Where in the world have I been? That’s the question I keep getting. And I know: it’s been awhile. But I figure I have two more days to get a post up before Christmas, and most likely my last before the new year.

 

I’ve been neck deep in restoration of an old turn-of-the-century officer’s home on the former Naval Base of Mare Island (just a few miles south of Napa). As I just got started writing my annual fall (well, Winter now) snail-mail update, I’ll save more details on the house project for that missive. But, suffice to say that between the wine and the house, I haven’t had much time to plog.

 

But, I wanted to give you two particular updates.

 

For one, the 2006 is coming along nicely. When all was said and done fermenting, the wines had the highest levels of malic acid that I’ve ever seen (probably a product of the timing of the coolness of the vintage); the bracing aciditiy of the initial post-fermentation wine was alarming, but the chemistry told me that the wines would be softening significantly as malolactic fermentation kicked in (turning malic acid—the acid found in green apples—into lactic acid—the acid found in milk). Well, I was right, and the wines are settling in nicely. ML is about 75% complete, and the wines are about 75% of the way to where I want them. ML was bubbling (you can’t see it, but you can hear it) right along until we had a serious cold spell here in Napa about a week ago, and even the caves cooled down a couple of degrees. The “good bugs” that cause ML like it warm. Quite often ML doesn’t complete until the Spring in the caves of burgundy, and we’re only a few weeks behind for Napa. I’m pleased.

 

My second update is that I have been holding some pics that I wanted to share with you all for some time now, so I’m going to go ahead and post them. I had the glorious opportunity to fly in a small plane out of the Napa airport with a friend of mine at the controls the other day. You can kick all the rocks you want on the ground. You can look at all the maps in the world, but you don’t truly get a feel for why vineyards are special until you look at them from the air.

 

Although we took off from the southernmost end of Napa, where the airport and my vineyards are clustered together, we flew all the way north to Mt. St. Helena (pic 1), which is basically rugged, northernmost mountain of the Napa Valley. The view from up there really shows you the transition from the valley to the south to the mountains to the north, with the central valley looming to the east.

 

 

We then turned and followed the Napa river all the way south. I'll put a photo of Opus in there (pic 2), not because I particularly endorse the wines, but because it is a landmark that people seem to know; it's that symmetrical dot in smack dab in the center,with HWY 29 running L to R in the pic. You can see how flat the valley floor really is.

 

 

We also took a detour up to Pritchard Hill (pic 3) to check out some of my favorite cabernet land. It's a prominent hill/mountain on the east side of the valley. That's Chappellet in the middle with the reservoir, I believe, with Lewis just below. Lake Berryessa is off in the distance to the E.

 

 

As we continued south and neared the southernmost mouth of the Napa river and thus the Napa Valley, we passed my old house (pic 4); mine is in that leave-it-to-beaver land just on this side of the school grounds in the center. At the foreground (bottom) of the photo is the beginning of Carneros.

 

 

We then flew over my Stanly Ranch vineyard (pic 5); the part of the vineyard I pull from is  on the slope just to the left of a lone, eagle-inhabited eucalyptus tree in the foregrond; you can see the beginnings of the San Pablo/San Francisco Bay in the background. It's a sprawling vineyard, but I think you can tell from the picture that it has a lot of hills.

 

 

We flew another mile southwest, to the new vineyard, Poseidon's (pic 6) that sits even closer to the water. There's a tree line that goes from left to right, through the center of the pic. That's the old Carneros Creek. The vineyard itself is just above and to the right of that, and if you look closely, you'll see the shadow of a hill smack dab in the center of the pic. My fruit comes from the skirt of that hill.

 

We then flew over the NE corner of San Pablo/San Francisco bay, past the airport, to the Nord Vineyard (pic 6). Again, you can see the bay off to the right. My portion of the vineyard follows the road that cuts along a small rise in the vineyard at the top. This is, overall, a flatter and windier area, with my portion of the vineyard having about 10 feet of elevation and slope.

 

 

We then cut back north, just a mile or so, to get a peek at my Suscol Ridge vineyard (pic 7). The picture shows the obvious slope to the vineyard itself. That entire peak is an old caved-in volcano. In fact, it has much the same soil structure as Pritchard Hill (above), only it's about 12 miles south, in the cooler, Pinot-loving part of the valley. I’ve been told that Suscol and Pritchard Hill used to be the same mountain, cut in half and moved 12 miles apart by a fault line.

 

 

Finally, just a few miles north of Suscol Ridge as we turned back around to land, we saw the beginnings of the Silverado Fire (pic 8). This burned a couple hundred acres before the day was out, and as we headed back ourselves to land at the airport, we could just see the C130 Fire Planes starting to circle in preparation for swooping in and dropping fire retardent. Pretty cool.

 

 

Oh, and I'll throw in one more pic here of Mare Island (pic 9). It's about four miles south of the airport and the vineyards. It's hard to see from the pic, but it is the little spit of land that juts out just behind the bridge in the center. That's the location of our new house (well, very old house being restored) that is taking up all my time.

10.08.06 | To bed, and to bed...

Well, it's done. An, I'm tired. Cousin Bob came up and helped me put the last tank down to barrel this morning. I had the luxury of taking a few shots of the work: 1) an artsy-fartsy pic of a hand filling a barrel, 2) Cousing Bob filling a barrel, and 3) Cousin Bob OVERfilling a barrel...

I can't tell you what a great feeling it is to have all the wine put to bed (down to barrel) and resting peacefully. By this point in harvest, I'm so exhausted, and so is my family, that it's simply wonderful to think of once again being able to get some sleep, excercise, eat better, actually answer phone calls, and get other work done. (Actually, I went from the crush pad down to our never-ending home-restoration project we've got going and ran a jackhammer on some 90 year old concrete for the evening, but I'll save that story for another time). The other winemakers up at the winery (all of whom make other, later-ripening varietals), had that "that must be nice" look on their face as they saw me drive off, harvest finished, this afternoon.

On the other hand, there's always the slight tinge of sadness that yet another harvest has drawn to a close. The whole cycle really started back in March, with bud-break, and it's funny, after all that vigilence and work, to be suddenly free of worry about it all. Sure, the wine will require attention and consideration all the way up to bottling next year, and the wine will develop significantly over the that time. But, the true quality of a vintage has been developed over the last nine months. And, we've removed most of the influence of mother nature now--it's mine, and mine alone, to screw up.

