A Masterpiece: A Perfect Row of Vines

In the six years we've been writing about winemaking then grape growing these pages have recounted countless mistakes, obstacles and disasters which is to be expected as I have no natural ability to succeed at such endeavors as make wine or farm land. But as I tied and primed a row of newer Aglianico vines on Sunday I observed something I've rarely seen before and certainly never recounted on these pages: a row of perfect vines. Well balanced, with good plumbing. Well formed, with no mildew nor mold. These are vines we did by the book. After the first year, we pruned them back to two buds just above the ground, so that last year they sent out strong shoots we could lay down as cordons. In this particular row, we decided to train one arm, a single cordon, for straight plumbing. As these vines enter their third year now, they are picture perfect. A success story. A masterpiece. Next quest: the perfect glass of wine. On that score, I was inspired this week by Andrew Lloyd Weber. I'm dreaming of creating a "Phantom" wine, whomsoever drinks of it will experience the full power of a love that never dies. Would you share a glass?

Hey, What's That Green Stuff?

Something is rotten in the state of Blue-Merle Country. A greenish, blackish moldy substance, which I might be pleased to see in blue cheese or a penicillin petri dish, is growing on the vines right where the woolly cotton buds are bulging in preparation of sending forth new shoots. I'm wondering if this is good stuff or bad stuff and in the worst case what impact this might have on the grapes and how am I ever going to control it?

It so happened that a county agricultural inspector was out our way and I asked her about it. She said all the rain and moisture we've been having has encouraged fungus to grow (which makes sense because this is the wettest I've seen it in the 3 years since we planted the vines). We've had 13.7" of rain season to date, with more on the way later this month. Her thought was once the weather warmed up the fungus would dry and fade away. (If only it were that easy.)

I took a picture of the growth and sent it to Pete Anderson, a vine expert in San Diego and always willing to offer advice. Here's what he said:

"There are three types of fungi that invade our vines: uncinula necator (powdery mildew); aspergillus niger (black fungus); penicillium (green or blue fungus). I have all three in my small vineyard. Treat it like powdery mildew; use the oil to eradicate."

I wonder if Pete brought us the penicillium during his last visit? Well, now that the county inspector has paid us a visit it's legal for us to purchase and use organic stylet oil to try and control it. I'm also thinking about pumping milk from some neighboring goats to make cheese.

Sweet Grapes, Salty Grapes but Never Sour Grapes

"I want to buy lots of grapes this year," she said, "Lots!"
"Whose going to make the wine?"

"I will."

In mid-August, a long, long time ago, we cut water to the vines in the final stage before harvest to encourage final ripening. The sugars in the grapes were rising steadily and the Tempranillo would be ready for picking in two weeks with the rest of the vineyard following a couple of weeks later in mid-September. Then it struck: a massive heat wave with temperatures approaching 100 degrees and while I kept my eye on the Tempranillo the sugars in the Zinfandel shot up with the once plump grapes turning into soft raisins and prunes. I took a sample of 100 berries to measure the sugar. 26 brix: Too high! I turned on the water in a futile attempt to slow down the ripening and decided to harvest the next day, two weeks ahead of our plan.

No time for picking party. No time for vineyard blessing ceremony. No time to be the perfect host to our friends from France who had just arrived for a relaxing vacation. I sent out an SOS call to the neighbors. It's time.

Merlot Mike said he'd bring the Gator, but called back later to say he had promised to make sandwiches for the tea ladies and could only come for an hour. Coyote Karen was harvesting her own grapes and couldn't help. I didn't have the number for Rodrigo or Augustine. And, as I did my best to spend time with our dear friends from France I wasn't on the phone as I should have been recruiting help for the next day. Well, I thought, being French and the Kings of Wine they ought to be expert pickers and two more bodies would be needed.

At midnight on the last Saturday in August 2009, I sent an email requesting a blessing to our patron the Bishop and pledged a tithe from the harvest. Bluey and I then hiked up into the vineyard holding a solar powered accent light, said our prayers , banged the ground with a shovel to clear away the rattlesnakes (it must have been close to 90 degrees outside, even at that hour) and began the first night harvest (and the inaugural harvest) in the history of the Blue-Merle Vineyard. We worked for an hour, gathered 50 lbs. and returned with our fingers and paws intact. (Friends, it's hard to pick grapes at night with a flashlight. The dog has trouble holding it steady. Next time we'll use miners' helmets.)

At dawn, as I prepared to head back into the vineyard, Snakeman James arrived. He had cleared a monster rattler earlier that summer. "Sorry I'm late. I got your message last night after getting back from an evening with the Commander. Afraid we enjoyed ourselves a bit too much."

"You are our cavalry and savior. Good to see you. Welcome aboard!" I saluted him and gave him a quick lesson in grape picking 101 (rule #1: Don't clip your finger), then sent him on his mission.

Then the neighbors above us Peter & Pam arrived. I hugged her and shook his hand, grateful for the help.

The Queen awoke from her slumber. "I'm calling Fidel."

"You're what?" She hates Fidel.

"It doesn't matter. You can't do this by yourself. You need more people." So she called her enemy who takes Sunday's off. No, he couldn't help. But he gave her Augustine's number. It was 7am by this time. I called Augustine, and he didn't sound pleased to hear from me at that hour on a Sunday. Fortunately, I couldn't understand all the names he called me in Spanish (something about madre and carumba). He called Rodrigo and by 8am they arrived and we were rescued. Meantime, Merlot Mike dressed in a sleeveless yellow tank-top arrived with Mark.

"Mike, why is it that you always where a muscle shirt during harvest?"
"I might get lucky."
"I think you wear yellow so the bees will think you're the Queen and won't sting you." Now we were making progress and the grapes were filling the bins and the bins were stacking up. Since the vineyard is on a hillside I just slid them down the hill, like sledding.

The house guests from France made an appearance and went and picked for an hour. Then low and behold Joe the Wino himself showed up (after Merlot Mike had left because he had to go and make tea sandwiches for the tea ladies) with his 4-wheel drive vineyard mobile and the grapes were coming in and we got the press cranked up and found out the chute didn't function properly (in fact, the stand I was given had no chute) and grape juice started splattering out all over the place except where it was supposed to go but by 1pm we were done and the French guests were back in their chambre resting and the Tempranillo and the Zinfandel had been crushed and everyone was a hero and we were so grateful because we couldn't have done it alone. It was not well planned but we did what we could do to get the grapes in and we survived and more than five months later (in early March as I edit the final verses) the wines have been settling in the barrels and for three-year-old vines the wine is tasting pretty good and I'm pleased and Bluey gives them four licks. In fact, the wine is tasting damn good. That was the first pick and crush of the season and just the beginning.

