Portrait of the Actor as a Young Man: Kevin Gray, Rest in Peace

You know him as The Phantom, Mr. Saigon, Pontius Pilate, the King of Siam. This is a portrait of Kevin Gray as a young man, before all that. And perhaps some clues to the answer: What experiences forged him into such a powerful actor?

Act I, Scene I. Football Field, Coleytown Junior High School, Westport, CT.  (September 1972)

Hot, humid, muggy. Temperatures and humidity both in the high 90s, on a football field, Coach Ron Weir calls for the stick drill.  The dummies are placed 30 yards away, we sprint towards them, diving head first, face up, neck forward, grunts, face mask hits bottom of dummy, forcing it backward along the ground. "Stick!" we scream.  Next, 10 yards farther. Repeat. Next, 10 yards farther. Repeat. Next, running the full length of the field: "Stiiiiiickkkk!" Says Coach: "Good thing you're tough."  It made us all tough. Remarks Bob Wiggins, who went on to play college sports, of those practices: "They would be illegal today." On the field that day is a tall lanky kid with jet black hair and a broad white smile who would play Slot Back in the Belly Offense--Kevin Gray.

Coleytown Jr. High Football Team, 1972. Kevin Gray, # 90 (standing,
 8th from right) played Slot Back.

Act I, Scene II, The Locker Room (October '72)

We have lost another game and what promised to be a good season is very mediocre. The coaches are pissed and they show it. Fists are banged against lockers. There is one road to redemption. Win the final two games against all odds.

Act I, Scene III, Jr. High Football Game of the Century vs. Long Lots (October '72)

The Long Lots Jr. High School team was undefeated, ranked high in the State and a heavy favorite. If our school was the “freaks” Long Lots was the “jocks” and it would be an away game on their field.  During practices that week the coaches inoculate us with a positive spirit, a belief in the possibility that we can win. When the weather forecast is questionable, Coach says, “I wish it would rain – rain is an equalizer.”  He knows we need any break we can get.

On game day our team came to play and neither side is able to put points on the board.  Kevin is even taller in spikes and helmet,  mean and lean with shoulder pads.  In the huddle “Belly Right” is called. “Ready, break” the offense chants in unison as it breaks huddle and Kevin takes his position in the slot between right tackle and wide receiver. The quarterback takes the hike, pivots counter clockwise and carries the ball off tackle behind Kevin and two running backs who create a wedge in the defense. Kevin buts heads with a defender then leaves his feet to throw the “stick” block we had practiced so many times that summer. He rises from the dirt and this antelope trots back to the huddle for the next play.

We run the ball into the end zone and make the two point conversion for an 8 – 0 lead.  “If they score, remember you made the extra point,” says Coach. Indeed, they do score, but our defense thwarts their run for extra points short of the goal line.  We are ecstatic! We hold on to win and Kevin and our team have been part of the greatest upset in junior high school football history (at least in our minds, at least in our town). Despite the odds, we emerged victorious.  On the way back to school, Coach asked the bus driver stop at Carroll’s the fast food burger chain (there was no MacDonald's in town those days) and purchased burgers for all of us, including the driver.

Act I, Scene IV  The Jr. High Championship Game

There was one last game to play for the town championship that would pit the “freaks” against the “greasers.” As their stereotype indicated, the kids from Bedford were from the rough side of town (if there was such a thing in our suburban community just 50 miles from Broadway). Again, we were underdogs. Again we beat the odds and emerged victorious. Again, Coach ordered the bus to stop at Carrolls for another feast of burgers.

Coach instilled in Kevin and all of us toughness, confidence and the knowledge we would succeed when the odds were against us. One other memory: At the end of season banquet, Kevin’s mom made egg rolls for the team and our parents.

Act II, The Gymnastics Team (1973)

Ron Weir also coached the Gymnastics Team where the competition was against ourselves, to perform as best we could. Football was violent force. Gymnastics was strength, elegance, concentration, grace. Self-improvement and excellence required practice, practice, practice.  In the opening number, younger members of the team march in and perform simple, coordinated tumbling routines, while Kevin and the seniors walk 50-ft on their hands without losing balance.

Kevin’s main event was the pommel horse. He, my elder by one year, was the master and I the younger apprentice. “Justice, come here,” he called to me one day. “Hold your hands out with your fingers up,” he said and when my arms were raised and my hands showed 10 outstretched fingers he interlocked my hands to his and bent mine backwards into the patented “Kevin Gray death grip.”

Kevin Gray (standing, 5th from right) and the Coleytown Jr. High
Gymnastics Team (1973). His main event was the "horse."

 “Do you give up?” he asked, applying more pressure. “No,” I said defiantly. He applied more force twisting me down to the floor in agony.  I gave up to fight another day and remember telling him “Someday when you’re famous I’m going to tell everyone you used to torture me.”

I observed Kevin’s routine on the horse so many times I have it memorized. His signature move was making his body perfectly level, toes pointed. He removes weight from his left hand and while remaining perfectly balanced and level raises his left arm in the air – with all of his weight supported by one hand and his back and legs still ironing board straight. (This is not easy.) Then, he brings his left hand back to the horse’s pommel and from a level position extends his body into an erect handstand which he holds. A demonstration of strength, grace and athleticism. He dismounts to applause, one of his first acting roles.