I'll give the three lots (Nord, Poseidon, and "Soup," which is a blend of Suscol/Stanly) another couple weeks to completely finish fermentation in barrel, then see if they have started ML or if they need me to nudge them along.

I think I made great wine this year. And, I think I made great wine in a year when some other not-so-great wines are going to be made. I'm really proud of that. I feel my experience with more-difficult vintages in the past prepared me to make some tough decisions this year, particularly sorting, and those decisions paid off. It has always been sign of a great winemaker to me: someone who can make good wine in tough vintages. This year I got my chance. So far, from what I can tell in barrel, I've upped the level of my craft this year. That's a great feeling.

Every year is challenging and different, but between the rain in the spring, the heat spell in the middle of July, the botrytis, the fire, and the rain at harvest  ... this year was truly different.

Now that the wines are off to bed, so am I...

(Note: the rain lasted two days. No torrential downpour, but a long soak. As I write this, the sun is coming out, and supposedly we've got 10 days of warmth and sun in the forecast. That'll help dry things out.  I don't think there was enough volume of water to cause any irrigation inbalance in the wines. But, it was definitely enough moisture that those thin-skinned grapes that were still out there--perhaps 15% of the fruit?--were indeed turned to soup and rot. If the warmth does come in as expected, the Cab guys should recover and ripen fine. It'll be interesting to see how it pans out.)

10.2.06 | Rain, rain, go away...

It's raining. Yup. And all hell has broken loose with crush. I've never heard a phone ring so much as I did Christopher's (winemaker of White Rock, where I rent crush and cave space) this morning. I arrived to the winery at 5am with plans to press off two of my three tanks, and by then Christopher had already gotten quite a few calls. Everyone with Chard, Merlot, Sauvignon Blanc, or (gasp) Pinot Noir still on the vine was calling to get their fruit crushed before the rain makes it a total loss.

We managed to rearrange things a bit in order to accomodate two poor souls who had Sauv Blanc and Pinot Gris that they had to get in.

I talked to some Cab guys up valley. Seems that they are far enough off from ripeness that this rain will pass by, then we have some warmth on the other end, and they'll probably be fine. It's the thin-skinned, ready to be picked fruit that is going to turn into soup, or worse yet, Botrytis soup, with this weather. Driving home last night, I could just see through the rain and darkness that there is quite a bit of Chardonnay still out on the vine in many vineyards. Not good news, in a year where Chardonnay was already in short supply.

If feel for them.

I, on the other hand, had a wet but glorious day at the winery. Pressed off both Poseidons and Stanly/Suscol (fermented together this year). Shoveling tanks is one piece of hard-labor that I don't mind at all. I ran the free run into new tanks, and the press wine into another, and I'm on my way up to the winery today to put to bed (barrel) the free run.

With all these long faces around about the rain, I've had to control my smiles. It looks like we sorted dilligently enough to dodge the botrytis bullet on my wine this year, both tanks went straight to dry (and the third will be there in two days), and the resulting wines are tasting extremely promising. The caps looked extremely healthy as I shoveled them out (a good sign that all is well). I think I've made great wine this year. 

It's still raining.

 10.2.06 | A Morning in the Life...

09.25.06 | All In...

I slept the sleep of the dead last night, after finally getting the last of the fruit up to the crush pad yesterday. There’s a little lull now where I get to catch up before things get intensely busy with punch downs and pumpovers.

Things went well over the weekend. Saturday was a picture-perfect pick. Had two slaves (the other Kent, and Nicholas-the-pleasant) out there to help sort, but the grapes from Nord Vineyard came in clean, dark, ripe, and perfect. It’s always my “backbone” vineyard. It might not ever be the shining star, but it is always reliable. The night picking they were doing at that vineyard (for Mumm Sparkling) was coming in light and faster than expected, so they had the crew over into my block by 6:30am. We were done by 7:30am with the pick and to the winery and crushed before noon. We were into the cheeseburgers by 1pm. I love days like that.

Sunday was a lot more work. Suscol, which is the shining star, or the dog, depending on the year, was a bit more canine-like this year. We had Don and Jo on the bins sorting, and Greg and Jill out in front picking substandard fruit off the vine. We did more sorting at the crusher, and in the end, I think we put some phenomenal flavor in the tank to work with. But because the fruit got a little roughed up in the process, I’m starting that fermentation a little earlier than usual. No soaking. Better safe than sorry.

Sounds like everyone all over the valley has beautiful fruit, and horrible fruit, on the same vine. It’s just a matter of getting enough hands in there to sort between the two. Actually, in Pinot we had great fruit, and horrible fruit, on the same cluster. I'll attach a pic here. We have this issue where sections of the cluster actually dried up. Complete raisins. On this particular cluster, it was the top section of the cluster. It was easily sorted, but I've never seen it so widespread. What we didn't sort out will give a bit riper/prune character to the finished wine. Not entirely undesireable, in the right quantites.

Would have been an amazing year to make dessert wine.

 

I’ve not had time to call around about smoke damage from the fire, but the few folks I’ve talked to said they think we all got lucky. Apparently the fire burned about 1000 feet elevation above the valley floor vineyards, and the smoke blew it up over the hill where there are no vineyards. By the time the smoke reached Carneros, it was dispersed enough not to cause damage. Or so they say. We’ll see in the fermentor, where it’ll really start to come out.

Off to get some tank samples analyzed to review some chemistry. Poseidon’s started fermenting, albeit slowly, today…

09.22.06 | Gone with the Wind

Crazy day today. Woke up at about 3am because I heard the wind howling outside. It was still howling when I stepped out at 5:30am. Oddly, it was blowing south, which is the exact opposite of the typical Carneros wind. Plus, it was actually a warm wind. I left my hat at home because it wasn’t going to stay on my head.

 

It’s 5:30 now, and I’m looking out my backyard office window at a whole bunch of willow tree limbs on the ground. It’s STILL blowing hard.

 

In between this morning and 5:30, Cousin Karen, the other Kent, a new Trucker named Nicolas and I went out and brought in Stanly Ranch. It was no small feat.

 

The botrytis was, as anticipated, pretty darn bad. We got a crew in there to do a pre-pick of the bad stuff on the vine last night, which was pretty hard on the pocketbook, but pretty darn good for the quality. This morning, Nicolas and I went through and did yet another pre-pick, while Karen and Kent sorted at the bins. We then went through it all yet again at the winery before it went into the crusher. The fruit that made it through the sorting was quite beautiful. I think that is going to sum up the year: those that have the wherewithal to sort carefully will be rewarded with some glorious flavors.