"I want to make a lot of wine this year," the Queen announced. She said this with the same authority she used 10 years ago when she woke up one Sunday and said we're bringing the children to Church. You couldn't argue against it. I tried to reason with her.

"Who's going to make it?" I asked, knowing it would be me. It takes a lot of work to make lots of wine. She's a 98 lbs. weakling and takes showers and sprays herself with Channel No. 5 before going into the vineyard. She's a vineyardista who doesn't get her hands dirty.

"I will," she said. Yeah right, I thought. "Call Pete right now and ask him for grapes," she commanded. "I want one ton of Nebbiolo and a ton of Montepulciano. I really like Montepulciano."

"How about Agliancio?" We gave up on our own Aglianico grapes this year. Too much mildew damage.

"Yes, that too." So I got on the phone left messages and sent emails and was somewhat surprised it being late in the season when I got the response that our orders had been confirmed.

"Our orders?" I asked. "I was asking if they were available."

"Don't you want them?" Pete asked.

"OK, we'll take them."

Merlot Mike called, "How much Merlot do you want this year?"

"Mike, I've got so many grapes coming in I don't know what to do."

"OK, that's fine. We have too many buyers and not enough grapes and I wanted to give you first shot."

A week later Paso Robles Bill called. "Craig, do you want any Paso grapes this year?" Well the Queen was getting her grapes and how could I give up an option to purchase grapes from Paso Robles, one of my favorite wine making regions. It was the first sign I might be catching "crazy lady disease," most likely infected by our neighbor Coyote Karen who broke every zoning law in the county and every federal regulation protecting wetlands by putting a 40' container in her front yard to house her winemaking operation.

Then there was the annual trip to Valley Center with Merlot Mike to pick the Petit Sirah. "Mike, do you want me to drive up there to test the grapes before harvest?"

"No need to. Don's tested them. Says they're 24 brix. We get them on Sunday."

"Sunday? I won't be here. I need to go to Texas on business."

The Queen said, "I'll go. I can do it."

"Well, you'll have to. I'll be out of town. Be careful what you wish for."

So with me out of town, our women folk stayed behind and harvested the grapes and put the must on ice until I got back. First thing I did was test the grapes. 22.5 brix. Only, 22.5 brix. You don't make bold, award winning kick ass wine with low sugar grapes. I was disappointed but only had myself to blame. Oh well, I'll blend it with some other grapes and it will be fine, I thought. Never again, I said. Next time, I'll do the testing myself.

Crazy Lady Disease is a funny thing. It starts with planting a few vines. The next symptom is you plant a few acres. And the next stage is when you get a container and put it in your front yard and the property values in the neighborhood start to plummet. It happened to Coyote Karen. According to the Centers for Disease Control, the disease can mutate and cross genders.

We had reached the point where we'd had just about all the grape picking, feet stamping and pressing this crush season when Celestial Sandra called and asked, "Would you like our Brunello?" Without hesitation I said yes. She had negotiated this contract with a grower (Bill Schweitzer) in the Ramona AVA for his famed Sangiovese clone of Italy's Brunello grape. We aren't supposed to call it Brunello or the Italian Carabinieri will descend upon our winery and confiscate all the goods, so let's refer to it as "Bluenello" after Bluey, the Blue-Merle Australian cellar master, and yes, a canine, who accompanied us on this most beautiful of picks, him chasing Coyote scat while the Queen and I brought both of our cars to haul away 500 lbs. of grapes. Bill himself was there to greet us with a smile. I hadn't seen him since the great fires of 2007 about which he observed "a vineyard makes a pretty good fire break" and it's a good thing. His residence overlooks the vineyard and a magnificent valley. It's not work to go there. It's a vacation. I could have been in Tuscany, picking these grapes. But I was just 25 miles from home, and when we got back to the ranch I did my measurements which confirmed what I had been afraid of. The grapes didn't taste very sweet when we picked and I sighed as I read the hydrometer: 22 brix. Not ripe at all and I only had myself to blame. Oh well, I'll blend it with some other grapes and make a Super Italian wine, I thought.

After all that effort negotiating that contract and after all the awards they had won making Bluenello in past years, why would the ladies suddenly give it up? Was there tension fermenting beneath the smiles? Were the hours of backbreaking winemaking leading to a quarrel? Was a long-term friendship being tested? Were there sour grapes? The warning signs were there, but those two grape gals had been friends too long to let a little grape juice come between them. There might be a batch of wine or two that turns into vinegar but not a friendship, not in Blue Merle Country.

Next up, the Petit Verdot harvest, the varietal that's so fragrant the ladies of Blue-Merle Country want to spray it on instead of Coco Channel. The 2007 Petit Verdot was so fragrant Salude Scents is figuring out a way to bottle it. For the 2008 vintage, we improved the flavor and complexity by harvesting the grapes a bit later. And for 2009, we tried to harvest even later. This was our third year harvesting at Arroyo Dulce vineyard and we have the routine down and the nubile maidens from the local community college came out and did a foot stomping while Bluey picked up remnants of grape bunches between the rows.

Now grapes for a dog is like rat poison for a human. And by evening he was moving kind of slow and in the morning I thought he was a goner and the least we could do was rush him to the emergency room of the pet hospital. Here we are making some of the finest wine in the region and the trade off is your dog. Bluey is a grape fiend and although we enrolled him in a 12-step grapes anonymous program he fell off the wagon.

We think we're living in a dream world planting vineyards, picking grapes and making wine and then your dog who'd rather chew a grape than a filet minion is in the emergency room, Coyote Karen and Celestial Sandra are about to screech at each other like two felines in heat and I read this story about a couple living an ideal life in winemaking country and the whole thing ends in divorce just as there are tanks of wine and boxes of bottled wine filling up every nick and corner of their house and garage needing to be sold.

This is not easy. I used to say "the family that makes wine together sticks together." On the other hand, the tensions can tear relationships apart. So, I'll refine that to say that the family that makes wine together and sticks together can stick through anything.

The tests showed Bluey's liver was still functioning and he started recovering the moment we took him to the doctor and pulled out the credit card; Sandra and Karen patched things up and the gal who lost her winery to divorce has bounced back and is writing a book about the experience.

