The Failed Vineyard
It was a spring day in Napa Valley, California, where golden sunlight painted the vineyards in hues of warmth.
Unlike the refreshing, endless expanse of green that usually delighted the eyes, the atmosphere here was anything but pleasant.
“So, you’re saying you’re shutting down? Is that it? Huh?”
There were people shouting, others slumped over as if the sky had collapsed, and my mom and dad, staring blankly into space. Under normal circumstances, this situation would have been terrifying and heart-wrenching, but I felt only a profound sense of bewilderment.
‘Why...? Why did I come back?’
Unlike my internal confusion, the mood in the front yard of the old wooden office at the heart of Redwood Vineyard was grim. The source of it all was the owner, John Anderson, who was making his way heavily onto a small wooden platform. He wiped his signature rough beard and pulled his worn leather cowboy hat low over his eyes.
He let out a deep sigh, scanned the crowd, and offered a bitter smile.
“Everyone, whenever I looked out at this land, I felt nothing but pride and gratitude. This Napa Valley has been the home our family has cherished for nearly fifty years, and Redwood Vineyard was like my own soul.”
John’s voice was low and heavy, trembling ever so slightly. His blue eyes couldn't hide the raw emotion swirling within them.
“But as you all know, this beautiful vineyard hasn't been kind to us these past few years. Three years of extreme drought, the pests that struck without warning, and the rapid changes in the wine market... all of it slowly tightened its grip on our small farm.”
Some of the workers lowered their heads, shadows deepening on their faces, while the men in suits standing at the edge of the yard glared at John with cold, calculating eyes.
The people in worn, comfortable clothes were the laborers who had worked this land, and the men in suits were, presumably, the investors.
John gripped his leather hat tightly in his hands and continued, his expression a mix of deep regret and longing.
“Honestly, I wanted to hold on longer. But the debt I owe the bank has reached an unmanageable level, and the investors are no longer willing to provide funding. In the end, I had to make this decision. As of today, Redwood Vineyard is closing its doors.”
The yard fell silent at his firm yet sorrowful declaration. In the heavy, suffocating quiet, I watched my father’s shoulders slump, and my heart hammered painfully against my ribs.
John looked around at the people one last time and cleared his throat.
“The responsibility for this outcome lies with me, the owner. Please, I ask for your forgiveness for the pain and damage my poor judgment has caused you. I desperately hoped there would be hope to revive this farm... but my abilities were simply not enough.”
Having finished, John bowed his head deeply. A spring breeze swept across the distant vineyards, rustling the leaves of the grapevines.
And I...
‘I’m back. Twenty-five years into the past...’
I couldn't believe the reality of the situation.
“You’re up already? What’s the occasion? You’re up without me even waking you?”
My mother looked at me with genuine surprise as I emerged, ready for school before eight o’clock.
“Just... I’m graduating high school soon, so I thought I should start acting like a real person.”
“Oh my, my son is all grown up!”
Back then, my mother was still healthy. Having immigrated to the U.S. less than a year ago, her skin hadn't yet sagged with age, and her eyes were bright.
Even though she was deeply frustrated by the failure of the farm—the very place that had finally given them a foothold in this country—she didn't show it much, perhaps not wanting to worry her son.
Before I regressed, I hadn't seen that. I had only resented my father for failing in business and fleeing to America, and I hated seeing them struggle on the farm.
I had spent my youth deliberately looking away. It wasn't until I was working as an accountant in New York and my father collapsed that I finally returned to California and took an interest in agriculture.
‘Farming? You want to farm in the countryside? Are you out of your mind?’
At the time, my wife had taken our child and left for New York, and I had stayed by my mother’s side, studying agriculture while she withered away.
I had earned a PhD in Agriculture from Cornell, but after losing my mother to illness, life had lost all meaning. I lived alone, weary and lonely, until I finally closed my eyes... and now that I was back, I felt an indescribable sensation.
The lethargy was gone, and I felt energy surging through my body.
“Is there anything I can help with?”
Just seeing my mother’s vibrant face made me feel grateful for everything, and a smile tugged at my lips.
“What could you possibly help with? We aren't even going to the farm for a while.”
“Ah, right. Where’s Dad?”
“Your father went to look for other farms. Surely there’s some farm around here where he can work? Don’t worry too much.”
Just as Mom said, my parents soon found a farm where they could work, and they ended up working there for over ten years.
“Alright. I’m heading out.”
“Okay, study hard. If anyone says anything to you, just ignore them, don’t get into fights. It’s dangerous. You know that, right?”
“I told you not to worry. Everyone is nice, so nothing like that will happen.”
That was a lie.
There were nice people, sure, but racism existed everywhere, and school was just a gathering of immature personalities.
“Alright, my son... have a good day~”
“Yeah.”
Vintage High School in Napa Valley, California. The school I attended... or rather, the school I am attending.