 

There was a fire today, a potentially significant one, in Napa. http://cbs5.com/localwire/localfsnews/bcn/2006/09/22/n/HeadlineNews/NAPA-CONTAINMENT/resources_bcn_html. I saw the smoke at about 8am, and remarked something like, “amazing a cloud can survive in this wind.” Turns out it wasn’t a regular cloud. From what I can find on the web, it didn’t burn down any homes or structures, nor threaten any lives, but I could see the smoke blowing from the area right around Dominus down through the hills west of the HWY 29 corridor and on over to some of the more famous vineyards of Carneros. The fire had helicopters, planes, and fire engines roaring around the valley all day.

 

I haven’t heard reports of damage to the vines yet. Smoke is a tough thing at harvest. Quite a few years back, Carmenet Winery over in Sonoma had a fire. For giggles, we tried to make some wine from the smoke-damaged grapes. It tasted like a glass of ashes from a fireplace. We called it “Burning Leaf,” and we had the Turning Leaf label only with the leaf on fire. (Someone later told me that we got a cease-and-desist nasty-gram from the Gallo legal department; they own Turning Leaf). The stuff was undrinkable. I hope the famed Napa cab vineyards in and around Dominus (Laird, Trefethen…) didn’t get hurt in this not-so-little fire today. The wind didn’t help anyone’s cause.

 

Nord Vineyard tomorrow. I went out and looked at the fruit today. It looks perfecto. Can’t wait for that. Well yes I can. I'd like to get a bit of sleep.

09.20.06 | A Good Start

Other than the small glitch that the Boonfly Cafe—our new caffeine, nourishment and 6am meeting place before picking—didn’t open until 7am (don’t worry, Cousin Bob talked them into letting us in for a cup of coffee and some oatmeal), Poseidon’s Vineyard came in GREAT.

 

Actually, there was another glitch. The truck started leaking radiator fluid a couple days back, and the shop didn’t have it back to me by pick morning. So, I’m sorry to report, the truck didn’t make the first picking day. But, it is back to me now, radiator filled and smiling.

 

We were out there just as the sunlight was beginning to crowd-out the small sliver of moon. When we finally got enough light to see and start picking, it was obvious that the vineyard manager had done a really good job pre-picking the botrytis clusters off the vine. Our sorting at the bins (see pic below, where Cousin Bob’s white shirt is still white) could focus on the smaller stuff. We had a second “Kent” out there as well, and between the three of us, the fruit looked great as it was loaded up and trucked over to the winery.

 

Crush went smooth and easy (nice to start the season with a small, clean pick, and experienced help). I had planned, in anticipation of having to manage botrytis issues, using a more aggressive yeast this year, as well as limiting cold soak and skin contact. But, this fruit looked so good in the fermenter, I dialed the chill jacket down to 50 degrees to cold soak for the next three days, and went and bought my favorite, slow-fermenting, very delicate yeast (AMH) for the occasion. Provided I don’t screw this up, it should be damn good wine.

 

The crazy frenzy to pick right now, coupled with the fact that picking crews are at a premium (yes, our world is one that is significantly impacted by immigration reform), it’s unlikely that I’m going to get a pre-pick of botrytis fruit in the two vineyards that present the most challenge on Friday and Sunday. I’m headed out today to try and complete the pre-pick one by myslef. I’ve got an army of Truckers coming Sunday to help pre-pick the other.

09.19.06 | So it begins...

09.12.06 | At least a week away...

08.28.06 | Harvest is sneaking up on us...

I went out today and confirmed it: harvest is sneaking up on us.

 

But first, let me triumphantly say that I got the 2005 into bottle. It’s a little hard to make an exact description of the wine at this point. After 10 months of settling in barrel, and being starved for oxygen, the act of racking it up to tank, polishing it up, and putting it in bottle tends to make it a little squirrelly until it is able to settle down for another six months before release. But I can tell you without any reservation that this wine is going to be FANTASTIC. The dream harvest of 2005 did indeed deliver. It’s got color, balance, intensity, and a backbone. In fact, the crew of six I got to help with bottling drank almost a case in the two days of bottling; it was tasting that good, even this young (and yes, bottling was THAT fun).

 

We had a little hiccup in bottling. Actually, not so little. I had readied all the capsules, corks, labels, bottles, and had the wine waiting in perfect condition in tank. No easy task to put all these things together. I’d hired a great mobile bottling company out of Paso Robles for the Friday morning bottling. We were going to get it all done in one day. I met the truck at the bottom of the hill at 6:15am, and one look told me we might have problems. They’d brought a different truck than I expected. One a bit longer. 15 feet longer to be exact.

 

Sure enough, it not only couldn’t make the turn onto the crush pad (it’s a tiny facility, where I crush, cave and bottle), but it actually got high-centered on the transition from hill to crush pad. I have to commend the driver, as I thought for sure we’d have to get a crane in there to get the thing out. He managed to free it after about an hour of trying. But, there I was, with corks, capsules, bottles, labels, wine … and no way to put it all together.

 

Luckily, here comes Brad from Le Petite Bottling to the rescue. He’s got the grooviest little trailer that is just one step above manual bottling, but at the same time, is some of the highest quality equipment around. It took us the entire weekend (and the aforementioned case of wine) to complete the bottling, but it is now all safe and sound, awaiting the spring release.

 

Bottling accomplished, the family and I headed up to Yosemite for our annual summer vacation. It’s always my last chance to rest before harvest. Because these types of pics seems to be crowd-pleasers, I’ll include a shot of eighteen-month-old Owen Fortner with his latest toy: a razor scooter. At first it didn’t suit him too well, as it didn’t go fast enough. But then he discovered that he could point it down hill…

 

Yes, I intend to buy him a helmet on my next trip to Target.

 

Like I said, harvest is almost here. The Truckers have started calling, offering to volunteer (thanks, folks). When you walk the vineyard, everything has great color and the grapes are starting to taste like grapes. Harvest for sparkling wines (usually 2-4 weeks before harvest for still wines) has already started, and since I have some blocks that are adjacent to some sparkling fruit, I know that much of my fruit is at 19 Brix (% sugar). We start getting serious about picking sometime around 23-25 Brix, and we gain .75 to 1.5 degrees Brix per week, depending on weather.

