Posted by Holly at April 23rd, 2008

Wow. This was definitely a grape day. We have grape days and horse days on the farm and this one was spent in grape activity. First, it’s the middle of April and it’s freezing here. Reminds me of one of my favorite Jame Thurber passages, paraphrased here: The world’s at sixes and sevens…middle of July and the dogs are sticking to the sidewalk. Except it’s the opposite: middle of April and it’s so cold the buds on the trees are barely able to lift their little hats. We went to a Chehalem Mountains Winegrowers meeting last night and, while talking about how all the vineyards will be full and fruity in September for a planned event, someone said that was if we ever got bud break! Jim has had to prune the entire vineyard in cold weather. I helped on the only really nice days we’ve had. Clever.

I’m throwing around these terms quite professionally now, if I do say so myself, and I learn new ones all the time. Yesterday the word was ratchi … the spine from which the little grapes hang. This is something you don’t want to get into your pressed material in the early stages of winemaking but, not to worry, they separate pretty nicely with a destemmer. We’re way far away from that part of the process with the 2008 grapes. It’s so cold we may not see bud break, leaves and actual grapes for a long, long time. You always think a season or so ahead or behind of where you are, it seems. All through the winter, as Jim was pruning the vines, he was thinking not only about the number of branches and possible bunches he would get this year, he was trying to make decisions about which buds would become next year’s new arms. God, it was cold up there in the vineyard where the wind comes out of the west and there no trees nearby to cut its billowing path. I was glad to be up there, though, the couple of days I could stand the weather because it makes me feel a part of things. Jim has taught me how to prune – on the top arms you want the buds that are pointing upwards and will eventually cuddle up to the upper grow wires. Obviously, then, on the bottom you want the buds that grow downwards. If only the plants could read that page in the book and direct their buds accordingly. The vines and branches, however, are pretty, well, viney with twists and turns so an up bud may not necessarily look like that in real life. Nonetheless, I have learned how to make the choice and gamely nip off the unwanted buds, cutting through them on a diagonal so the node doesn’t push out another bud. Still scary stuff, however. The thought of ruining a plant is like an undercurrent in my mind at all times. We hit on a nice rhythm the last few times we were up there together with Jim doing the right side of a plant and I the left. That way didn’t feel so terrified. Still, I do a certain amount of talking to myself when facing a plant, repeating the rules to follow – top/up, bottom/down; every other bud; leave about four inches between them; four or five buds on an arm and on this side. Watch the ones near the crook as one of them will end up being next year’s new arm.

Today was so cold and rainy that even Jim couldn’t stay up in the vineyard. So we bottled last year’s Chardonnay. Bottling is way more fun than pruning and most other jobs because you get to taste and can persuade yourselves, since you’re winemakers, that drinking wine at 9:30 in the morning is okay. Last year, we bought a bottler but not the mechanized one. It is a lovely table-top piece of equipment with five stems through which wine flows into bottles. The bottles sit on a ledge that, through adjustment into notches, regulates the amount of wine that flows into each bottle. Clever and attractive. The flow into the stems begins with a siphon. The first time Jim tried it was last summer when family from California was visiting. Family is Jim’s niece and great-niece who is 9 years old and who had a friend with her. We always have a wonderful time when Michelle and Kate are here and, with the addition of Maddie, it was especially fun. The weather, then, was great so no one minded being out and doing whatever there was to do. Actually, everyone in Jim’s family is pretty outdoorsy so weather rarely stops them from anything. I, on the other hand, was raised to think the outdoors is just a way to get from one tall building to another or as a valuable view from a New York City apartment. (That’s not entirely true; I spent countless hours in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden but only knowing the security of a tall building was quite nearby.)

Anyhow, on that bottling day last summer, Jim started the siphon the old fashioned way. Not quite having the hang of the new bottler, the siphon kept fading, wine stopped flowing, Jim kept re-starting and, because he thinks he is invincible, he kept swallowing the wine that inevitably ended up in his mouth. Winemakers learn early on to spit not swallow. He was so drunk by about 11 AM that morning that it was all I could do to walk him into the house without his falling over – we kind of goose-stepped our way in with Jim tilting dangerously in one direction or the other. Never was he completely upright. He spent the day in bed, was riotously funny, doesn’t remember any of it and was mortified to learn that the two little girls were collapsed in endless ripples of giggles on the floor outside of the bedroom listening to him rant and rave at length about nothing in particular. Later on, it was a teachable moment about the perils of overdoing.

On this bottling day, today, it was a more sedate and mature process. We did taste first, of course, to decide for sure that the wine was ready to be bottled.Neither of us swallowed. We weren’t tasting very much, however, and held our own. The Chardonnay was deemed ready so we went to work. Today I was the corker of the 180 bottles we filled. The corking machine is totally hand operated. It’s a tripod. Put the bottle on a little round holder on a big spring; push down so it’s positioned right under the cork hole; put in cork, pull lever down, feel the satisfying swerp as the cork is pushed into the bottle. It’s a Ferrari and the only one I am ever likely to drive.

This wine, 2007. we will drink and give to family and friends. We’re in the middle of the bonding process right now so we can sell wine as of the current vintage presuming we get bud break, I didn’t mangle too many of the vines and future bunches, wasps and birds don’t eat all the grapes, we don’t have continuing weird weather or any other unforeseen challenges and obstacles AND we have the courage to become commercial!

Last night Jim had a brainstorm about the name of the vineyard so we’ve renamed it A Blooming Hill Vineyard. It will, more accurately, be officially renamed once the paperwork is completed to undo the old name and assign this new one. I filed the paperwork on line today and got an email almost immediately telling me there was an error and I could file. I called. The name, they said, is already taken. What? Yes, there’s a vineyard called Blooming Hills Vineyard and this is too close. But that’s us, I told them, and we want to change the name. Oh, well, in that case you’ll have to fill out a cancellation form and then resubmit the new name form. Of course, there are fees to cancell and reapply. Okay, okay. It will be worth it. I like it – A Blooming Hill Vineyard. Has the ring of a new blog name, too, so maybe I’ll do a companion piece to A Bag Of Onions!

Oh, and did I mention that Jim is putting in a second vineyard below the house where blackberries were formerly raised? Yes. And those grapes will be ready to become wine when Jim is 82….Nice, for a little retirement hobby.