With over 1,500 students, a diverse racial demographic, and a curriculum that balanced academics with extracurriculars, it was a comprehensive high school. Because it was a comprehensive school, it offered vocational training in culinary arts, hospitality, and even agriculture.
‘Sigh, they’re going to end up hurting their backs and twisting their fingers from farming again...’
Even in class, the chalkboard didn't register; I was lost in thought. Mr. Miller, the teacher, was standing at the board with a piece of chalk, explaining cell structures.
“Everyone, what you see here are the cell wall and the cell membrane. These two parts act as the protection for plant cells.”
The students were taking notes or listening quietly. I, sitting in the back row, listened with a bored expression while doodling on the edge of my notebook.
‘I don’t want to be an accountant again. If I’m going to work, I’ll do it on my own terms.’
I wouldn't let them sacrifice themselves for my sake anymore.
Just then,
“Brian, are you focusing?”
I jumped in surprise and looked up to see Mr. Miller smiling at me.
“Yes, sir. My apologies.”
“Good. Then, could you briefly explain the function of chloroplasts in plant cells?”
“Uh... chloroplasts are the organelles that create the energy needed for plant cells through photosynthesis. They take in sunlight and convert carbon dioxide and water into oxygen and glucose.”
It wasn't particularly difficult, so Mr. Miller chuckled and pointed a finger at me.
“An accurate explanation. Let’s keep focusing!”
“Yes.”
Feeling guilty, I kept my eyes fixed on the teacher, but my mind was already wandering elsewhere.
It was when the tedious class ended and I stood up to go get lunch.
“Brian!”
That cringe-worthy name was my English name. Instead of my real name, Choi Wooseok, it was Brian...
I turned toward the voice and saw a delicate-looking Asian girl approaching.
“Oh... yeah. What’s up?”
A girl I vaguely remembered.
“What’s up? We were supposed to turn in our group project by this morning. You haven't been answering, so I had to come find you myself, didn't I?”
“Answering?”
“I sent you messages. Didn't you see them?”
I glanced around my desk and realized. I had left my old cell phone—which had no functions other than texting and calling—at home.
And I realized the cute girl in front of me was Rachel, a girl from Taiwan who was incredibly smart, even if her English pronunciation was a bit rough.
“Ah... sorry. I left my phone at home.”
“And the project?”
I almost asked what project, but I kept my mouth shut and made an awkward face. Rachel crossed her arms and sighed.
“Haa, are you serious? You were the one who said you’d look into the tax and accounting program.”
Only then did a long-forgotten memory surface. In my senior year of high school, our group of Asian students had divided up the research for college admissions, and I, interested in tax and accounting at the time, had taken that part.
“I forgot about it today. Can I give it to you tomorrow?”
“Did you even look into it?”
“Of course, obviously.”
I probably had the research done. If I looked for it, I’d find it. Well, if not, I could just look it up now. And honestly, I knew plenty from my experience without needing to research it.
“Then you’re coming to the study session after school today, right?”
“...Sorry, but I think I need to head home early today.”
“What’s up? You’re acting weird today.”
“Me? In what way?”
She stared at me intently for a moment before speaking.
“You know you’re being really indifferent? Your tone, everything... You were the one who organized this study group and were the most diligent about it.”
Now I remembered what kind of study group it was. And... I remembered another Asian girl who was in that study group. My wife from my previous life... but I didn't have the luxury to look at her now, nor did I want to.
“Rachel, it’s not like that. I really have an urgent matter at home.”
“Is that so? Alright.”
Even though we weren't close, seeing the friends I was starting to remember made the reality of the situation hit me in real-time.
After I returned, it felt like I was watching a short movie, so I had just let things play out, but as I began to realize that this place I was living in was reality, my heart started pounding.
From then on, I just waited for school to end. It was always like that when I studied, but how slowly time crawled...
When classes finally finished, I hopped on the bicycle I’d left in front of the school and pedaled like a madman. I wanted to get home as fast as I could.
“Dad! Dad!”
As soon as I arrived home, I tossed my bike aside and ran into the house to find my parents sitting at the dining table, talking.
“Why are you home so early?”
I could feel the heavy air of the serious conversation they’d been having just moments before, but Mom forced a bright expression. It seemed she didn't want her son to know about the gravity of the situation.
I threw my backpack onto the living room floor, sat down heavily at the table, and looked my parents straight in the eyes.
“Don’t look for a new farm.”
“What are you talking about?”
My father, his hair already turned white, asked.
“You’re looking for work, right? Let’s not do that.”
“What do you mean? We have to find work. How else are we going to earn money to survive?”
“At best, you’ll only earn enough to barely scrape by each month.”
“What are you...?”
“We’re going to acquire Redwood Vineyard. We’re going to build that farm up ourselves.”
My mother and father stared at me as if I were speaking nonsense.