The 10 Essentials II/III

A list of 10 things a person should have at their disposal when venturing out into the Wilds of Wine.

5. Sense of humor. Back to the Hogsback. It’s 6 AM, hiking from 10 PM, and we’re almost to the summit of Mt. Hood. We’ve just found out our comrade is afraid of heights. And if that doesn’t turn one’s stomach, the altitude, Mt. Hood’s up-top sulphuric fumarole stink, lack of sleep, fatigue setting in, and all those carbs we’ve been downing will. You have to, umm, “go.” So there you are, out on the Hogsback, exposed, literally and figuratively, and you gotta dig your little hole, and pretend you can’t see your team up the way, and THEN, well, get out that little blue bag because a key maxim for hiking is “Pack it in, pack it out.” And all you can do at that point is to find the humor in it all, or else feel rather miserable.

Having a vineyard is no different.

Like our first season, when we thought we lost the vineyard to a long-lasting, unanticipated deep freeze, or in the next week or so we thought we lost our vineyard manager, our friend and expert; never complain of the marvels of modern medicine. Then when all the birds descended into the vineyard like a plague of locust, eating and eating and eating. Or when the farmer we bought our land from decided he wanted to up the price of our land a good year into us farming it. Or when we’d listen to all the snickering of those nervous sharks, hoping, just hoping they could say, “I told you so.” There’s just too much that piles up, doing it your own way, on a budget, trying to carve out some semblance of you in a sea of conformity. You’re constantly exposed, like up on the Hogsback. So if you can’t find humor in it, don’t do it. That guy who didn’t make it to the top? He didn’t think it was funny.

6. Something GOOD that only you can contribute to the endeavor. After descending from the summit of Mt. Hood, I received the nickname “Slickass,” and not because of any Hogsback troubles, but because of my ability to carve out a glissading path further than any other person down that hill, according to our leader. The exhilaration of the summit slowly being replaced by the warm slog back down, whenever we’d get to spots where everyone thought the glissade ended, I would sit down, and scrunch myself along until gravity took over, and there was a perfectly carved path for the others to follow in. Other than the ueber number of times I carried the ropes, and my cheery good nature, of course,  a reduced downhill hiking distance was what the team got out of me that day.

In this venture, I’m proud to say I do contribute a helluva lot more than simply complaining and therapist bills. At least now I do. But know that if you jump into something like this, and it’s not your dream, it’s not all a fun slide down the hill until you take that one thing you do best and make it yours.

7. A thick skin. Haven’t been in too many situations where I needed this for hiking, everyone I’ve met so far is very respectful. This venture? Another story. Remember all those sharks that gather? Those naysayers? Or our neighbors who were not at all happy that we planted a vineyard in the midst of their wheat. Or what people say about your wine on the record (so far so good for us, only one on-the-record response); but I’m sure others will follow. Or even writing a blog like this – hell, one the first few comments was some snarky response by a wine industry person, “Peeved,” hiding under the cloak of the internet. Geez! Talk about making someone feel welcomed in a new endeavor. But that’s ok, that’s ok, it is the internet after all, and what a blog is all about, and just one comment. But it was one of the first few we had from someone other than people who knew us and I was SO excited when I saw it was waiting there, until I read it, and then very easily figured out who had written it, and well, if I didn’t have a tough skin, it could’ve been a big deflator. So be prepared. Thick skin.

To Be Continued.