Bobby Lyon, Co-Captain of the gymnastics team with Kevin, recalls that time: "Coach Weir recognized that Kevin was truly a performer. He was so much more than a kid barreling down the mats with reckless abandon. Coach Weir recognized the elegance that was Kevin. He saw a very modest kid who was beautiful, a body with graceful lines that he held with great posture. Kevin was steadfast and tackled things like the Horse which was one of the most difficult and disciplined apparatus. I have to give coach Weir a lot of credit, he knew about Kevin's presence."

At the end of our performances and the season we hold a celebration dinner at the Gray household. Two memories remain fresh – the sight of one team member completing 19 continuous back handsprings --  and a serving plate full of egg rolls. Kevin’s family is introduced. Is his mom Chinese?

Act III, Scene I Duke University, Branson Theater (Fall, 1978)

By coincidence or fate, Kevin and I attend Duke University and I arrive on campus 16 months after him. (I never asked him why he selected Duke? I will ask at his memorial.) He has already had a lead role in Godspell and has earned a reputation as a good actor before I matriculate. I hear he’s acting in a play set to the verses of Dylan Thomas. I go and remember seeing Kevin, whom I've always known with a gregarious Cheshire-cat smile, with an actor’s animated voice and an actor’s serious stare into the audience, frozen, as lights fade to black. He goes to London to study.

Act III, Scene II, Duke University, East Campus Quad (Spring 1979)

The Spring of Kevin's return from London I’m helping organize “Joe Baldwin Day” events, games and entertainment.  We invite Kevin to perform on the Quad and he graciously agrees. He will be singing.  I’m on stage assisting set-up and Kevin tells me he’s developed his own singing style. His performance starts and it’s not what you’d expect from a college performer. He sounds (to my uneducated ear) like a young Frank Sinatra belting out a Cole Porter tune. He’s making his own way in an era of rock and roll.

If there had been “American Idol” in those days I suppose Simon Cowell would have said, “Kevin, you have a good voice, but it sounds a little too much like Broadway for me.”

Act III, Scene III, Duke University, Page Auditorium (Spring, 1980)

Kevin Gray played Perchik in
"Fiddler on the Roof." 1980.

The Hoof ‘N Horn production Kevin’s senior year (1980) was Fiddler on the Roof. I’m friends with the director who needs a Stage Manager so I volunteer. Kevin auditions and is offered the role of Perchik - the intellectual -- which seems to fit Kevin’s sometimes brooding nature.  For most of the cast and crew, it is a tough few months as we try to balance a rigorous academic load with rehearsals and personal lives. (One of the actresses has married a Russian and was trying to get him out of the Soviet Union). The musical conductor for this production is Michael Kosarin who already seems to us to be a living legend. Everyone knows Koz is going to be famous someday. My memory of Kevin at that time are his seriousness – there are times as we near performance he spends off to the side, practicing by himself, improving, perfecting his role, getting himself into performance mode. There is one time he steps out of line – I can’t remember exactly what it was – perhaps late to a rehearsal or clowning around at an inappropriate time – and I ask myself, “Who am I to discipline my master?” I realize the best way to “manage” Kevin is to let him be, give him his space. His performance during Fiddler was strong. Everyone came through. We didn’t use microphones to amplify the performers’ voices. Kevin’s lyrics are heard at the back of the 2,000 seat auditorium. Like the victories of junior high football, the challenges and fun of the gymnastics team, and being a member of the Fiddler cast and crew, these are some of the best memories of our lives – as I’m sure they were for Kevin too.

Our adult lives were just beginning then, weren't they? The day after the last performance of Fiddler, Kevin graduated from college and we never met again. At least not face to face.

Act IV, San Diego, CA "Eggroll Deja Vu"

Kevin Gray 

Over the years, I heard about Kevin’s rise in the theatrical world and many of our classmates were able to attend his performances and report back. I remember hearing about the Phantom, remember hearing about some controversy with Miss Saigon and why wasn’t Broadway using more Asians in Asian roles? Then there was a revival of Jesus Christ Superstar, and more. Life seemed to keep me from seeing him perform on stage.  I celebrated the year 2000 by making the trip back to Kevin’s 20th college reunion – to see him and his classmates I knew a year ahead of me. Yet he didn’t make it. His friends told me about his accomplishments and we were so proud of him, the man who almost broke 10 of my fingers simultaneously.

My own life journey brought me to the land of the Rising Sun and to a woman who could have been Madame Butterfly but unlike Pinkerton I married this cherry blossom and from that marriage a child was born, a 200% baby: 100% American and 100% Japanese. As she grew I encouraged her to participate in school plays and she attended college in Connecticut which was as far away from her parents in San Diego as she could get and yet Connecticut was still a home to me, as it was in ways for Kevin. Our daughter continued acting in college plays and even wrote her own and when she graduated from college she said, “Dad, I want to be an actress."  Her Asian education-mama protested and pleaded with her to  become a doctor while I advised her you need to pursue your dreams and my thoughts turned to Kevin.