Next up were the Guadeloupe grapes, which have yielded some of the best Nebbiolo in the world. There's one word to describe how the Mexican grapes came out this year: salty.
"They're always salty," Pete explained. "You must have the ability to discern the salty taste" he said of my taste buds. That's great, make me the official taste tester, but before committing to buying the grapes. I insisted I had never tasted a hint of salt in the dream 2006 vintage. Ah well, sweet grapes, salty grapes, but never sour grapes. We made the wine, and we'll see how it comes out.

Next up, Paso Robles Bill with the Paso Robles grapes. By this time, everything was organized. We had the crews. We had the trucks. And the Queen was supervising everything. In fact, I was out of town while the Baja grapes were fermenting away and I left the 98 lbs. weakling in charge of punching the cap down and even pressing the juice and it ends up that she pressed more wine than Coyote Karen from the same amount of grapes. Imagine that!

We bit off about as much as we could chew with the Paso Robles grapes and all the crew was there including Fidel, Augustine, Rodrigo and Rodrigo's son (we let Karen hire Fidel). After we finished crushing at our place we went over to the Coyote's to check on things and to help out. (Now it ends up that the Paso grapes were "overripe" and the pH was too high. If you recall we had other grapes that were "under ripe", so by blending we may just come out with something just right.)

As we shoveled the grapes we heard a band in the distance strike up a tune.

"Sounds like someone's having a party," I said.

"Joe the Wino's son is getting married," said Coyote.

"What, Joe's son is getting married? Fidel, what are you doing here? Weren't you invited?" I asked.

"No," he replied. I was incredulous. "You should be over there celebrating Fidel. You practically built that estate," I said.

"Only family was invited," said Coyote.

"Well, if the Godfather could invite Luca Brasi to his daughter's wedding couldn't Joe the Wino invite Fidel to his son's wedding?"

Well, mi casa es su casa and family is family and even if we're not technically family we always felt like we were family out there planting vines and tending the vineyard and picking grapes with Joe and drinking wine with him and joking about getting naked after drinking 1.2 bottles of wine.

"Fidel," I said, "When my daughter gets married, I'm inviting you to the wedding. But, behave yourself, you rascal."

Our work was slowed by picking out leaves from the grapes and everyone was complaining about how slow we were. I became the chief leaf picker and Augustine had a pitchfork and that pitchfork was working very close to my hands and my eyes but I trusted him and we did the best we could picking out the leaves and pitchforking the grapes and dropping them off the flatbed truck directly into the crusher destemmer while the Coyote put on lipstick and supervised. As she powdered her nose a 32-gallon juice filled container on wheels demonstrated Newton's laws of physics and started rolling down the driveway when Augustine leaped from the truck with exclamations in Spanish I don't comprehend and put himself between that rolling container of grape juice and a ravine and kept it from spilling. This time.

The runaway container was a clue to a mystery: How is that with 1,200 lbs. of Nebbiolo grapes our Queen was able to extract 77 gallons of wine not knowing how to use a press while the Coyote, an Amazon woman with the power to press stronger then Merlot Mike and Muleman Jim, barely got 60 gallons? Was she short shipped? Did Fidel spill a container of wine? Did a container careen down the hill? Or, did Fidel, that rascal, siphon off a few gallons to bootleg to Tijuana for a Friday night soiree with a cute senorita?

I suspect an accident. I was a victim of a similar incident as we transferred a ton of grapes from the bottom of our driveway up to the winery. The pickup truck couldn't negotiate the hill so Rodrigo and Armando bucketed grapes from the immense pickbin into smaller containers and then trucked these up the hill to the crush pad. And while I poured grapes into the machine, I heard for the first time that day exclamations in the Mexican tongue I had not heard since I called Rodrigo at 7am on the first harvest day and looked over to see a pickup truck halfway up the driveway with two containers of Paso Robles grapes on the ground and a stream of purple juice flowing down the pavement. Spilled grapes. No sour grapes. "Just pick them up, and hose it down." No use crying over spilled grapes.

We were back on the stake-bed truck and the afternoon was waxing on and Paso Robles Bill was making noises about how slow we were and I was picking leaves and Augustine reached in to pick up a leave and for the 3rd time that afternoon I heard such expressions of the Mexican language that I didn't understand. He had been stung by a yellow jacket.

"No big deal," said Fidel. "I got stung so many times the other day."
"It's OK, it's OK," said Augustine.
"Fidel, you deserve it. But not Augustine," I said, tending to my friend.

We finally finished and we divided up the grape juice and Fidel was pushing the container up the driveway of Coyote Oaks. "Come help me," he called.

"What's the matter? Can't you push that uphill yourself?" I kidded.

I went to help and we pushed the juice up the incline and a yellow jacket landed on my left pinkie and stung me and I let fly an expletive Fidel heard from me for the first time that day.

"What happened?"
"I just got hit by a bee that was aiming for you!" I said.
"You deserve it," he said.
"Why?"
"Because you said I deserved it." I detected his feelings had been hurt. A complaining, no good, cheating son of a bitch with feelings. And he was right, I did deserve it.
"Amigo!" I said. I took his hand and shook it.

At work the next week I was in a meeting with a client and Joe the Wino brought some empty cases of wine into my office (I work for Joe at his high tech company). "Thank you Joe," I said and explained to my client that he was witnessing a case of "trickle down economics." I sell millions of dollars of software for Joe and Joe gives me his discarded empty wine cartons, which I recycle by sending wine to friends. The system works and that's what makes America great. But Joe is pissed as hell because his taxes are going up and he keeps threatening that when health insurance reform passes he's going to cancel our insurance plans so we can go on the government plan.

That weekend back at the ranch the crush is finished and for the first time since the end of August we can relax. The full moon of Halloween Eve is rising and the Queen and the Coyote and Bluey and their servant (me) are enjoying a glass of wine looking at the sun set behind Catalina Island out there in the Pacific.

For the fifth time since Michelle Obama become First Lady and was so proud of America I was even more proud of my wife. She was a winemaker. She supervised the harvest and the crush of the Valley Center Petit Sirah. She supervised the crush of the salty Nebbiolo. She managed the pick up of the Montepulciano and the Aglianico when I was called into important meetings. She pressed the Nebbiolo by herfself and got 75 gallons from the press (while Coyote Karen got less). And, while I was at work, she pressed most of the Monty, the Ugly, the Moudvedre and the Cabernet Franc by herself. And, she even caught her first gopher. Well, if I could teach her how to rack wine, I'd be home free. She said she would do it and she did it.