 

Speaking of weather, it couldn’t be any better now. We had a pretty serious (and alarming) heat strike in late July. Some of the hottest weather on record. I suspect everyone, no matter where you live, got a taste of it. It worked its way from West to East, sparing few states. As for what that heat strike did to the fruit, the research and experience is limited. But, general opinion is that it couldn’t have been a good thing. Perhaps it did little to no harm, but it certainly didn’t help.

 

But, we’ve now had three weeks now of incredibly perfect ripening weather. 75-80 degrees during the day, and 55 at night. Cool breeze, fog in the morning, and sunshine from about 9:30am on. Seriously, it’s perfect. And, there are no serious heat spikes in the foreseeable forecast, which is great. Hopefully we can have a repeat of the 2005 harvest, complete with a fog-covered pick day.

 

The one remarkable thing about this vintage, which is obvious when you walk the vineyards, is the size of the berries. They are large, and it presents interesting dilemmas for winecrafting. After a wet spring two years ago (when bud fruitfulness is determined), we expected a low-crop year, and the size of the clusters was indeed small. The wet spring this year lead us to believe we’d have more foliage than crop as well. Then we had almost perfect weather during “set” when the flowers turn into berries, and so our small clusters are densely filled with fruit. Then, we had the aforementioned perfect weather during verasion, when the grapes change color. Due to this weather, verasion happened more quickly than I’ve ever seen, and it look as though the berries swelled without restriction, since there was no dehydrating heat to hold it back. So, we’ve got these packed clusters.

 

It is potentially worrisome. Airflow through the interior of the clusters is non-existence, and the wetness of spring means the potential for rot is there. We’ve thinned out the canopies to try and get more airflow around the clusters, but at this point, we have to just wait and see. What’s nice is that ripening is happening so briskly at this point, with the weather so perfect.

 

I’ve been talking to a few fellow Pinot-heads about some strategies during fermentation. Some seem to think that the larger berry size (and thus larger juice to skin ratio), calls for a saignee before fermentation. Saignee (bleeding) of a portion of the juice away from the skins yields two wines: a small-batch rose from the saignee itself, and what is theoretically a darker, more concentrated main wine. However, there are many, like me, who feel that the lack of heat right now is providing us retention in color and flavor, and therefore things won’t be out of whack. No saignee is necessary (less manipulation). We’ll see.

 

I’m off to pick up my new barrels for this year. And, I’ve got a lot of other crush prep to do. This posting, however, has been a good warm-up for harvest. I hope to keep some regular plogging increments during the madness.

 

06.23.06 | Vineyard Review

We’ve reached that time of the season when I just resolve myself to drive a dusty car. I’m going to be in the vineyard that much from now on.

 

Wanted to compare my vineyards side by side, so I visited them sequentially this morning. Also, I consulted with my good friend and excellent viticulturalist Steve Mathiasson. I swear Steve thinks just like a grapevine.

 

We’ve had the wet, wet spring, and now quite a few serious heat strikes in June. The vines are growing like mad with all the sunlight (and water still in the soil). Steve just finished analyzing the latest weather predictions, and it’s looking like we can anticipate a warmer-than-average August and September. That’s not the best scenario, but then again, it is a weather prediction; its accuracy is, by definition, dubious. Regardless, it is what we have to go on, so we’ll adjust viticulture accordingly.

 

Something important to realize when discussing a vintage: next year’s buds, and the fruit that will result from those buds, are out there on the vine right now (dormant, but out there). Their fruitfulness, or sterility, for next year is determined by the sunlight and temperatures we’ve had so far this season. It follows from this that this year’s fruitfulness or sterility was determined last year. And last year we had a wet, uncooperative spring. Thus, we were anticipating a low crop this year.

 

Although for sure it is a lower crop this year—Pinot Noir, overall, seems to be down in the North Coast—a more accurate description would be a variable crop. I’ve seen vineyards with sterile shoots, and those shoots that do have fruit have small, loose clusters. But, I’ve also seen vineyards, like two of my own, with perfectly normal cluster counts, albeit with slightly smaller clusters.

 

Besides looking at fruitfulness and whether the vineyards have been hedged yet (a mower that cuts the way-too-long shoots off at the very top before they grow to shade the rest of the vine), the main decision to be made in the vineyard today is leafing. We pull leaves from the vines for numerous reasons: to open up the canopy for air circulation (preventing botrytis), to expose the fruit to sunlight (just enough), to remove the oldest leaves (which will yellow first and deliver potassium to the fruit when they do), and to keep the leaves from being to densely packed (again, causes yellowing). This year presents a difficult dilemma: we have a high probability of botrytis, but we also have some tender fruit, and not much of it, that will not be able to withstand high temperatures in late season. We’ve got to strike the right balance of opening up the canopy to airflow vs. exposing the clusters to too much sun.

I'll give an overview of each vineyard below. But, this is more for myh notes than for those reading the plog out there. Follow only if you dare...

 

Stanly Ranch: It’s already been hedged, and the canopies look pretty good. We’ve got 80% set on some normal sized clusters, although there seem to be fewer cluster per shoot than average. Some bunching of the shoots, and the fruit, but this is to be expected given the active winds that blow across the entire ranch, pushing the shoots together. Botrytis has not been such a factor here in the past, so we’re going to leaf more aggressively, pulling all the lower leaves and at least 50% of the leaves in the fruit zone. They’ll also try and “unglom” the clusters that are top of one another. Looking good.

 

Suscol Ridge: Should be hedged later this week, ideally before they do leaf thinning, as it is hard to judge canopy balance with the shoots as long as they are. Many more sterile shoots here. Those that do have fruit look to be 70% set on some tiny clusters. Yields will be low on this block. This is a difficult decision. We’ve actually lost this entire vineyard to Botrytis in previous years, which would tell us to leaf like crazy. But then again, the vines sit on a northeast to southwest row orientation, which means that the hot afternoon sun comes right in on the fruit. We need to leave leaves to prevent sunburn. In the end, we’ve agreed to pull the leaves from the underside looking up. We’ll pull the base leaves to expose the cordons and spur positions, to try an get some airlow, but we’ll not touch the leaves that are shading the fruit, as we think we’ll need these. Furthermore, we’ll leave the laterals, as we think we’ll need late-season shading and vigor. The canopies don’t look too dense, so we’ll generally leave the upper canopy alone, with the exception of pulling leaves from the clumps of leaves that might lead to yellowing. Should be finished later this week.