The daughter is working as an intern at the Old Globe Theater in San Diego and invites the cast to our house among the vines for a party and my wife the Butterfly is sautéing the vegetables in a pan and then placing them in wrappers and plopping them into the deep fryer and when golden brown extracts them and pats the oil and stacks them, a pyramid of Egypt on a serving plate.  Harumaki in Japanese. Chun Juan in Chinese. Spring Rolls in English. 40 years ago as kids in Connecticut we called them “egg rolls” and now my wife has become the Egg Roll Mother to my daughter’s generation.   I take a picture of the spring rolls and log in to Facebook and search for Kevin Gray and send a friend request. We haven't spoken in 30 years. Kevin has just joined Facebook that week. The date is May 9, 2010. Kevin, forever gracious, accepts.

Act V "Reunion & Reconciliation"

I write to Kevin about my memories of his mother's Spring Rolls and that we have become the Spring Roll parents of San Diego and that our daughter responded to a YouTube contest by a director of Miss Saigon asking people of color to submit a video exploring “What does Yellow Face Mean to You?” 

I write to Kevin, "It never occurred to me you were partial Chinese."

"I think that's been the case for most of my life -- people being a bit surprised when they learn my background. It's an interesting issue for many mixed ethnicity young adults, and seems especially so for Asians, reportedly the least assimilated of the major races in the U.S." he wrote.

"The 'least assimilated'?" I shot back. "Certainly not in California's major cities. Perhaps that's the exception. Perhaps we will be beyond race by the end of our lifetime ...."

I reminded Kevin of that kung-fu move he performed on me that almost crippled my hands.

“Did I do that?” he writes in Facebook. “Sad.” I thought it was pretty funny, but I always had a mean streak in me.

Kevin is new to social media, a subject I know something about, and it's time for the student to repay the teacher so I encourage him to use Facebook and YouTube as a way to post videos of his performances and information about his career, so people like me who have never seen him live on stage can experience his performances and follow him.  

I make plans to attend his 35^th high school reunion in 2011 to see Kevin and his high school classmates but once again life comes up and I need to leave Connecticut early and head back to San Diego so we miss each other again. From living in Japan and learning to speak Japanese and Chinese and experiencing Confucianism I have an understanding of the important relationship between “senpai” and “kohai”, between the upper classman and the freshman and to me Kevin is my senpai and I owe him and his classmates my respect.

When I heard about his passing and his memorial on Broadway I realize this is Kevin’s last performance and this one I will not miss. As a winemaker, when it comes to weddings and funerals and special occasions my gift is wine because wine is my art and it comes from my soul. I send bottles of wine to two of Kevin’s classmates (Peter Byrne & Mark Miller) who are also my “senpai” as a gesture of thanksgiving for their guidance and friendship in earlier days. I have not seen them in 30+ years and it's time to catch up. A student should always pay tribute to his master. Kevin would have understood that and if you see me in the theater with a backpack there is likely a bottle or two of wine in it and if I know you then there's a bottle with your name on it that will be delivered in the fullness of time and if we haven't met yet then life's short so let's share the wine together while we're here.  "L'Chiam to life!"

Epilogue

After I've suggested how he can use social media to promote his professional career Kevin writes,  “You won’t remember this, but you already helped steer my career once. We were playing football at Coleytown and I was running down field on a kickoff and you cleaned my clock. As I lay on the ground and saw you run off, I clearly remember thinking, ‘Maybe acting will work.’”

Hidden Valley Enoteca, Blue-Merle Winery to Host Wine Tasting To Kick-Off AMGEN Tour of California Bike Race May 11 in Escondido

The Hidden Valley Enoteca and Blue-Merle Winery will host a wine tasting in Escondido, CA on the eve of the AMGEN Tour of California bicycle race. The race is viewed as a tune-up event for riders who will compete in the Tour de France. The Enoteca is a shared tasting room and culinary campus of five local San Diego wineries and to celebrate the start of The Tour the Enoteca will host wine tasting with food trucks and a band throughout the afternoon and early evening of Saturday, May 11th.

Hundreds of guests are expected according to Rosie Barnett, Enoteca's tasting room manager. "This is going to be a bid deal," she said.  The Enoteca address is: 26312 Mesa Rock Road, Escondido, CA 92026.

For AMGEN Tour of California visitors looking for a wine tasting experience of local San Diego wineries before, during and after the race, the Enoteca allows guests to taste wines from five different wineries.  "With so many different wines and winemaking styles, there's bound to be a wine for everyone," said Ms. Barnett.  There is a $10 tasting fee per person, which includes 6 tastes of wine, or $15 to try 12 different wines. There is no charge for the music and visitors on May 11th will be able to purchase food from food trucks at the facility, and to enjoy a picnic lunch on the Enoteca grounds. Bottles of one's favorite wine may also be purchased.

