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).

Back to the biodynamic hullabaloo, and about it being faith-based farming—that is the crux of the issue discussed —there is no scientific proof it works (at least none that anyone is sharing); yet people do tout it as a superior way of farming. With all the fanaticism of agri-ligious zealots, they herald their (vineyard’s) great transformation to the world and how it’s the best thing ever, or something like that. And for all we know the vineyard is great. Fine. The best? That’s the contentious point. But that’s the power of marketing. This is the world we live in. Ignoranti, beware.

But back to my tea, and where I started. As I’m sipping my hot drink, I started to think of how much I rely on faith in my life. Not religious faith, I wouldn’t call myself a religious person, spiritual is more like it. But here with this tea, I’m putting my faith into some little old Nonna’s remedy, and know what? It worked. I felt cleared up, soothed. Who knows how much it was because I felt content in knowing my cold remedy stemmed from a little Sicilian grandmother–her knowledge, I imagine, gleaned from her small, agricultural island, from her own mother and hers from her mother, and so on and so on. As if this little Nonna, there in her black dress (of course, her husband long gone), had put her slender, heavily veined hand around my shoulders, hugging me close, while I drank what was in my cup; very reassuring.

Or what about the faith we put into old Mother Nature when we farm? That she doesn’t throw us too long a chilly spring, or rain too early at the end of the growing year, or frost and freeze at the wrong time.

And how much is this faith, and how much is it simply simple optimism?  As a recovering pessimist, it’s now my turn to sound like a fanatic when I say, isn’t it better to be optimistic about whatever it is we choose to be optimistic about, instead of the opposite? Isn’t that what faith is anyway? Optimism?! My tea, biodynamics, whatever it is. I don’t know where I’m going with this—I guess I just feel that in the end, why can’t we all simply and quietly cultivate our gardens and leave the jostle behind. Good lord, the amount of jostle in this industry is mind-numbing. It’s so loud. And I admit, I let myself get sucked in. Sigh. Nonna, besides your stuffy nose remedy, might you have a cure for a tired head?!

Oh, and our vineyard… We never ended doing anything biodynamic-related on Rock Flour Hill, although we did do some kind of sea-algae-something-or-other dip. That was my job during the planting. All 17,000 plants, thank you very much. And did it make a difference? We’ll never know. We never had a control patch, so I guess we’ve just had faith that it did something….AND, we don’t talk about it that much.

K Miller Photographs

One fun thing about being a start-up is working directly with creative folk you enlist to represent your company. Even more fun is discovering them. Now that we have Sam, I’m big into Holiday Cards, as in December holidays, go figure. And last holiday season I decided to go all “professional” and use a photographer, a gal who first helped us set up our splash page, Kim Miller. She had just moved up to Portland from California, and was doing on-the-side web work to supplement income while she pursued her real dream, photography.

After seeing some of her pictures, I was smitten. Her images have soul. Raw yet elegant, delicate, yet forceful in their totality. They make you stop, look, and imagine. And working with her? She’s intuitive, thoughtful, and fun. It is a collaboration, that is for sure.

We used a couple of images she took of our bottled wine on the home page of our new site; we had her over to do some trade shots and whatever else moved her in our Portland backyard, we just let her go. I’ve included some and am trying to decide what to do with the others, they are so beautiful.

And here’s a link to the last shoot we had her do, some family backyard fun. Looking at those pictures, if there’s ever a reason to keep our dream going, and to keep me hanging in there, it’s pretty clear in those images. My favorite is Sam sitting and contemplating life on the edge of his little pool.

And Kim’s dream? She tells me she’s just about to the point of leaving that other pay-the-bills-day-job behind. It didn’t take her long – I’m not surprised.

K Miller Photographs

K Miller Photographs

Enjoy.

www.thegrandedalles.com

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.

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.

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

One of the great things about where we live in the Pacific Northwest is all the hiking that surrounds us. The Cascade Mountains are essentially at our doorstep, Mt. Hood the closest to us in Portland, as well as the vineyard (30 miles or so, as the crow flies), Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Adams near by to the north, and then all the peaks in central Oregon: Mt. Jefferson, Three Sisters, Broken Top…. Not to mention all the opportunities in the Columbia Gorge – Dog Mountain, Table Mountain, Ruckle Ridge, Mt. Defiance, to name a few. Before the vineyard and wine, when times seemed much simpler, and we had the time and car and energy to head out into nature, I was a rather avid hiker, even enrolling in and completing the Mazama’s Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP) in Scott’s and my salad dating days. The Mazamas are the second oldest climbing group in the West, founded on the pinnacle of Mt. Hood in 1894, and their BCEP a primer for physical conditioning and basic climbing—rock and snow/ice—techniques to get you to the top of some peaks—along with a seasoned Mazama climb leader, of course—at the end of the course.

