this great little joy in my heart when I see one. When I was a kid I used to scour the woods for them in the spring, me and my little cousin Austin would pick as many of them as we could and give our Moms huge bouquets. I felt guilty picking them one year, so instead I dug up their bulbs and planted them in this tiny clearing near a little brook that I found in the forest behind my house. I used to go back there and read, I wonder if it’s still there. I like to imagine that the trillium that I planted have taken over and are carpeting my little park.

I was feeling a bit freaked out about leaving yesterday; I’ve been kind of up and down all week on this front. I feel this strong pull toward home, family and friends when I’m leaving, more so than any other time. Like little bonds are being snapped and I’m trying to keep them together. I really do love Portland and Oregon in general. I am so happy to call this place home, and I’m so happy that even when I travel to wonderful, beautiful places, Oregon still pulls me back.

This is the first time I’ve ever traveled on my own, so it feels like a much bigger deal than it should, especially considering I spent 16 months last year traveling and am pretty much a pro. It also feels much more exciting than I’ve felt traveling in a long time.

Being on the cusp of touching a dream is a very emotional, almost spiritual place to be. I’ve been wanting to be a winemaker for over three years, I’ve been talking to winemakers and viticulturalists for that length of time, reading books on it, tasting, trying to soak up as much as I could for three years in five continents and dozens of wine regions, but this trip marks the first time that I’ll have a part in making it happen. It’s exhilarating and empowering, but at the same time I am acutely aware of my own limitations and hope like crazy that I don’t screw it up.