"This is a great opportunity for the City of Escondido and Escondido's wineries to showcase their offerings," said Craig Justice, proprietor of Blue-Merle Winery, one of the founding wineries of the Enoteca, which just opened its doors last September. "San Diego County is a fantastic place to grow wine," Justice said, "With its combination of bright sunshine and cool ocean breezes. The area is also a cyclist's paradise."

For more information about the Tour of California:

Here's the Wikipedia entry: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tour_of_California
Here's AMGEN's official Tour of California website: http://www.amgentourofcalifornia.com/#2
Here's AMGEN's Twitter account for the Tour: http://www.twitter.com/amgenTourofcali @AmgenTourofCali

For more information about the Blue-Merle Winery:

http://www.bluemerewinery.com
http://www.facebook.com/bluemerlewinery
http://www.twitter.com/bluemerlewinery or @bluemerlewinery

For more information about the Hidden Valley Enoteca and The Escondido Wine & Culinary Campus please visit: http://www.hiddenvalleyenoteca.com/

How Do You Release a Live Snake From a Mousetrap?

King Snake, on the hunt for mice, finds
himself in a mousetrap.

With signs of a mouse in the garage I set traps at various points last night. This morning, when I checked the trap by the entrance - a favorite spot - it had sprung, but no mouse. I glanced under the sink and saw only the dark curved tube shaped as a U. Yellow stripes, not a rattler. Possibly a King Snake and possibly alive. How do you release a live snake from a mousetrap? P.S. Without killing the snake and without getting bit?

King snakes are our friends and have been spotted twice in the garage (7 years ago), once in the vineyard (5 years ago) and once outside the garage last year. They eat mice and are immune to a rattlesnake's venom and are said to eat small rattlers. King snakes are good to keep around. I remember our neighbor Steve the herpetologist telling me about the time he rescued a King and it bit him several times. Not poisonous, but still not his idea of a good time getting bit.  Not even a friendly King Snake knows how to say thank you. I gather gloves, some tools, a camera.

I've seen the"Crocodile Hunter" on TV, notably the episode when Steve Irwin catches the world's 10 most poisonous snakes. I've got our "favorite vineyard tool" (a 3-ft. stick we use to help hang  nets), a broom (in case I need to sweep him out), a bucket and a 32 gallon container.

It's overkill. The snake is not that big.  I use the stick to pull him out from behind the washing machine. He wriggles.  His head is pinned down.  I just pick up the mouse trap and carry it (with snake) outside to the vineyard. My idea is to hold the snake's jaws shut with one hand then use my other hand to lift the bar.  Then I find it's impossible to left the bar with one hand. Duh.  I need leverage.  Next idea, let go of the head, use one hand to hold the mouse trap, use a strong twig as leverage to open the bar of the mousetrap. As I do this the snake coils himself around the bar and won't let go. I shake ever so gently and soon he's on the ground and all balled up, like a tortoise inside his shell, trying to escape the world. He's not in good shape. I want to keep him on our property, so I find a shady spot in some ivy to let him be.

Recovering in the shade.

As I write this story, I make a discovery. The vineyardista keeps coming over to me and telling me her "honey do" list for the day and starts singing a song about why I'm wasting my time writing and she sees a picture of the snake on the computer screen, shrieks and scatters.  Peace at last.  Can I patent this new "Wife Away"?

The Birds Will Play

It's Sunday morning and we pull the cords of the curtains and open the screen doors and open the screen windows to let in air. (The screen doors are important around here in summer for keeping out mouse-hunting rattlesnakes.) Then she opens the unscreened windows of the front door.  I give her a look. "I like to let the birds in.  They fly around for a while and when they get tired I pick them up and take them outside."  Bird Lady of the Vineyard. Another symptom of Crazy Lady Disease.   So this is what goes on when I'm at work during the day.
---------------------------------
How do you train your dog not to bark when the bird chirps "cheeeeek?"

We call the bird "cheek-ey," otherwise known as a Flicker.

We have trained this dog to do "bird check" along the rows of vines after the grapes have ripened and the birds search for holes in the nets.  He's able to spot the birds who have made it through. We catch and release. At least those still flapping.

I've never seen the "cheek-ey" in the nets.  But we hear him almost every day.  His distinctive cry, which sets the dog off barking.

The temperatures warmed and the winds were blowing and it might have been a mild Santa Ana and Mr. Cheek-ey dove from the tree and sailed right into the glass window by the front door.  The explosive noise startled the Queen but the glass didn't break. Was he aiming for the hole in the door and missed? Was the light on the window reflecting so he just saw open sky?  Did strong winds blow him off course?

The Queen rushed outside and Mr. Cheek-ey didn't move and Mrs. Cheek-ey looked on from her side of the Poplar trees and cried, "Cheek."

Bluey barked. The Queen's eyes watered. Her throat tightened.

Mr. Cheek-ey

She picked up his body and wrapped it in tissue and placed it in a wine box and asked me to bury him when I got home.  I said I would do it during the light of dawn and when I did Mrs. Cheeky looked on from her perch.