"Follow me. I want to show you something." And in the amber light under the full moon of Halloween, following the same path that Bluey and I took when we picked grapes under the full moon at the end of August, I lead the two ladies to a spot where I had set a ceramic tile of a blue-moon onto the retaining wall and we drank the wine like water and admired the moonwine and life was good.

The crush season is over and we made it and we're thinking never again but it's a funny thing about that crazy lady disease. It goes into remission until next harvest season and erupts with a vengeance. I haven't heard from Coyote Karen in a while. I wonder if she's in Canada trying to score some frozen grapes to make ice wine?

The Daily Mouse

Those of a certain age will remember a tune by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young that begins, "Our house, has a very, very, very nice mouse...." Have you noticed since the movie Julie & Julia came out all of your cuisineista friends can't resist dicing bushels of onions and cooking gourmet chicken? It's the same with the mice in our neighborhood who saw the movie Ratatouille. They're donning little French berets, speaking with French accents and acting like vineyardistos among the vines discussing Dr. Guyot's pruning techniques and Dr. Durif's grape inventions. And, at the first sign of rain of which there's been plenty this year of the El Nino the mice jump the sinking ship of the vineyard plunging into the life raft of the winemaker's garage in search of refuge and a taste of the Blue-Merle's "Merleatage". Our routine each morning has become quite familiar. Put espresso on, take dog out, pick up newspapers at end of driveway, pick up mouse, keep barking dog from devouring carcass, admire cute look on mouse's face, dispose of properly, reset trap. Repeat.

Spring Training: First Shoots

For me, Spring Training in the vineyard is when the rookie vines show up and tentatively throw the first green shoots. The timing this year is particularly auspicious as the recession is officially over and the stock market is up and green shoots are sprouting all over the economy. As the economy goes so goes the vineyard. All the pruning is done, mostly. All the dormant spraying is done, mostly. And the first shoots of false bud break, just like false spring, have arrived. 8 days ago we began a heat wave where temperatures shot up and over 70 F degrees most days, but sanity and cool temperatures and rain returned on Friday evening (without intervention from the Federal Reserve), and more rain is in the forecast tomorrow and for next week. (And yes, we're freezing in our hovels again, so don't be jealous of the backcountry people in San Diego -- we're shivering just as much as you are; at least we think we are and it feels that way.) Real bud break, when the star vines show up and send forth their arching tendrils skyward and real Spring are due next month and Opening Day not long after that. Meantime, let it rain, let it rain, let it rain.

2010 Vineyard Log

The annual vineyard log coincides with the beginning of the rainy season, after irrigation has been cut in the Fall. Here is a record of the 2010 Vineyard Year from November 1, 2009 to date. (I use this page for internal use: no stories about Joe the Wino, Coyote Karen and Merlot Mike. They will return soon with a vengeance in upcoming posts).

To do reminders: Contact Frank Bons from Sunfresh Vineyards about contracting for a spraying program.

Nov. 1st, 2009: Last watering (heat wave week before prompted a last watering).

Nov. 23rd. 25 yards compost arrived, dumped, miraculously, through back gate, without damage to driver, gate or me. Supplied by Agriservice.

Nov. 28th: First Rain, quarter inch. Deliver compost to Grenache, Aglianico, some Zinfandel.

Dec. 7th: Major rain. A howling storm. A real soaker. 1.5" (Rainfall season to date: 1.75 inches.) Deliver compost to remainder of Zinfandel, some Tempranillo.

Dec. 11th. Light rain in morning (1/16") Shower in afternoon. Followed soon after by another soaker (about 1.5" total rainfall for this rain event. Season to date: 3.25")

Dec. 28th. Slight dusting of rain (1/16"). January heat wave... temperatures from

January Heat Wave: Jan. 1 - Jan. 15th reach high 60s most days. Ground drying out, but rain on the way Jan. 17th.

January Deluge: Jan. 18th (1.75"); Jan 19th (.5" and tornado warning); Jan 20th (1.75"); Jan 21 (1.75"); Jan. 22 (1.5")

Gopher Bowl: As of January 15th, gophers 3 (they got a fig tree, a beloved Kennedy rose, one vine); Farmer's: 5 gophers (the Queen has caught 3 of the 5). Total: 7 gophers caught as of Feb. 19. (Would like to get 3 more pesky ones.)

January 11th: Pruned first row of Grenache. No sap in the vines, so pruning should be fine. (Frank Bons seems to have pruned his vineyard the first week in January, which seems early.) Will begin pruning in earnest from January 15th, with goal of finishing by February 15th and then hitting with dormant spray and oil.

January 23rd, pruning in earnest. This time after rain, sap comes out. Finished most pruning end of January. Mistake: should have sprayed right away.

February 6th, 1" rain. Rainfall season to date: 11.56 inches El Nino has been declared.

Applied organic JMS stylet oil and dormant spray (lime sulpher) to about 1/2 vineyard Feb. 7 & 8th. There is green "mold" on some of the spurs. Frank not available; did it ourselves to get it done quickly. Finished spraying weekend of Feb. 14th. (except for 3 rows of Zinfandel.) 10 pints of lime sulfur used; 64 oz stylet oil used. Round up used on sprouting foxtails on some outer areas.

Feb 8th. Winery bond approved by TTB. Next: label, then CA ABC.

Feb. 9th .5" rain. Rainfall season to date: 12.06 inches

Heatwave! February 12 - February 18, with daily high temperatures above 70 degrees, one day in the high 70s. Ground is drying out on the surface (although plenty of moisture down under). First bud burst of a small, thin, Petit Sirah vine, but that's the only one. A few more days like this and we'll be in real bud burst and the rattlers will start rattling.

We didn't count exactly how many pounds of canes were pruned, but here's an estimate. 30 bales of canes @ 20 lbs. each = 600 lbs. Delivered the bales of sticks to the curbside where the "recycle" trucks picked them up.

Feb. 19 - 20 weed watering rain of 1/8". Year to date: 12.2 inches. First bud break showing among smaller, thinner Petit Sirah vines and a few of the Aglianicos. Another .2" of rain. Total is 12.4"

Feb. 21st -- Caught gopher in upper Grenache block, 8 down.

Feb. 27th -- 1" rain (13.4" year to date) and another gopher (gazebo area) 9 gophers YTD. Started tying vines. This has been the most rain we've had since we planted the vineyard 3 years ago. Hopefully we'll get a couple of more storms, and we'll be able to significantly delay irrigation this year.

Feb 27 -- Caught gopher in Gazebo area (9 gophers season to date).