 

Nord: Looking good. 85% set on slightly smaller clusters than last year. This E/W row orientation makes leafing easy, and the proximity of the water (just steps away) keeps things cool down here. No real worry of sunburn. They’ve already done a good job of pulling all the leaves from the fruit zone on the N side of the row. Needs to be hedged, as the shoots are long enough to start drooping, and might get missed by the clippers. Still battling the stunted vines, suffering from salty soils, that are interspersed throughout the west end of the rows. Going to need to simply ignore those vines at harvest time, and not take the fruit. This seems to get worse each year. Otherwise, looking beautiful.

 

Poseidons: This is my first year with this vineyard, so I don’t have much to compare it to. But, fruitfulness (cluster counts) looks great here. 95% set on perhaps slightly small clusters. Issue here is that the wires need to be moved up, and soon. They’ve got the first two catch wires up, but the second is not high enough, and shoots are drooping. It is E/W row orientation, but my rows are tucked on the side of a windy ravine, so I think aggressively leaf pulling is in order, simply as an insurance policy against botrytis, which historically is not an issue here. Also need to get hedged. I’ll have to call Peter and work out a plan to accomplish this in the next 10 days or so.

 

 

“See those logs over there?” Nicolas Tartaret, owner of the sawmill, says to me. His English is quite functional, albeit accent-laden. He is points at a particular stack of thirty-to-forty very large logs laying in the center of the yard. “Those are from up on the border, near Luxembourg. We find, how do you say … from the war … ah, ‘bullets.’ We fine bullets in those sometimes.”

The story behind barrels is every bit as colorful and intricate as I expected it to be.

“Forest of origin; that’s all I ever hear from American winemakers,” Nicolas had said to me earlier that same morning, as we ate croissants (damn good), and drank coffee (damn strong) in a conference room on the second floor of his mill. “But, it is just like a vineyard. Sure, you can label a wine from a famous vineyard, but perhaps the grapes are moldy, perhaps the fruit never got ripe, perhaps there is a lot of second crop mixed in. The grapes from the hill are not the same as the grapes form the swale. The harvest varies from year to year. Perhaps it was poorly handled in the winery. It is the same with oak. But yet, American winemakers simply want a particular forest.”

Later, as we stand outside and he points to the felled logs from Luxemborg (the bullets, if they are in this batch, are not obvious from the outside), the differences that Nicolas speaks of are obvious. He shows me a single log, just moments after it has been cut to rough length and split, and points out the moss on the bark of one half. “This is the north side of the tree,” he says. “This is a reputable forest, but this particular part of the forest has rich soils, lots of moisture, and is in a swale. The drainage and air circulation are not very good around this particular area.” He turns the split log over, to show me the inner wood. “See the wood here, on this side of the tree it is dark in color. Here,” he hands me the split log, encouraging me to smell the darker wood. I do. It is musty. Not attractive.

As modernization chugged along, the “cooper in every village” turned into a few coopers in every region. When I asked, Paul shook his head “no” at any differences in coopers located in Bordeaux vs. Burgundy, or from the town of Beaune vs. the town of Mercurey. The actual sourcing and milling of the wood has been consolidated, and transportation has made it possible to source wood from all over France, and beyond, no matter where the cooper might be.

On the technical side, there is no way I could (or should) go into the level of detail that is reflected in my notes, but I can give some overview. There are three major species of oak that are used for barrels, two of which are found in Europe, one of which is found in America (and subsequently, American oak barrels). In respect to the first two European species, it seems that the differences are, in Nicolas’ words, “not so important.” Not only are the two species very similar, but there is a spectrum of hybrids between the two. To ask for one species or the other would involve a value judgment (or a DNA test) to determine what % of each species a particular tree might be.

Learning about the seasoning of wood was the most impactful lesson of my trip. Once staves are cut, they are set out to deal with the elements for anywhere from 1-3 years. During this time, harsh tannins are drawn out of the wood as it dries. Obviously, there is a high level of variation between yards located in the warmer, dryer regions, vs. the colder, wetter regions. Also, how you stack the staves for seasoning makes a big difference. Airflow, waterflow, and sunlight exposure are all important. Nicolas told me of one stave mill that actually soaks its staves in a large pool of water for two weeks just after cutting them (although Nicolas had a hard time seeing that as reasonable). The staves at Nicolas’ sawmill were stacked in geometric patterns throughout the yard.

Finally, toasting. This is the inexact science—the art, really—of barrel production. Back in the cooperage, Paul had shown me light toast, and medium toast barrels. The visual difference was striking, but even more striking was the aromatic difference. “And, as you can imagine,” Paul told me, “this is an inexact science; it is not merely about how long the barrel is over the fire. Much more depends on the heat of the fire, the shape of the flame, the moisture content of the wood, the moisture content in the air, and ambient temperature (winter vs. summer?). Mercurey toasts only in the morning, with strict regulations on the heat and timing, but in the end, it is a value judgement.

Regarding craftsmanship, I would say most all of that is cosmetic. It is indeed a fine craft: the staves of the barrel are bent and held into shape with fire, water, and banging on the hoops. But beyond that, a tremendous amount of effort goes into a barrel that is visually perfect: sanded smooth, the rivets in the proper place on the hoops, the bung hole perfectly lined up with the grain of the heads, etc.

06.15.06 | Barrels Full and Empty 

All this week has been building to these last three appointments, and the first two have definitely lived up to their expectations. Today was fantastic. It started with a trip to the cooperage (barrel maker) and then proceeded to the holy grail (according to Kent) of Pinot Noir, Domaine Dujac. It ended here at this great little hotel/restaurant in the countryside just south of the vineyards of Champagne.

Actually, the day started with a quick walk into Beaune to get one last croissant from my new favorite spot. I also snagged a pic of the Hospice du Beaune, which seemed like a glaring omission from the travelog aspect of this journal, considering it is the most famous landmark in the city, perhaps in all Burgundy. The tour was worth the 5 euros.

After lunch, Paul had managed to secure an appointment at Domaine Dujac. But en route to the winery in Morey-Saint-Denis, we stopped at a gorgeous outlook over the region of Mercurey (pic at left), and later at the bottom of arguably the most famous white wine vineyard in the world, Montrachet.

What also stood out, of course, were the wines. We tasted through some barrels (including some “light toast” trials of Mercurey barrels). We also went through a great little sampling of 2004’s as well, including some premier cru right around the winery in Morey-Saint-Denis, and some Grand Cru whites and reds as well. I won’t go into the detail that I have in my mind, but suffice to say that they were fantastic, and enlightening.