Amused By Winemaking As Art & A Muse

We watched "Vickie, Christina, Barcelona" the other night and we're talking about Woody Allen. "He's a genius," she says. "You have to be a little bit okashii to be a genius."

"That's why I'm kawate-iru," I say and she can't stop laughing.

That broke the tension.  Ten minutes earlier I ask if I could move the creeping Passion Fruit vine gripping the door's screen to keep the plant from getting damaged.  Her blood starts boiling and her voice starts rising and she storms over to the vine she admires each day from the kitchen window and rips it from the door. "Isn't that what you wanted ! There!" And she yanks the rest of the vine from the wall and I say I just wanted to move it off the screen but she's not listening and says I'm killing her and if I don't find someplace else to live her brain will explode and that's going to be it and I better move. It's a minefield talking with her and I decide I shouldn't so I keep quiet to keep her calm and hopefully the blood pressure won't elevate over 150 because it's been over 220 at times this year with trips to the emergency room and I'd relax if it would decrease to 120 or lower and she'd feel better too. So I go back to bottling and just concentrate on that because bottling is the cross I bear during the Easter Season and there's nothing to do but face it and confront it head on because this 2011 Tempranillo wine is the first Tempranillo we've made from our 5-year old vines that's the whole package. The winemaker himself is pleased.  Fruit and nose and mouth-feel and tannins; beginning, middle and end -- a winemaker's trinity. Amen.

Not a word for 10 minutes as the Enolmatic bottling machine hums and bottles clank against the hand-power corker. Pull lever down to compress the cork then ram it into the bottle. Swish. Don't let glass hit the steel or that ping will set her off again. Pull. Swish.

"You have to be a little bit "crazy" to be a genius," she said in Japanese, referring to Woody Allen.

"That's why I'm kawate-iru" I say and the dog's ears prick up at the sound of her blood pressure dropping and she explodes into laughter and I've come out the other side of the minefield, this time. I lift up my cross and restart the bottling. She goes to the vineyard to talk with the vines. Bluey stays by my side under the table, waiting for drops of spilled wine.

Ten hours later after the bottling is finished and I'm blending the new wines I have a vision - winemaking is an art - a thought I've never had but I'm feeling it now and the expression of growing, crushing, pressing, blending this wine (and the little touches, tweaks, experience and skill required) is not unlike an artist.  Making wine is just painting without paint. Sculpting without clay. Poetry without rhymes. Then the image of Penelope Cruz painting a canvas with broad, fluent strokes in "Vickie Christina Barcelona"  comes into my head and since I'm creating a work of art from Tempranillo, the famous grape of Spain, why should I not dream of making it for the Spanish actress and the thought of making this wine for her lightens the burden and I smile. I will bear this cross joyfully. Don Quixote and his Dulcinea.

You're not jealous at the thought of Penelope Cruz as my winemaking inspiration are you?  It was just a fleeting daydream during a long day and evening of repetitive, manual labor. Now that the bottling is done and I survived and the wine is safely in the bottles and tastes good it's back to reality and as I'm out thinning, watering, weeding the vines and preparing to rack the blush wine, the simple fact is that I'm writing this for you, making this wine for you. Yes you. No, you're not being vain. This is for you and it's giving new purpose and pleasure to the toil of winemaking. I aspire to make wine that will change your life as you have changed mine. Although the art you inspire will not last as long as a painting or a classic novel, at least you can smell, taste and drink it. Thank you for amusing me, you Muse.

Good News, Bad News and So It Goes

The good news is it's Saturday morning and it's Spring and the vines have sprung and we just sold $240 worth of wine which is all packed up and ready to ship. Before leaving I open a notice from the IRS and although we paid our corporate tax before January 31st they say the payment was late and they they request us to please pay $267.21 Thank goodness this is the kinder, gentler IRS and they just sent a notice instead of G-Men to confiscate all the inventory.

It reminds me of the time the other month when we sold $240 worth of wine and then went to our supply shop to buy more bottles and more corks which ended up costing $300.

You don't want to do the math because it's not pretty. We're making the most expensive wine in the world and it's costing a lot of money.

Rainy Day

It's a rainy day in the vineyard.
A rainy day in America.
News so shocking, even hardened journalists choke on tears.
The children, my God, the children.
Winter has arrived.
Puddles form at the bottom of vines.
Drops, rain drops, pitter-patter, drip, edge down, gather, erode, flow, form, into a stream, down, down, down the hill.
Hard clay softens to mud.
The weekend farmer goes outside to think about these things, pulls cuttings from succulents, puts a finger in the mud, then digs with a trowel, reminds me of mud pies when I was a kid playing in a sandbox. Plant those cuttings in the mud, dirt in fingernails, new shoots will grow, new garden takes shape among rocks, in the cold cold rain, wash away that sin, in the cold cold rain, forgive us, in the cold cold rain, purify us, in the cold cold rain,  strengthen us, in the cold cold rain, renew us, in the cold cold rain.

Guardian Angels In The Vineyard

Mark McGinn  - "I wouldn't mind if
you brought me one of your avocados."