March 6th rain .33" (13.73" year to date) -- wet weather continuing over the weekend; sprinkles. Came across first young rattlesnake while thinning out weeds top of the hill. Scooped him into a bucket, then a purple pick bin and released in a nearby canyon. March heat wave. We had a week in March were temperatures hit 80 in the vineyard. Bud break mid-March.

April 1st rain was mist so doesn't count. April 5th rain gave us 1/8th inch (13.85" year to date). Caught two gophers this week, both caught on the first try I might add (11 gophers season to date). All barrels of wine topped and accounted for; the super Italian blend of "Blunello" and Petit Verdot is surprising good. Bluey ate a dead rat up by the avocados. April 10th ... first Petit Sirah shoots hit top wire. There is a group of 3rd leaf vines (our new vines) that are still dormant and we're worried about them... they are a different rootstock so we're wondering if they're just sleeping, or damaged by something we did?

April 12th, 1/2" of rain (14.35" year to date). Caught 2 gophers (13 year to date). Protea flowers (yellow pincushions) in full bloom this week. Paying attention to mildew index (days where temperature is between 70 - 85 F degrees for 6 hours). Frank scheduled to spray vineyard with Rubigan on April 21. "Bottom" of vineyard is very green; however, some Tempranillo vines up the hill seem stressed and I may need to water. A few vines seemed "burned" from application of too much dormant spray. About 5 vines are still "dormant" (are they dead or resting?)

April 18th (evening) 1/32" rain bringing total to 14.38" year to date... Monday 19th is 3rd day in row of 6 hours+ of 70 degree days (mildew explosion). Another storm on the way. Caught gopher by Peggy Palm/olive tree (14th this year). Shoots of Aglianico vines starting to look good.

The last April storm brought a little over 1.5" of rain. So, year to date, I'm going to call it 15" of rain (which is about twice as much as last year). As we headed into May, the vines are vigorous, and there's no need to irrigate, except for admire treatment.

We sprayed Rubigan on May 5th (during a time of high mildew pressure) but the weather turned cool and we passed the 3 week mark without needing to spray again. On May 28th (Sat. of Memorial Day Weekend), we start with the mildew index at zero, but it's definitely warmed up today. If it continues, we'll need to spray the first day of June.

There are pesky gophers in the upper Grenache, the lower Tempranillo and by the lower Aglianico. We did catch one at the lower Grenache (#15 of year); a snake "of extreme interest" spotted in squirrel hole of viaduct; it's skin spotted one week later.

Admire treatment (with about 1 hour irrigation) done May 19th to keep sharpshooters away. 1 oz on Zinfandel, Grenache blocks. 2 oz on the rest.

Trying to thin some "laterals" that are coming out.

2nd spraying done June 10th by Staley Grove Management using 2 guys with powered backback sprayers, arriving at 6:30 am and finishing before 10 am. Sprayed Rally. Had been heavy mildew pressure. Frank unable to come the week before, which would have been perfect timing for spraying. Alas, as we were late by 1 week from ideal spray date, Al noticed some mildew in Grenache; that seems to be under control. However, I discovered an "infestation" in the Aglianico vines to the left of and behind the shed at the top of the hill. Since Rally is a "protectorate", with a hand backpack sprayer I sprayed organic JMS Stylet Oil (1% dilution). As I inspected the rest of the Aglianico block, I noticed signs of mildew, so ended up spraying all Aglianico vines with Stylet oil, finished June 17th. No other signs of mildew in other parts of vineyard.

As of June 20th, seems to be very good fruit set in most Petit Sirah, Tempranillo and Zinfandel. About 1/2 of the Aglianico has good fruit set. About 1/2 of the Grenache has good fruit suit. I'm going to guess we harvest close to 1,000 lbs of Petit Sirah.

As of June 20th, it still hasn't been necessary to irrigate (except for the admire treatment). There is strong vigor showing in most vines (too strong, in fact), which has lead to continued lateral thinning trying to keep the canopy open. I topped approximately 10 vines that were way overgrown (partly as an experiment to see what will happen). We used 13 units of water in the reading at the beginning of June, finishing the fiscal water year with 100 units as a "carryover allowance", which in reality doesn't carry over. Today, examining the top 3 rows of Tempranillo, those vines beginning to show some signs of stress, so watered those vines for 1 hour (approximately 2 gallons/plant). We caught two gophers this week (YTD total 16, with gopher pressure in the upper Grenache area). Two covies of quail have been making treks onto the property (Western Grenache, adjacent to the wild, wooded area), and the northern front of the property. Have not seen the snake; interestingly, the hole he occupied has been filled in. Very strange. Frank schedule to come on June 24th for a spraying (which will be a 2 week interval). For the days June 14 - June 20th, high mildew pressure (it's at 100).

It must have been one of the coolest June's on record, and July (up to the 10th) is cool as well. Thick, damp fog most mornings. Frank unable to spray July 8 - 9 (2 weeks) so we're scrambling, although it's been cool last 4 days and mildew index is about 60. I'm scrambling. Have been using organic JMS Stylet Oil to do spot spraying where mildew has popped up. In the begging of July, I started "hedging" some overgrown areas, to let more light in (and improve air flow).

On June 27th began irrigating the upper Tempranillo and Zinfandel (some Zin are showing some signs of stress as of July 10th). Those blocks irrigating each week since June 27th.

Irrigated most of the rest of the vineyard July 4th (except for vigorous Tempranillo at bottom of hill, two rows of Grenache). Veraison started on Durif July 4th weekend and "wood" forming on some of the canes of Durif and Zinfandel.

The Aglianico at the top of the hill by the shed are totally infested with mildew, overgrown and I'm ready to give up on them this year (whack them back) and start again next year with improved trellis system (to better manage the canopy). The vines are too close up there and it's an excellent example of how NOT to design a vineyard. (Fortunately, it's just a small block of ours.)

Petit Sirah is showing excellent grape formation. Tempranillo is pretty good mostly (as of July 10th); Zin is pretty good; lots of chicks and hens on about 1/2 of the Grenache (this is not good); Aglianico grape formation is so-so. The Durif grape clusters are small ... will plan on an early spot harvest to catch them.

On Making Wine and Turkey

And how is it that making wine and butchering a turkey are similar? They both start with a lot of preparation and finish with a big water hosedown. Both use a big blue container, a destemmer-defeatherer and a punch down tool. But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

It was a noble idea to purchase a fresh, organic, corn-hand-fed, heritage turkey for my father, one of the Fighting Gobblers and a true Hokie (the Virginia Tech mascot is a castrated Tom). He recalled the time when as a newspaper delivery boy in Richmond, VA he won a turkey one Thanksgiving and went on his bike to pick it up and was surprised to see a live bird. (That was back in the day, last Century.) He held the flapping gobbler in one hand and the handlebars with the other and cycled home where Grandpa, the Petersburg Kid, knew what to do with a butcher knife. He says it took forever to pluck the feathers. Guess dad didn't know about dunking the bird into boiling water to loosen the feathers, although he knew about dunking birds to baptize them.

