Farming the Vineyard

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

8. An outfit for every occasion. If you’re a climber or hiker, you know how you truly need an assortment of protective clothing for what mother nature throws at you. The typical set up is the base-layer for wicking moisture, the mid, insulating layer to keep you warm, and the protective outer layer to keep the elements at bay: an outfit for every occasion. And as someone who loves the outdoors, the more options the better – I just can’t help myself.

One of my favorite mantras that drives Scott nutso is whenever he mentions an “event” and I say, “Oh! Sounds like a new outfit!” I must have formulated that idea after reading this “cultivated” book that shared the happenings of a year in a California vineyard. That book was really uebercultivated and often a grimacing, rough read  because of all the self-inflated moments, but still an interesting glimpse into how “the other side” lives, if we could all be so lucky, born into it instead of making it happen ourselves. Anyway – I digress. All the clothes descriptions for all the parties and events the author described, of COURSE you need new outfits for every public viewing.

I’m more practical. I’d be happy with a new outfit for weeding, or simply a Pucci head scarf for an event. And I did try to beef up my 10-year old fraying “creative class” wardrobe from my old sports company job and schicki-micki freelance meetings for our NYC media trip, and maybe I should have done the same for our venture capital pitches which never amounted to anything (which in hindsight is a godsend we didn’t get investors, for you can’t go your own way  and do what you want if you’re on other people’s dimes).  Scott says I mention that new outfit thing “At more or less any occasion.” But no, I don’t always get a new outfit, we are on a fairly tight budget, you know. It’s just that I can’t help myself.

9. Ability to laugh at yourself, and that’s so you can laugh at others. In my book you can’t have one without the other. And I most certainly love to laugh at others, in a Mark Twain/Jonathan Swift/Alexander Pope kind of way. I’m an anthropologist at heart, and I love to observe people, behaviour, and copycat copy on websites. And you KNOW I can laugh at myself, that goes without saying. For a reminder, see #5 in this post.

10. A leader with an unwavering vision. In hiking, it’s to see your team safely to the top. To make decisions in the best interest of the group, but always with safety at the core, and sobeit if you have to abandon the climb because of weather or injury or fatigue or what-have-you. They know what they are there to do. In this loud, me-too business world you better have someone with a vision. An honest, individual vision, who believes to the core in what they’re embarking upon, and who does not waver from the path. Think Richard Branson. Or Yves Chouinard. Those guys know where they’re going. Not only do they have extremely clear visions, they are visionaries, even better. Theirs is the kind of belief and determination and VISION you need. That’s Scott. He is the guy who knows, heart and soul, that there is no other way other than this. His way. His vision is what has guided this endeavor from the get-go. It is deep inside him. It is the driving force behind everything we do in the vineyard and for our wine. He’s an individual, as every leader needs to be. And he has an unwavering vision.

So, there you have it. My Top 10 Essentials. I know, I know, I didn’t even go into all the martinis or manhattans you might need along the way. That goes without saying.

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.

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The rest of the story.

From how we got Leroy to come on board in 2004, up to our 2006 meet-and-greet with our disgruntled neighbors AFTER we established our farm site.

Enjoy.

Scott’s off to Yakima, WA today [note: which really was Saturday], a good 2-hour trip NNE of The Dalles. He’s returning some bird netting; it’s good to get some money BACK for once. Ever since our first harvest in 2008, birds have been, how shall we say, an issue once the grapes ripen. Never thought they would be, since there are no roosting trees around, it’s just those little darned wings that take them places we forgot about.

That first harvest year we tried a couple things: the intermittent cannon blasts (lasted until the neighbors asked us to turn it off, so we did—it wasn’t working, anyway), and the bird distress call, a microchip of birds in distress, plus the predatory birds causing it. Also had a crazy little rendezvous around Mt. Hood to pick up the chip we needed—for it to work you have to have distress calls of the birds that have taken over your vineyard, like starlings and robins. Somehow we had coastal bird noises on the chips we had borrowed from a neighboring cherry orchardist, and it was soon very obvious that starlings don’t give a rat’s ass about one of their feathered brethren like a seagull calling out in distress: “Too bad for you, brother, there are grapes to eat.” So after identifying which birds in particular had invaded our vineyard, we set off to pick up the chip in the little mountain-like community of ZigZag, just at the base of Mt. Hood, the bird chip people meeting us half-way between their Sisters, Oregon location.

We already knew it might be too late for us, since birds had already found the treasure in our vineyard. The trick is that you must put these calls out BEFORE any of these ravenous monsters find your crop. But we were desperate; there were too many birds, and too small a harvest, getting smaller by the day. Samuel was only 2-months old, and if being new parents wasn’t enough, we were new harvest people, and had this bird issue.

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Figured it was time to show a little about what I’ve been either hinting at or outright saying about our little vineyard on the frontier. The video says we went yesterday, but we didn’t — it was last week. Just takes me some time to edit all my “uhs” and “ahs” and, of course, the blather. And so what if I whisper at the end something that indirectly gives nod to what I think about our wine. Someone’s gotta say it someday. And hopefully soon it won’t be just me.

And for another one day soon…I’ll give our whole sordid story in video form, since so many of you have been asking, but for now, enjoy the wide open spaces that surround our place.

You’d think it’d be the waiting. All this waiting. At first it was to find the right land. Then it was to do the dance so the wheat farmer (Old Wise All) would sell us it. Which did turn out shorter than expected, but a dance and wait game nonetheless. The wait to find water. How deep would we have to drill? How much would there be? Would we even find any? Then the waiting for the deer fence to be dug, the mainline to be set in, the 3-phase to be brought in, the plants to arrive.

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Scott went off to the farm this past weekend, and as much as he loves farming, he hates leaving us to do it. We were supposed to be moved out there by now, to tend the vineyard from a 10-minute drive, and eventually, when we could afford to build on our ground, by stepping out our front door, not this 90 minute plus haul that happens each time something must be taken care of. And now that season has begun. The taking-care-of-the-farm time.

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