Rock Flour Hill

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Bud Break, 2010

That’s what we’re waiting for these days out in the vineyard, for the days to warm and the sap to rise, to see what we’ve got to work with this year. Here’s why: right around Thanksgiving last year, a major freeze rolled through the Columbia Valley and our vineyard on Rock Flour Hill. We were spared the below zero F temperatures vineyards in WA and to the east of us received–the lowest our gauges recorded was 5 degrees F. So far we’ve seen no wood damage that we’ve heard might be the case in WA. But Scott says there’s no guarantee of bud damage, we just have to wait and see for the days to warm up and the sap to start making its rounds, out to the buds and leaves that unfurl from them. We had a similar wait-and-see  episode the first year we planted, a deep freeze came in instead of the anticipated first frost at the end of October. Our vines were young, tender, barely hardened off in defense of winter cold, and we were told the vineyard was dead. It wasn’t. But it was a frightening thought, and many months of fret ensued.

On the other side of the country, in upstate New York, my father is also closely watching sap, as he waits for buds to come out, but on sugar maple trees. For him, this signals the end of collecting sap for his maple syrup production–he told me that once the trees bud, the sap becomes soured, and no good. He’s a very small producer of syrup, maybe only a handful of gallons — when it takes 40 gallons of sap to make 1 gallon of syrup, and it’s just him doing the work, who can blame him?  When I was young he’d tap the centuries’ old maples out in the front yard of his similar-aged home (used to be an Inn). I think now he uses the younger stands of maple up on the hill where he has his sheep. He still does it the old fashioned way, outside over wood-burning fires, imparting a lovely smokiness to the syrup. He better save me some!

Funny how we’re both in our own sap-watching stories. I guess that’s just what some farmers do: we watch sap.

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This is from last week, when we officially began to harvest our Rock Flour Hill vineyard. We had to leave the sangiovese, just not ready.

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I’ve been sick—a cold (hence the online silence + I had been working on the website + I’m knitting Sam a “tractor” sweater)—the last week or so and someone suggested bay leaf, hot water, and lemon as relief, a Sicilian grandmother’s remedy from the old country. I was on it. After I made myself a cup, and put Sam to his nap, I settled in to try to catch up on some of the wine world’s goings on; my first (and only) stop: Stu Smith’s site, Biodynamics is a Hoax.

What a hullabaloo going on there, if you haven’t visited, and lots to digest, that is if you care about biodynamics and vineyard farming. Disclosure: I know very little about biodynamic farming, and at one time some years ago, when we were beginning the prep work to plant our vineyard, I felt a little pressured that we should be doing something like this, as it seemed to be all the rage, and obviously still is. In something like a fear-based state of mind that we do things right, and in an ignorant state (or innocent? hmmm, where to draw the line between the two?), I felt the draw of herd mentality. So, I got what was at that time the only copy of Nicolas Joly’s Wine from Sky to Earth: Growing and Appreciating Biodynamic Wine from the Multnomah County Library (five years later there are two copies) and set out to learn more. Fine enough. But somewhere between the dung-filled horn and crystals the skeptic in me took hold, and after months of renewals and collecting dust while I thought I might get around to it, I returned the book to the library. I should’ve skipped ahead to the moon planting bits, that’s what I was really interested in. My old-world Swiss Oma would plant to cosmos rhythms, and I romanticized about moonlight sowing (!). But I digress (as usual).

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