06.14.06 | Dig Monks; or Monks Digging 

I think that if you were a monk in Burgundy in the 1500’s in Burgundy, you had two jobs: worship the Lord, and make wine.

Their caves are everything that caves should be: dusty, dirty, dark, dank, and filled with a myriad of wine from the best vineyards in the Cote d’Or. They even have just one half-barrel of Musigny (a Grand Cru, and a perfect example of these tiny slivers of ownership in some of the most famous Grand Cru vineyards). And not only are their barrels stored down there, but their bottled wine is resting there as well, awaiting sale. But, the cellars are too dusty and humid to store bottles with labels, so they actually go through the effort of bottling without a label, storing the bottles back below in bins, and then they label them just as soon as an order comes through.

Two particularly special things about the Faiveley caves: I got to see the “flood” marks of 1896 and 1910, where the various high-water marks had been registered on the stone walls. Secondly, in the “early days,” they didn’t have fork lifts that could help them bring the bins of bottled-but-unlabeled wine up to the surface for labeling. So, in an attempt to save the backs of their cellar workers, they brought in a chain, track, pulley, and four-bottle-at-a-time overhead rack system that ran sort of like a toy train set through the entire cave and up to the surface. This was actually a modification of a system used on the Maginot line to move ammunition form the bunkers to the guys up top pulling the triggers. You can just picture some hard-working French cellar rats putting four bottles at a time in the system.

The spacing and height of the vines in Burgundy, a mere meter by meter, and no more than knee-high off the ground as well, has always baffled me too. I was not aware that the height of the vines was actually dictated by the AOC (appellation control). After a bit of discussion, I finally got it out of them that if they would, if they could, train the vines higher, as we do typically in the U.S. It would make the picker’s job a million times easier, and elevates the fruit zone from the diseases and rodents. But the original “Guyot” system is in place, and held there by law.

06.13.06 | I Stood in Romanee-Conti Today 

I stood in Romanee Conti today. I also stood amongst some screaming French soccer fans. The two experiences could not have been more different.

 

Not to insult those who might not be familiar with the Romanee Conti vineyard, but it is considered the most famous and celebrated vineyard (and subsequent wine) in the world. If you have not heard of it, it is most likely because you also do not own a yacht, a jet, or an 80-acre country estate in Jackson Hole, WY. That is the price point.

 

When I sat down to watch France and Switzerland play to a draw in the World Cup on TV, I was surrounded by Frenchmen drinking beer. Cheap beer at that.

 

I arrived at Romanee Conti, and the contiguous Grand Cru vineyards in the Vosne-Romanee appellation, right about as the sun was setting. I had the entire place to myself. There it was, the most important dirt in the wine world. No more than a knee-high rock fence separating me from the short, tightly-packed vines (what, no security guard?). The rest of the Cote d’Or spread before me in a clear, silent, beautiful evening.

 

During the soccer match, even when the heads of screaming Frenchmen briefly parted to reveal the large-screen T.V. at the bar’s end, the room was so filled with cigarette smoke that the game was hazy, at best.

 

I’m struck particularly by what might be the only similarity between the two experiences: as I drove up to the Romanee-Conti vineyard, I passed two children kicking a soccer ball back and forth over the 16^th century cobblestone roads.

 

The kids hardly bothered to glance at me in my rented Volkswagon, bouncing up the vineyard road to the hallowed ground. How special it seems to me for kids to actually grow up just below that spot, with all of its history (and historical vineyards). But to them, it was probably just home, and—between the slopes of the area and the cobblestones—not a very good home for kicking a soccer-ball around at that.

 

I can only assume that the children are used to strange folks driving up the hill to the vineyard at random hours. When you reach the intersection of the two dirt roads where the small (4 acre) plot begins, there, next to the etched stone marker for the vineyard itself, is a sign. I took a picture of it.

 

"Thank you for your comprehension," is the sign's salutation. Comprehension? Here, in this four acres, is the holy grail of Pinot Noir. But turn to your left, walk across the narrow dirt road, and you enter a plot with the exact same slope and the exact same grape planted, yet La Grand Rue vineyard creates entirely uninspiring wine. Walk yet another forty paces through La Grand Rue, and you enter the vineyard of La Tache; you are now back up in the stratosphere of fame and fortune. What makes particular tiny plots of land so special while contiguous others languish in obscurity and mediocrity? It is that exact question which makes Pinot Noir so wonderful.

 

All of this—Romanee Conti, the other Grand Cru Vineyards, the soccer match—is located in and around the central town of Beaune. Anyone traveling to Burgundy will inevitably find their way to this fantastic town. And, if you are coming this way, I would urge you to stay here. It is wonderful. In many ways, the town is similar to its contemporaries in Italy, the likes of Sienna and San Gimignano. Ok, not that medieval, but it’s got that wonderful old stone architecture. The town is a circle, and perhaps only a mile or so across. If you get turned around as you walk the narrow cobblestone streets, you simply have to keep heading in one direction, which dumps you on the outer road, where you simply walk around until you once again recognize an entrance. Two or three times of doing that, and you’ve walked the entire town (I know this from experience).

 

I actually did not arrive in Beaune until mid-afternoon. The three-hour drive down turned into four hours when I had a little trouble, once again, navigating the labyrinth that is Paris. The four-hour trip then turned into a five-hour trip when I had to stop, recline my seat, and take a nap.

 

My time clock is still rather whacked.

 

 

06.12.06 | The Phantom of the Opera 

The USA just got their hat handed to them by the Czech Republic. There. That’s all I want to say about that.

 

I’d not given much thought about how hot and muggy Paris would be this time of year. After a soft landing, a smooth run through customs, and feeling violated by the exchange rate at the American Express counter, I hopped in my tiny, rented Volkswagon Fox and drove into Paris.

 

Mind you that Paris was built long before “city planning” became a subject in which one could major in at university. The layout of the city has no resemblance to the grids that we Americans have come to know and love. The street names are not on signposts, but rather hidden up against the buildings, if there are street signs at all. Add to this that none of the businesses seem inclined to put their street number on their storefronts, as well as some traffic that would give road-rage to a New York cabbie—the scooter-riding Parisiens have a death wish—and it can be quite an experience navigating a car to a hotel. In the end, I just got lucky and found and followed the signs to “The Opera” which I’d seen on the map was near the Hotel Antin Trinite, my resting place for the night.

 

When I say “The Opera,” I mean THE Opera, the one that was made famous in the Phantom of the Opera. It’s about two blocks away. I took a very uninspiring picture of it, which I’ll throw in here.