I look back at yesterday and wonder how was it possible to get through it without incident or accident?  An epiphany: there's a guardian angel looking out for us. Don't believe me? I have proof. Keep reading.

It's Dawn in the Vineyard of Good and Evil and the vineyardista,  out watering her baby vines, places her foot beside a rattlesnake, lets out a scream, and I rush to her side with a shovel.

"Do you want me to kill it?"
"No, don't kill it."
"It could kill Bluey." Our wine dog.
"I've had enough bad things happen to me this year. Don't kill it. It's God's creature. It's a sign from God."

At dawn in the Vineyard of Good and
Evil a serpent makes an entrance. Is
the vineyardista a 1,000 year old
cultivated snake?

I try to hook it with a long stick (which doesn't work well) then decide to take a picture.
"Be careful!" she warns, "It will jump up and bite you!"
"Hakuna matata.  Don't worry. Snakes don't jump."

So in our version of "catch & release"  I scoop the serpent into a 5-gallon bucket.

"Be careful, it'll jump out," she warns. "Snakes can jump."
"It can't get out of there, don't worry. Besides, it just ate a mouse, it's stomach is bulging and he's moving a little slow." I empty the bucket of snake and sand into a grape bin, and the snake reaches for the top and it looks like he can get out. I put a lid on it and move the container off to the side, thinking I'll bring him to a better place after the harvest. Sometimes I wonder if I'm married to a 1,00 year old cultivated snake, the kind that star in Peeking Operas.

Purple rain - grape crush.

On cue, the crew arrives with a ton of Carignan grapes, split between two pick up trucks. Without blinking, or taking a moment to get out of the truck to survey our driveway with the 60 degree slope, he backs right into the entrance to the winery. His companion, who was stung by a bee yesterday and rushed to Palomar Hospital so he could breath freely again, is doing well. I hung a yellow jacket trap outside earlier as a precaution.  Two thousand pounds of grapes are unloaded and dumped right into the crusher were we deftly pick out leaves, our fingers dodging a sharp auger that moves the grapes though a tumbler gently breaking their skins releasing juice and spitting out stems the other end. All fingers are accounted for, five on each hand. We finish like clockwork, give the helpers a bottle of wine and a $900 check and send them on their way with snacks & water.

Next, we draw off 40 gallons of pink grape juice to make Bluey's Blush, a dry rose wine. The original plan was to draw off 50 gallons, but we were concerned that we were taking away too much juice. (We will have to deal with that odd volume later and find a suitable aging tank for it -- perhaps a 50 gallon flex tank with a variable lid?) What's left in the macro bin is a concentration of skins, which will make for a bolder wine, with more concentrated juice. Plus, we have further plans - to blend into the Carignan during its fermentation some of our high alcohol Zinfandel, which is currently stuck. The resulting wine could be amazing.

40 gallons of grape juice pulled
immediately after crush while still pink
to make Bluey's Blush Wine.

As the vineyardista cleans up the equipment and becomes a mopista, I run the chemistry. The numbers look good. Brix 22 on the blush wine, and 23 and rising on the remaining batch in the macro bin, which has raisins so the brix will continue to increase with cold soak, and more fruit flavors will be extracted. TA = .60, enough acid there so no addition required - besides, the Zin is a little high in acid, another reason for the blend.  pH is 3.7, a little on the high side, but definitely much better than last year's 4.0 pH for the same grapes (the higher the pH, the harder it is to preserve a wine -- the easier it is to oxidize and spoil). All in all, good numbers.

Next, a sulfite addition to the grapes.  Done.

Next, start fermentation on the blush wine. While the yeast grow faster than the blob, prepare the batch of Grenache grapes for pressing. Take a glass of fresh grape nectar to the growing yeast slurry. Add, stir. Feed the yeast. Nurture the yeast. Yeast are sensitive. Be kind to yeast. Take yeast to winery, to acclimate to cooler temperature. Five minutes later, add yeast to the pink grape juice without skins, the blush wine to be.

Next, press our estate Grenache grapes. We needed to do this a little early, but the grapes spent 4 days cold soaking and 7 days fermenting slowly. They'll finish their final fermentation in the tank. Done.

Next, open up a container of new Tempranillo wine. Skim scummy stuff off of the top. Taste the wine. Good. A little sprtizy from malolatic fermentation. Good.

Next, fill half a glass with Grenache, freshly pressed. Fill the rest of the glass with Tempranillo. Taste. Ooodle oodle drool over the fantastic creation and dream about how good this will be 2 years from now. (The joys of making your own wine. Remember, good wine is made in the vineyard. Great wine is made by blending.)

Next, stir up all the lees on the bottom of the Tempranillo container to increase flavors (this technique is called "battonage.") Take bucket after bucket and keep adding to fill container holding the Grenache to the top. Keep filling container. Do not overfill. Put top on. Spill. Wipe up. Take some wine out. Put top on. Spill. Repeat. Repeat. Finally, the top is on, without leakage. Without fighting.

Next, there's wine left. Dump that into a 5 gallon container. More wine left. Repeat. Do not spill. Just a little wine left. Fill a one gallon bottle.