Turns out mom & dad had other plans for Christmas this year and the Queen, who wouldn't hesitate to eat a steer from Kobe raised on beer dregs and hand massaged, wanted nothing to do with this bird. "Don't kill him," she warned. "We'll make him a pet. Bluey needs a job and can look after him." This is the same woman who in rational moments says she wants no more pets. So I called Jane, the grower, to discuss the options. Well, as a pet, she said, he wouldn't last long, being favored by bobcats and coyotes who live in these parts, and being raised by hand, wouldn't be able to forge for himself.

I put out a notice "Free Turkey" and if there were no takers would bring him to Tiny Tim at the Interfaith Community Services Shelter. The only responses I got were from animal rights activists to free the bird and an old Lynyrd Skynyrd groupie looking for Freebird (that was back in the day, Last Century.)

The location of Rusty Spur Ranch is just a hilltop over from Blue-Merle Country but it's a world away. There, everyone has at least 40 acres to work with and raising livestock is as common as a flower garden in the suburbs. From there, jump just one more hilltop over and the next thing you know you're in Montana.

When Jane went to the pen at o'dark hundred she found ice on the birds' waterhole. Tom, whose ears were pinging, instinctively knew it was time and as she opened the dog crate for the ride to the butcher's the Dodger flew the coop. She called me with the news, "You're bird's escaped, but...."

"That's great! I was going to pay you not to kill him."

"I grabbed him by his tail feathers before he could go too far and wrestled him into the cage."

I was disappointed. Tom's escape would have solved my dilemma. "Listen, my wife, the Japanese Buddhist who loves to chomp on Kobe Beef, has found religion and wants nothing to do with this bird."

"Does she eat store bought turkey?"

"That's not the point. She's not a vegetarian. There's one thing I've learned in life: There are times when you need to listen to your wife. Let me pay you for him to keep him alive. Don't you need to keep one Tom as a stud?"

"I already have a stud. Let me tell you, I raised these birds by hand. I'm their mother hen. I love these animals. They roam freely. This is the best turkey you've ever had. I'll never eat store bought meat again. If you saw their operations you'd be horrified."

"OK, OK, I'll see you there." So I got in the car and drove through winding country roads and open vistas enjoying the sunrise on the shortest day and as I got to the other side began thinking, "I'm not in California any more." Or, perhaps I had gone back in time to the real California, where people grew their own, made their own, ate their own. Jane, with still a bit of city slicker blood in her veins and not being able to stand the sight of too much of it had hired a butcher to do "the deed." We met at Paul's 40-acre property, the sacrificial grounds being in a valley at the bottom of the hill with crisp ice covering water puddles and a plowed field surrounded by hills and acres of oaks, lemons and avocados. "I'm just a dumb farmer," says the owner about growing avocado trees in an area with only 10 inches of annual rainfall.
"I hear you brother, so am I. I grow grapes."
"Where's your place?"
"In Blue-Merle Country."
"That's just the next hill over," he said, and a world away I thought.

The first order of business was to build a fire to heat up a tin drum of water. The birds will be dunked in the hot water to soften the skin so that feathers pull out easier than clumps of hair from a balding 40 year old.

Next, Paul brought out a blue, polyurethane plastic drum, just like the ones we use for wine storage and fermentation. I soon found out that's where the birds are dropped after their necks are slit. It keeps them from running around flapping their wings with their heads dangling. Made sense to me and from now on when I hear the tapping sound on a plastic drum I'll think of the bird inside like a fish out of water flapping on a boat deck.

Paul's kids and their cousins were there to help build the fire and work the assembly line and I thought of our Princess back at home asleep missing once again something she would never forget. Does this kid really want to join the Peace Corps and work in Africa?

Once we were set up and the water hot we were ready to begin. Paul took a bird from one of the dog cages, straddled it, slit its neck and dropped it in the blue drum. After a few minutes, he picked up the bird and put it into the drum of hot water, taking a punch down tool (today a shovel) keeping the bird under water as if making soup or punching down a cap of rising grapes. After a few minutes, the bird would emerge from its bath and the feathers extract easily. Paul pulled out the large feathers; Jane would take the tail feathers to an archer friend who makes arrows. Next, the defeathering machine. Holding the bird, the machine would strip most of the remaining feathers from the bird; the kids would pull out the rest. At this point, the turkey looked like any fowl you'd purchase at the store except for the feet and dangling head. You could rip the skin off the toes and if there was a black toenail left, that would just either break or pull out (with flashbacks to George Clooney and a torture scene from the movie Syriana).

On the assembly line the kids pulled out the lungs, hearts and kidneys while Paul cut off the feet (a delicacy I learned to enjoy on trips to China and local dim sum restaurants), the neck and extracted the gizzard. The kids had fun hunting for treasure in the gizzard, finding shot gun pellets, wires, but no diamonds. When the birds were cleaned they were thrown into an ice bath to cool, and after we were done washing up Jane and I put the birds into an ice chest and began the climb out of the valley.

After 21 years of marriage I have no reasons left to lie to my wife and when she accused me of killing the turkey I told her honestly, "I did not kill that bird." I did, however, admit to plucking a few of them and making a video of the event for those of you who live in the city or the suburbs and dream of a life among the vines, growing your own, making your own, drinking your own wine, and eating your own turkeys. As she stormed into the garage to fetch the golf club we use as a punch down tool for grapes to punch me down I remembered she also keeps her samurai sword in the same place so Bluey and I headed up the hill to fork loads of compost and to let her settle down, while among the silence of the vines, we heard the wife's song turn into sweet wine.