 

It is hot and muggy here, as I said, but I was also severely jet lagged, and needed to reset myself. So, I strapped on my running shoes and did a sweaty afternoon lap of the park around the Louvre. Just as city planning isn’t in the fabric of Parisiens, I think running for running’s sake—particularly in high heat and humidity—is not really a Eurpoean past time either. Even on a warm day like this one, the mall back in Washington D.C. would have hundreds of runners doing laps. In Paris, I was all alone, except for one other runner I passed; and I’m pretty sure that guy was American as well. Everyone else was giving the two of us odd looks.

 

And there was another American we encountered, sitting behind us in the bar where my father and law and I watched the train-wreck that was USA vs. Czech Republic. She was from St. Louis, and she was the only other one in the bar yelling in anguish. The French patrons, on the other hand, seemed only mildly interested in the whole game. Quite disappointing, really. But France plays tomorrow evening, and we’ll see how they all react when their team gets three impressive goals scored against them.

 

My father-in-law had even brushed up on his soccer knowledge, just for my sake. He’s a good man, that father-in-law. He and I then grabbed some dinner across from the Opera, where we polished off a bottle of 2000 Joseph Droughin (producer) Bon de Marches (Premier Cru Vineyard) from Beaune (appellation) in Burgundy (larger appellation). Of course, being from the Beaune, it is Pinot Noir. And, as you can imagine, it was lovely.

 

And now I’m going to pass out. I think I’ve been up 48 hours.

06.11.06 | The Friendly Skies 

06.04.06 | Dreaming of Burgundy 

The rain has finally ended (ended a month ago, in fact), and the vines are going nuts with all this ground water and nothing but sunny skies overhead. Shoots are all the way to the top wires and then some, with the berries about 50% in bloom. It was an early bud break in a few places, but then we had the cool and the wet, just like last year. We even had a quick frost (I know a few individual vineyards that got fried down to 50% crop when it hit 31 degrees). But the difference between this year and this year is that previously we actually had warm and sunny weather in March, THEN the rains hit again. This year it was just constant cool and wet. It’s a plus, really, as my vines never got out there far enough to get torched by the frost, nor have they had the chance to really develop mildew and botrytis in the leaves the way we worried about it last year. Although, certainly the worry is still there…

02.13.06 | Episode IV: A New Vineyard

Let's see, so much to catch up on. I've been waiting to post until we got the new website up and running, but it's taking a bit longer than I expected ...

For starters, I heard that they've got budbreak in some of the higher-elevation vineyards that are closer to the ocean. Good lord that's early. But, we've had some seriously beautiful weather out here. (Sorry, New York, but the jet stream is in our favor right now.) We're expecting colder and wetter weather shortly, so I think my vineyards will stay closed up for a good bit longer, but it is startling to think of the growing season starting in early February for some of these folks. If you want to know what early budbreak does to a growing season and to a winecrafter's stress level, see last's year's PLOG.

I just inked the contract on the new vineyard for the 2006 harvest. Poseidon's Vineyard sits adjacent to the Napa Marina in Carneros. You can literally see the boats bobbing up and down just a few feet away. It's a drastic vineyard, with "flats" that are good for nothing more than sparkling clones. But, there is also a hillside that was formerly (in geological terms) the bank of the Carneros Creek. Filled with gravel, the hillside used to also be planted to sparkling clones, until the owners of the vineyard realized that the sparkling producer who was purchasing the fruit was using that particular hillside block for a color blender in their master blend. Any hillside that gives good color to sparkling wine clones is a serious contender for still wine. They replanted the vineyard to Dijon clones (the groovy still-wine clones), and I've had the resulting Pinot Noir. Stunning. They are giving me six rows on the slope. I feel honored and blessed.

The Molnars own this vineyard. They also own the Budapesti Kadar cooperage in Hungary, from which I get some of my Tokaj-oak barrels. Peter Molnar manages the property. He's also a hell of a tele-skier; I know, because we just went up to Tahoe for two days of work and ski. Gotta admit we got in more of the latter. As I've stated before, I think soulful farmers produce soulful fruit. This is a perfect test case. We agreed to one year of fruit, and we'll see how it goes after that. I'm hoping to expand production by 100 cases or so.

I also got in a couple days of skiing at the Wine and Ski Classic in Park City, UT, two weekends ago. What great slopes out there, and even greater wine folks (despite some unique alcohol-distribution laws in the state). If you happen to hit the area, check out three restaurants in particular: Blind Dog, 350 Main, and Hapa Grill. All great Truck supporters.

As for the wine, the barrels of 2005 are going through their totally funky stage. This happens every year about this time, but I never get over it. I go in and taste through all the barrels and throw up my hands and declare that I don't know what in the hell is going on. But, things always iron themselves out. Moreover, I've tasted some Pinots all over the valley, and they all seem to go through the same funk. When the wines are just finishing ML and are still on the lees (sediments), all kinds of aromatics come off. You just have to trust that your beautiful fruit, beautiful fermentations, beautiful color, and beautiful history are going to bring this through to be beautiful wine. To quote John Konsgaard, it is the "death" part of the "death and resurrection" in winemaking.

The 2004, however, is grin-inducing indeed. The release is coming up in three weeks or so, and I can't wait. Not only am I tired of telling people I have no wine to share with them (I've been sold out of the 2003 for four months), but I can't wait for folks to taste this new release. It's cleaner and brighter than previous releases, but it's got this wonderful, sweet, floral, toasty and fruit-filled aromatic, and an incredibly juicy mid-pallet. I'm working on the mailer/offering right now. Moreover, we're going to have groovy online ordering available, if we ever get the new website finished.

On other notes, we took Molly Brown, our foster dog from the Katrina disaster, back to the shelter to be adopted out. We'd had her for three months and through the holidays, and it was hard to part with her (tear). The shelter has a couple more local T.V. slots for "marketing" some of the Katrina dogs, and they wanted to get her back to the shelter so she could be available if people came in (she might even make the TV slot itself!) We were also starting to think that the parting would be even more difficult for her if we kept her any longer. We'd performed our duty: she is now through the worst of the heartworm treatment (the reason she wasn't put up for adoption in the first place), and seems recovered from the hurricane and rescue trauma. I actually got an email this morning from the shelter saying that a single, female minister from Marin was interested in adopting Molly Brown and had put a "hold" on her for 24 hours while she thought about it. We'll keep our fingers crossed for that potential blessed event. It breaks my heart to think of Molly Brown sitting in a pen at the shelter for one minute longer than she has to.