Next, there's a little bit of wine left from the Grenache press. Take that, fill the 1 gallon container to the top, take the remaining 32 oz and pour it into the newly fermenting blush wine.

You're done, except for clean up, which means you're only 50% done. Ask the vineyardista if she would mind cleaning up while you take the snake to his new home. She agrees.  Check lid on container. Put container in car. While driving car, look behind shoulder periodically to make sure snake is still in container. Drive to canyon. Release snake. Take picture. Future movie: Born Free.

Drive back home. Thank vineyardista for cleaning. Pack bags for Bootleggers' Express trip to North Carolina to see if you can swing the election for Joe The Wino. I go to pick some avocados and remember the last time I picked avocados for Mark in North Carolina - he asked for an avocado from our grove since he was doing his best to stay away from wine and everyone else received a bottle of wine as a gift - I remember I was confronted by a rattlesnake under the tree that time too. Is this a sign?

Next, pack a case of wine. Next shower. Next pack clothes. Next, thank the vineyardista for a day of miracles. Next, get in the car. Drive to airport. Don't run over snake you released that might now be on the road trying to find his way back home to the Vineyard of Good and Evil. Take the red eye flight to the East Coast. Wake up without a backache, and while emerging from a deep slumber, ask yourself, how in the hell did you get through yesterday?

There must be a guardian angel.

And an epiphany: guardian angels exist.

How do you know this?

You remember 11 years ago attending a church retreat called Cursillo and during that weekend there was a team member praying for you the whole time which you didn't know until this was revealed near the end. When you saw who that person was you recalled all the kindness this person, who was assigned to secretly look after you, showed you during the weekend, and it is a humbling moment, because you ignored this person as a stranger, yet this stranger was lifting you up with strong, solid prayers that carried you away that weekend and give you goosebumps today as you recall it.

A Cursillo weekend is a glimpse of the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth, and that person praying for you is like your guardian angel on earth. And if there is an earthly guardian angel, which you have discovered during the Cursillo retreat, then surely there are heavenly guardian angels looking after us if we only ask, and I ask this every morning in prayer, for the Lord to send guardian angels to protect Bluey, the Aussie winedog, from snakes.

And now I wonder if my angel is named Mark, and if it's he who's looking out for us, because we couldn't have made it through yesterday without divine intervention.  Thank you Mark. I've arrived safely in North Carolina. I picked the best avocado I could find from our tree to give to your daughter. I've brought the best wine from our cellar to share with your family and friends after your wake and at your memorial dinner. Thank you for looking after us. We're grateful for you life.

A Feast Fit for Winemakers & Best Friends: The Winemakers' Dinner

Fresh basil, the base of good pesto.

Ten wines. Ten winemakers. Ten small, delightful tapas dishes. Each dish made by each winemaker, prepared especially to pair with the winemaker's favorite wine. Now that sounds like my kind of event!

What do you like best about winemakers' dinners? What's your most memorable moment from a dinner with the winemakers? What recommendations do you have for the winemakers to make it an unforgettable evening?

Hawaii Kai Palm Island Premium all natural
 sea salt,sprinkled on the pasta  before serving,
provides a burst of flavor to the Penne Pesto
 that enhances the fruit characteristics of
 Blue-Merle's Mourvedre wine.

Our inaugural Winemaker's Dinner at the Hidden Valley Enoteca on Escondido's Wine & Culinary Campus is October 6th, and we've selected our 2009 Mourvedre, the light red wine with the huge strawberry nose. The making of the 2009 Mourvedre has a unique history. We purchased the grapes from Paso Robles Bill at the end of October 2009, who trucked them down to San Diego packed in dry ice. After crushing them, we were able to "cold soak" them for one whole week, because the fall the weather had arrived and the winery was cool, that's 3 days longer than our normal cold soak. During that cold soak period all of the fruit and soft skin tannin were absorbed into the "must" (grape juice), and again, because of the cool weather, a slow, cool fermentation took place over the next seven days. The result, to my surprise, was a surprisingly light color wine (typically with our other grapes cold soaking produces dark, purple wines, but not so with this Rhone varietal often used in blends with Grenache and Syrah) chock full of flavor. My first reaction when opening a bottle and pouring a sip was "Strawberries!" The wine is that fruitful, and yet, the alcohol is 13% and it has structure. This is the wine that we serve to guests in our house as a welcoming aperitif. I have never met a woman who has not loved this wine, and it has become one of favorites, especially with appetizers.

Is it possible for a wine made from grapes to have a strawberry nose? We asked New York's Scent Sommelier Kelly Jones to review the wine in April 2014  and this is what she wrote.  "Yes I had strawberry. But it was a white strawberry. These rare berries yield a tartness that is at once creamy and smooth,  with juicy flavor that spills across the tongue in luscious delight. There is a slight accord of the green leaf from the white strawberry fields, and a hint even of the precious seeds as they burst with inspiration from your vineyard. The essence of white strawberry is Blue Merle Mourvedre. The stuff of magic!"