One of the key things that gets hammered into you in the Mazamas Basic Climbing Education Program is what’s called the 10 Essentials. They are what every climber should carry with them, no matter what the duration of your hike, day or overnight, car-camping or wilderness rambling, to help you in a pinch, and keep you prepared for outdoor’s unexpected twists and turns. They are:

1. Map of where you are hiking
2. Compass (I carried one, but still really don’t know how to use one, no fault of the Mazamas, I would even skip lukio in Finland whenever we had our Orienteering gym class. I don’t know why I have such an aversion to the compass. Odd.)
3. Whistle
4. Waterproof matches and a fire-starter
5. Knife
6. Extra food/water
7. Extra clothing
8. Sun protection (extra glasses, lip and skin balm/cream, and hat)
9. Flashlight with working and extra batteries
10. First-aid kit

Based on this, I’ve assembled my own list of 10 Essentials that everyone should have at their disposal when starting a vineyard, for going whole hog into the wine business, for even, like in hiking, as much as you think you know where you’re going, there are a ton of unknown variables that can cause you to alter course, or terminate the mission altogether. Here they are, in no real order:

1. Preparation. Ok, I know, this goes without saying. But just like any outdoor hike or climb, you better know: where you’re going, how you plan on getting there, how much time it’ll take, and when you’ll be back safely to the trail head, this on top of making sure you’re even fit enough for the venture, and having the basic know-how to see it through. For this, your “preparation” begins with a business plan. Look at what you are about to do from inside, and out. Research, people, research. BE PREPARED. Why are you in the business? What do you hope to accomplish? What sets you apart? How can you make it happen? Something we weren’t prepared for, was how sharky it is out there with all those naysayers. Just know how to swim, people. Know how to swim. Know that if you try to do something different and run counter current to the crowd, the sharks will gather. But don’t look back, ever. Just be prepared.

2. Stamina. I started my Mt. Hood ascent at 10 PM on a Sunday evening. I summited the following day around 9 AM, back to Timberline Lodge and the car around 4 PM. Whew. Unlike that climb where we went evenly step-by-step up that beautiful mountain, this vineyard/wine endeavor has felt both like a marathon and sprint at once, and you need the stamina to persevere: while you wait through those long seasons for your vines to grow and hope some crazy weather pattern doesn’t gobble up your hard work, or that the fire a moron set over a good ½ mile away doesn’t find its way to your vineyard; or when you feel those sharks quietly circling to see some blood action; or all those daily sacrifices that rear their ugly heads on your worst days when you curse this endeavor that you will not see any ROI on for a good five years and you wonder why you must live in a tiny home, you need stamina.

3. A good shrink. Hiking is a therapy substitute; all those long hours of meditative foot following foot, out in the wilds. But as soon as the hikes end, and it suddenly catches up to you that a dream you’ve committed to is not yours, and boy, look how deep you’re in it now, a good shrink comes in handy for those darkest moments of cursing: the endeavor, the sharks, the weather, whatever. Enough said.

4. Know your team. Around 6 AM or so we were up at the Hogsback, the first team that should’ve reached Mt. Hood’s summit that morning, but little did we know, there was someone in our group who would profess his fear of heights. At 10,600 feet (3231 meters) he finally figured it out – and with only just over 600 feet (182 meters) to go. Sigh. Long story short, he never summited, and we had to sit there and wait, hoping he might change his mind. In the meantime, the trail to the summit filled up so quickly with everyone who began at a later time, we had to wait even longer while they all went by, creating the perfect conditions of the previous year when one hiker fell, pulled his/her team and another separate team into a crevasse, and at least two people were killed. Why couldn’t that guy have told us this earlier?!

Scott probably wishes he had known “his team” (aka me) a little better before starting this venture, because I was like that guy who decided way late, that the climb wasn’t for him. Unlike that guy, I’ve for the most part overcome the fear and hurt and anger and everything else I associate with this endeavor (remember Essential #3, a good shrink), but I bet he was cursing me like that guy, “Why couldn’t she have told me this earlier?!”

To be continued.

Thank you, Snooth and Carly, for this most lovely day.

Check it out: The Real Dirt, How to Launch a Vineyard in Your Spare Time (and Survive), by Carly Wray.