Owen turned one last week. We had a most enjoyable John Deere-themed party. I'll include a pic. One of the absolute best joys in life has to be watching your child's first interaction with frosting. The one unfortunate part of the passing of one year is that we're sneaking up on the date that I vowed to run a marathon with Owen. Well, running it with him is now out: turns out the course won't allow strollers due to liability, and I'm not sure my wife is all that excited about the concept. (To tell the truth, I'm not sure Owen is excited about four hours of stroller time either.) And, the final nail in the coffin for the Napa Marathon in particular is that it happens to coincide with my father-in-law's sixtieth birthday. We're going to be out of town. But, we've been training, so I'm still looking for a race. (Any suggestions?) I haven't given up the quest.

Finally, I'll close with a pic of Owen with his great-grandmother Mary. Mary is the original owner of the Green Truck. We traveled back to Kansas at Christmas to visit all the family back there, and this was one of the highlights. Mary's story is elsewhere on this website, but suffice to say that she's had a most fantastic Midwestern life. The trip back to Kansas was good for me, too. Made me remember why I love farming in the first place, made me remember the wonderful friendliness of the Midwest, gave me glimpses of that unending flat horizon of Kansas that I grew up with, and refamiliarized me with a "red state." If I could somehow mix Kansas friendliness, family, and home costs with California vineyards, weather, and fun ...

January 2006

01.02.06 | It rained a bit last night

"I think it rained a bit last night." That was the gross understatement I uttered to my wife on Saturday morning regarding the storm we had last Friday night here in Napa.

I blame such lack of awareness solely and squarely on our new replacement windows. With our old windows, we used to live through storms. The old slider windows rattled in the wind. Actually, if the rain came from just the right angle, the water would find its way between the sliders and enter the room, just above my head, in a fine mist. I can remember a few nights of actually wearing a stocking cap to try and dull the effects of such a mini-storm so that I could sleep.

Friday night, I heard nothing; I slept blissfully. No rattles, no mist, no stocking cap; thus my casual "it rained a bit" comment in the morning. My family and I enjoyed a typical Saturday in Napa. I even made waffles. Then my wife went on a diaper run.

"Napa is FLOODED," my wife said from her cell phone, as she drove over the only open road that connected the east and west sides of Napa.

I decided to survey the situation on foot. She'd reported that traffic was snarled, and besides, I needed a good run to work off some holiday cookies. Moreover, the weather had cleared, the sun was shining, and it was really quite beautiful. In winter, the Napa hillsides are green, and just after a storm there is a wonderful freshness to everything.

I didn't make it six blocks until I saw the first sign: water bubbling up through a manhole cover. Another block closer to the river, and I saw the first of many stunning sights to behold that morning: a small pond swallowing the street and the basements of a dozen or so homes.

I snaked my way along the edge of the river and the flood, working my way towards downtown. Although the new "neighborhood" ponds kept me from getting too close to the river, I could catch glimpses down the streets. The river was, truly, over its banks.

Most of the year, the Napa River is not a very lively river. In fact, it is quite easy to forget that it is there at all. It is not that pretty, holds a great deal of mud, has deep and wide banks, the river itself is usually only about twenty yards wide, and it actually flows backwards for part of the day, as it is affected by the tides.

That tidal aspect to the river was the icing on the cake in this past weekend. High tide was at 1pm on Saturday, precisely when the runoff from the Napa watershed was peaking, and precisely when I was on my run. The river had filled its banks, was a hundred yards wide, was raging by, filled with debris, and—as even CNN reported—had overrun a good chunk of downtown.

The sunshine made it all the more stunning. Here was a beautiful Napa day—the first one in a week, at that—and people were eager to get out, to take their dogs for a walk, to get some exercise. There we all were, on the First Street Bridge, camcorders and picture phones in hand, looking at a solid four square miles of downtown that were underwater.

The railroad tracks and the bottom half of the wine train cars had disappeared below the surface of the water. The river now rushed through the movie theater, four feet above the bottom of the doors. The windshield of a lone car poked up in what was previously a parking lot for downtown. It was hard to tell where the river was supposed to be going, as it seemed to be going where it damn well pleased.

( I found these incredible photos online .)

They say a thousand homes got hit, as well as a couple dozen businesses downtown. Devastating as it was, I kept thinking of Katrina and the scope of that disaster. Not that such a comparison is any consolation to those Napkins who, on Sunday, had to shovel mud, debris, ruined couches, and broken refrigerators out of their lower floors. It is also not much consolation to those businesses that missed out on New Year's Eve, which is typically a financial slam-dunk for restaurants around here. Even for those establishments that were not underwater, most of the main roads around Napa were closed, so neither customers nor employees could get to the dining room.

Many have called to ask about me and to inquire about the impact on the vineyards. My answer to the former is that my house is on higher ground, and luckily my family and my wine are unharmed. The answer to the latter is that I don't think, at this stage, the vines really care about all this water.

I sat through a similar deluge when El Nino hit Chalone in 1997. I spent four glorious days cut off from the rest of the world when the only road washed out. It's not a bad place to be stranded: a winery with a generator and a really big cellar. I'll add that that little flood actually led to me meeting my wife, as she—a park ranger—was later stationed at the entrance to the National Park next door to keep people out, and I was determined to get in. As for the vines, even those that were under water for days, they slept through the entire affair and awoke the following spring none the wiser. I expect the same will go for Napa.

So, the Napa flood is a disaster, and a shocking one to see at that. But hopefully it is limited in its scope. Napa has experience with this: the river flooded last in 1986, and much more frequently before that. I suspect the town and people will bounce back quite quickly. There's a huge flood-control project underway downtown that is about halfway finished. Apparently, some of that progress helped control things this time around (although I've heard a few citizens complain that it moved the flood into areas that previously didn't flood).

On other notes—wine related notes—the caves are high above any flooding. Although the few fissures in the cave walls that leak during typical winter rains are dripping with a bit more frequency, overall the barrels are completely unaware of the inclement weather. The 2005 Pinot has officially been "put to bed." I confirmed malo-lactic was finished and protected both lots with sulfur just days before heading back to Kansas for Christmas. Another month, when the wines adjust to the sulfur, and we'll start getting a bead on just how great this vintage is.

As for our trip to Kansas, I'll save that for another plog. It was quite fun to expose our son Owen to the roots of his family. He even met his great-grandmother, original owner of the truck itself.