And why pair it with penne pesto? The strong garlic, fragrant basil and salt frame the fruit of the Mourvedre. It is a lovely combination, especially with the pesto enhanced with the Hawaii Kai Palm Island Premium all-natural sea salt, which provides a burst of flavor and electrolytes that accent the fruit of the wine.

We held a dress rehearsal of the winemakers' dinner last Sunday, and sampled each other's dishes and wines. It was fabulous, as judged by the slow productivity Monday morning. I can think of no better way to spend a Sunday evening than with fellow winemakers, their favorite dishes and their favorite wines.

(Editor's Note: The Hidden Valley Enoteca closed in February 2014 but you can still purchase the Mourvedre wine direct from Blue-Merle Winery.  Here's the recipe for the pesto pasta.) 

Blue-Merle Winery Pesto Penne Recipe

Ingredients to serve six (very hungry winemakers):

8 oz fresh basil leaves

6 cloves garlic (or more to taste)

6 Table spoons olive oil (or a little more to taste)

6 teaspoons Parmesan cheese (or Romano to taste)

3 oz pine nuts (other nuts, such as almonds or walnuts may be added to taste)

2 lbs. penne pasta

Hawaii Kai all-natural red sea salt (add to taste just before serving).

1 bottle Blue-Merle Winery 2009 Mourvedre

Dress rehearsal.

Boil water for pasta. As water heats, in a CuisineArt, food processor or blender mince the garlic. Next, add olive oil, pine nuts then blend. (You may add other nuts to the mix such as almonds, macadamias, or walnuts to vary the flavor to taste.) Next, add the basil leaves (washed and dried) to the mix and blend. Finally, add Parmesan cheese to taste and blend.

Cook pasta and strain.  Add the pesto mix to the pasta and stir. Just before serving, sprinkle the Hawaii Kai Palm Island Premium nautral sea salt to taste to set the stage for contrasting flavors of the wine's "fruit" vs. the savory, salty pesto (Note: add the salt carefully -- do not over salt.)

Open the bottle of Blue-Merle wine and pour a glass. Inhale the aromas. Do you notice the strawberry? What fruit do you detect? Next, swirl the glass and smell again. Take a sip -- do you notice the strong fruit flavor? Next, have a healthy bite of the pesto pasta. Do you notice the garlic, the crunch of the salt? Then, take another sip of the wine. How has the wine changed with the food? How does the pairing taste to you?  The winemaker (and Bluey the Aussie wine dog) love the combination.

Bon Appetit!

Rooted To The Vine

Agliancio (nick named "Ugly
Hanako" just before harvest
Sept 22 2012

When netting the vines the other month, which seems like years ago, I noticed that the leaves of shoots we cut and left to the ground turned brown and dried within days. Despite the oppressively hot weather, the leaves flourished as part of the vine, but when cut soon faded.

A shoot cut from the vine quickly withers and dies.

With the changing of the seasons from Summer to Autumn and another harvest upon us, we've been running around like crazy and are exhausted. For a moment, the grapes have been picked. There are no fermentations to punch down. No batches of wine to press. No barrels to bottle. For a moment, there is peace, the eye of a hurricane, before the frenzy will start again. A moment for reflection, to remember the day of changing seasons, the memorial of our planting, to give thanks for our blessings and for all those who helped us reach this point, for the friends and neighbors who helped pick, for the workers who carried heavy loads we couldn't possibly move ourselves, for the parents who nurtured us, and  a never ending list of people, giving them prayers and thanksgiving. Yes, we built this vineyard, and we know we didn't do it alone.

If a shoot cut from the vine quickly withers, should we not live our lives fully rooted in the vineyard?

Rising sun, raising the nets.

It has been our custom each harvest to re-read from the simple liturgy prepared by Father Bill Lieber of Grace Episcopal Church (San Marcos, CA) for the Blessing of The Blue-Merle Vineyard some 5 years ago, but in the rush to gather the grapes before the heat rises there were no champagne toasts, no parties (the vineyardista, still remembering the effects of that heart stoppage in early June and insisting on no events), no blessing of the workers, nor the grapes, nor of our friends who came to assist (despite the vineyardista's wishes, except for silent prayers I managed to sneak in before dawn before everyone started to arrive). When it was over, I realized the customary prayers and blessings were dropped this year.


I retrieved the printed liturgy from its drawer and read:

"Holy God, let me always be rooted in you so that I may live in you and you in me.

Bless me so that your grace may flow through me, allowing me to bear your fruit to a hungry and helpless world.

As I wonder, prune me of all that inhibits your growth in me.

Let me do nothing apart from you so that your joy may be complete in me. Amen."

Bluey, ready to begin
his hunt for grapes.

The vineyardista whose heart stopped after working in the vines June 6th and was back out there when she returned from the hospital one week later, has been outside among her vines everyday since, even with temperatures exceeding 100 degrees. Live by the vine. Die by the vine.

Vineyard is art. Vineyard is life.

Brigit (over 80 years old), Madonna and Maggie.

Reese tackles Aglianico.

Jim clips a grape and not his
finger.

Madonna shows a prize. Next
to her his Luce.

Stephanie brings home the Zin.