Storm of Shakespearean Proportions

"Tom's a cold. Tom's a cold!" I called out as the season's first rain turned to hail. Soaked to the bone I meandered through the vineyard inspecting the flow of water, taking note of areas to patch. Oh, Tom's a cold, and I thought of old Tom Turkey trying to stay warm, huddling next to the hens. Over 80 degrees just two days ago on Turkey Day, Tom basting himself in the sun's warm rays among his harem. And now this. What a fall from fortune. 80 to zero in two days oh Tom's a cold! I thought of King Lear out in a raging storm spurned by ungrateful daughters and I, a Lear-like pauper, ignored by our Princess last week in the "Special Thanks" program of her play, "To The Men I've Dated: A Tribute." No tribute to the parents. Not a tribute to her dog. There are thanks to Judy (for ongoing support), and thanks to Katie (for the lights) and thanks to Caroline (for the sound), and thanks to Bryan (for the summer -- what's that about?). But where are the thanks to Papa, payer of the college tuition, and the bank roller of the production? Where are the thanks to mama, from whose womb she was untimely ripped? "Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks. Rage, blow." I said to Bluey who had followed me loyally into the storm, "Come, Fool!" and we picked up a mouse dead in his trap and carried him to the burying ground. As I dug the shallow grave my shovel hit a a skull which I pulled out and showed to Bluey, "Alas, poor gopher, I knew him Horatio."

My wits began to turn and common sense returned and I asked Bluey, "How dost, my boy? Art cold? I am cold myself." We headed down the hill towards the house, inspecting mounds of compost placed under each vine before the storm. The compost held its ground, and I took the shovel and worked it into the soil, to provide slow nourishment for the year ahead.

It is the beginning of another cycle in the vineyard and the first rain has fallen and the first steps to making the 2010 wines have been taken. Now warmed in the house, and having penned a few lines, it's time to get outside again and take the rake and grate the damp soil and sow annual grass seed as a cover crop. The rackings finished yesterday, siphoning new wine from the dregs of microscopic grape skins and sediment, tasting as I racked, the 2009 wines full of such promise. The sun is coming out and it will be warmer to work outside in the rays moving more compost and raking, scraping the dirt to prepare the soil for the seed as the new growing season begins today, with the first of nature's irrigations, and I take off my jacket as I warm up and start to sweat, faithful dog at my side, imagining Prospero releasing his magic to the vineyard.

(Kind words to our Princess: P.S. we love you. The play's your thing.)

Dad, About That Wine I Sent You ....

Dear Mom & Dad,

You'll find a case of wine waiting for you when you arrive in Connecticut. I truly regret not being able to join you and the Old Gang from France yet again for the annual Thanksgiving feast. Well, someone has to stay home and take care of the dog (excuse me, the Cellar Master), who as you know receives better treatment than your grand-daughter. Besides, this is not the time to take time off from work to travel East, as I fear a storm is on the horizon and it's time to buckle down and be even more productive. For the first time in my life I felt this week I was living on the edge and I'm one person's whim away from becoming an unemployment statistic and then a foreclosure statistic and there I go but for the Grace of God. I do not like this feeling of vulnerability although I know that we could bounce back. We could just move to Oklahoma or Texas or to some shack in California and squat some land and plant a new vineyard and a new life. I suppose there were times you wondered how you would make things meet but being the good parents you were you found a way to provide and we never knew about your concerns. I'll spend Thanksgiving out in the vineyard shoveling the ton of compost that just arrived (just like I used to shovel tons of wood chips for you for $2/hour when I was a kid) and I'll give thanks for having a job and think about ways to gain financial independence. If I held a garage sale and sold all the wine in it at a fair market price I'd have enough cash to pay the mortgage for a year and that would feel like a pretty good cushion. Why don't you mention it to the rich retiree vinophiles from the Old Gang when you see them?

I remember attending Thanksgiving in Connecticut 9 years ago with the Old Gang and Mr. S served a case of Domaine Tempier wine from Bandol, France that he somehow carried home. I remind you that Domaine Tempier's wines are made 100% from the Mouvedre grape so please tell Mr. S that we bought a ton of Mouvedre from Paso Robles and are making a wine in the style of Domaine Tempier (which means barrel aged for 18 months) and we'll call it Lulu in honor of the matriach of that estate. We pressed the wine the other evening and Bluey licked it 5 times which means it's very good and I have to say it is the "sweetest" wine I have ever tasted. I used the hydrometer to test the sugar level which showed -2 brix which is to say it fermented to complete dryness so that sweet taste is not sugar but the amazing fruit of the vine. Since it won't be ready to drink for another 3 years I recommend that you, Mr. S and the rest of the Old Gang keep on trucking so that you may enjoy it your first Thanksgiving as Octogenarians.

About the wine I sent you....the first two bottles are 2006 Nebbiolo. The grapes came from Guadeloupe Valley, Mexico about two hours drive from here. This is the boldest, heartiest wine we have ever made and has been adored by CEOs and Bishops and is worthy of your Thanksgiving meal and we are pleased to share what's left of it with you.

The next three bottles of interest are the 2008 Petit-Petit, a 50-50% blend of Petit Verdot and Petit Sirah. This is better than the 2007 Petit-Petit, which, although delightful, we found lacked a strong finish which kept it from greatness. The 2008 improvements started in the vineyard where we begged the grower to keep the Petit-Verdot grapes on the vines a little longer giving them more sugar than last year (23 brix) and a little more strength. Then, we punched down the fermentation with my favorite golf club, the Jimmy Wood. Next, we blended back in more of the tannins. This is a new wine just bottled 10 weeks ago. It's beginning to show some bottle bouquet. Imagine this wine a year from now. I think you will enjoy it. Please share a bottle with the Old Gang with their appetizers and let them know there are only 23 cases available and we still have one more semester of the Princess' college tuition to pay.

There are two bottles of the 2007 Malbec, which we painstakingly crushed by hand and feet. This is a fun, light wine and may be enjoyed with your meals before Thanksgiving. We blended in 20% Petit Verdot to give it a bit more complexity... the Malbec grapes that year were low in sugar (21.5 brix) so think of this as a fun, delightful wine. It is a true expression of the grape and of the vineyard (there is not much oak).

The 2007 "Bluenello" is interesting and I'd like your opinion about it. Frankly speaking, we don't like this wine very much. Yet, it is an expression of the grape and of the San Diego vineyard it came from. Brunello is a clone of Italy's Sangiovese and the Brunello's from Italy are world-reknowned. I can't call ours Brunello otherwise I'll get an unpleasant visit from the Italian wine police. This wine tastes totally different from any other wine we have made and yet the techniques are the same so don't blame the winemakers. The reason I want your opinion about it it we purchased grapes from the same vineyard again this year and have 48 gallons of 2009 Bluenello. We were disappointed because we were told the grapes were ripe but after harvesting we found the brix to be only 22 (this equates to about 11% alcohol, hardly a bold, expressive wine). As it turned out, we have so many other wines with too high pH's this year so we can blend other wines with this one. I'm thinking of making a Super Tuscan (by blending in some Cabernet Sauvignon) or a Super Italian by blending in Montepuchiano, Nebbiolo and Aglianico (yes, we really did make a lot of wine this year). So let me know what you think and how it could be improved.

Last and least, I threw in a bottle of 2007 Merlot. Alas, this is also a wine we don't like. Not at all. But when you visited us last year and tasted it from the barrel, you said you liked it. (Maybe that was after the 2nd margarita?) Well, if you still like it there are about 50 bottles left and Christmas is coming.

All of the 2009 wines are coming along fine (except for one with strong hints of vegetative green pepper) and they taste fantastic so far and we feel like Spring Training is over and it's Opening Day in the baseball season when there's so much promise. When do you think you and mom will be able to come by for a barrel tasting?

Love,

Bluey, Queen & Craig

(P.S. The pictures top to bottom show: 2008 Petit-Verdot grapes hanging on the vine; crushing the 2008 Petit-Verdot; punching down the cap of the 2008 wines with my favorite golf club; hand-crushing the 2007 Malbec.)

Mouvedre and the Stuck Fermentation

The final puko-puko bubbling of the last fermentations is near and the window of opportunity for dealing with 15-gallons of semi-sweet "stuck" Zinfandel wine is open. Stuck wine is what you get when fermentation stops prematurely and there is residual sugar. It tastes wonderful and I dream of sipping a "Late Harvest Zinfandel" to warm myself on a cool winter night. But bottling a wine with sugar in it is an improvised explosive device. It's just a matter of time before it blows up with unforeseen consequences. Lum told us about his winemaking friend who gave his fiance in New York City a case of wine which she put under the Christmas Tree. The residual sugars in the bottle, disguised as a legion of Trojans inside the horse, blasted through the cork and rampaged through the apartment dying the white carpet burgundy. If she was that upset by this maybe it was a good thing they didn't marry. I had just given Terri a bottle of one week old Tempranillo (still fermenting in the bottle), the first fruits of our first harvest for her to serve her guests at a dinner party, which she forgot to serve and stored in her pantry. After Lum told his story I sent her an e-mail warning, "Terri, you better open that wine outside. It's going to erupt like a shaken can of Coke." She reported that the wine had exploded and redecorated her pantry. Since I'm not engaged to Terri she couldn't break off the marriage but she does have the powers to have me excommunicated from The Church and my only hope is that she knows the word forgiveness. She is the wife of our beloved patron The Bishop. In summary: sugar in table wine is not a good thing and I've got a batch of Zinfandel with 2% sugar. In winemaking terms, we say it's 2 brix.

How is it that a 6th year, semi-experienced winemaker and the author of this authoritative tome on winemaking ended up with his first stuck fermentation? The explanation is simple: I'm married. In late August we were blasted by a heat wave with temperatures over 100 degrees and the sugars shot up in the grapes and we rushed to harvest them as quickly as possible and ended up with Zinfandel at 27.5 brix which after cold soaking for a day in those tasty Zinfandel raisins had risen above 28.5 brix (which has the potential to make a wine about 16% alcohol). That would sure make a Big Red Wine but I also know that as the alcohol increases in a fermentation the yeast don't like that so much and can conk out leaving you with a stuck fermentation and trouble. So I suggested to our Queen that we add a little water to the grape juice to lower the sugar and therefore lower the alcohol so that the wine would be pleasant to drink and wouldn't stick but she protested that she wanted to drink the wine the way it comes out naturally without making any adjustments and so in the middle of the night while Royalty slept I went into the garage and added water to one batch of the grape juice but not to the other and for the record the batch I added water to didn't stick and came out great and the batch without the water (by decree of The Queen) stuck at 5 brix.

As I hadn't yet learned that there are "killer yeasts" that will ferment up to 18% alcohol, I went through the process of hydrating my "regular" yeast and adding some pure grape juice to it to get it going and half a day later added these really happy yeasties to the stuck fermentation and we got it going again and the brix dropped from 5 brix to 2 brix and then stuck again. So what I decided to do (instead of adding Everclear 190 proof alcohol to make a light --less sugar--Port-style wine), was to add the stuck wine to an ongoing, vigorous, fermentation.

(Reflection: If yeast are weakened by alcohol and if spermatozoa are yeast with tails what happens to the manpower of men when they consume alcohol?)

It's near the end of the crush season and we've only got two fermentations left and I made the executive decision this evening to add 5 gallons of the stuck Zinfandel to an active fermentation of Mouvedre (see photo above) and I'm fixing to add the remaining 10 gallons of stuck Zin to a fermentation of Cabernet Franc later this week.

About that Mouvedre... Ten years ago we went to France for my 40th Birthday (this was before The Crash of 2008 when we could borrow from our home equity and vacation in Paris and travel around the world and send our kids to private school and invest in the stock market and Pass Go and do it all again) and stayed in the town of Bandol which is about one hour from Marseilles. The cottage were we sojourned is surrounded by acres and acres of grape vines and each day I got up at sunrise to jog through the vineyards. We drank the local wines everyday and our favorite was Domaine Tempier and we all brought back cases of the wine with us. I realized that the South of France is much like the South of California and we could also grow figs and lavender and oleander (although now I don't like oleander so much because it's so poisonous) and play petanq and realized France is far away and all you ever really need in life you can find in your own backyard and like Dorthy from the Wizard of Oz (one of my favorite movies) I realized there's no place like home and today, even in this economy, we live like we're on vacation in the South of France each weekend even though there's no money because wine is cheap, lavender is cheap, figs are cheap, olives are cheap and friends are priceless.

When I visited Dad last month he gave me a book about Domaine Tempier and Madame Lulu the matriarch and I absorbed the recipes and the winemaking and what struck me most was that their wines are made from 100% Mouvedre grapes and I became determined to source some and Paso Robles Bill was able to provide us with a half ton. These Paso Robles (my favorite wine region in the U.S.) grapes arrived Saturday 10 days ago and we cold soaked them for over 4 days and have been fermenting for almost 7 days and they are tasting wonderful and we have great expectations. And, like Domaine Tempier, I plan to age them 18 months in an oak barrel (I hope they will not mind French oak) and I hope they do not mind that 7% of the wine will be Zin (because we had to do something with that Zin) and if it comes out good we'll call it "Lulu" in honor of Madame and after the Princess graduates from college and after we win the next shoot out winetasting competition we'll go to France and bring some wine to Domain Tempier and we'll exchange winemaking stories and toast to the new century in Franco - Americano cooperation, goodwill and the good, simple life.