Acquiring the Vineyard (1)
"What kind of nonsense is that? We're renting this house. If you consider your tuition and our rent, we have to work without rest. Where on earth would that kind of money come from?"
Dad wore an expression that suggested I was being immature, but I remained unfazed. It was only natural for him to see my claim as the reckless bravado of a high schooler.
"You don't need a fortune to acquire a vineyard. You can acquire one with very little money."
"Don't talk nonsense... Just focus on your studies!"
Dad waved his hand as if to tell me to stop with the useless talk, but I didn't stop.
"There's a policy for immigrants!"
"What?"
Only then did Dad meet my eyes properly.
"Listen closely. The government has a special support system for immigrant farmers. Through the SDA (Socially Disadvantaged Applicant) program, we can receive low-interest support for 45% of the farm's price and get a 50% loan guarantee from a private bank. We only need to prepare 5% of the total amount ourselves. 5% of the farm's value. That's all we need."
Because I wasn't just making groundless demands but explaining a clear plan and a plausible system, my parents finally started to listen.
"There's something like that? Is it really just 5%?"
"That's what I'm saying!"
Then Mom chimed in.
"But what's the value of the Redwood Vineyard? If 5% of that is still much more than the money we have, there's nothing we can do."
"You're right. That could be the case. But the Redwood Vineyard has declared bankruptcy. So, how do you think the investors feel? Wouldn't they want to recover at least some of their investment?"
"That... I suppose so?"
"Now is the perfect time to purchase the farm for much less than its original value. If we step up and actively offer to acquire it, the investors will likely jump at the chance to sell. They'll be desperate to recoup even a fraction of their capital."
By now, my parents were exchanging curious glances. They were caught between wondering if this was truly possible and being tempted by the prospect.
However, perhaps because he had failed once before, Dad approached the matter more cautiously.
"I understand what you're saying, but there's a reason the farm failed. Let's say we get a loan and acquire the farm. But what if the harvest fails again? We won't be able to handle it."
It was a perfectly valid point, and in a way, it hit the nail on the head. But I was a man who had held a PhD in agriculture from Cornell University in my previous life.
"Dad, I'm studying agriculture professionally at school. You know the school has programs for employment and business, right?"
"Well, I've heard as much, but..."
"Don't dismiss it as just some skill taught in high school. They're teaching the latest farming methods."
But Dad wasn't easily persuaded.
"You might think so. But do you think John Anderson, the owner of Redwood Vineyard, was a fool for letting it fail? It's a farm with over 40 years of history, and John has been growing grapes for 30 years. Even a man like that failed helplessly. If you say you can save the farm with techniques learned in mere high school, aren't you looking at the world too optimistically?"
It was a perfect rebuttal. Perhaps because of his past failure, Dad had a strictly realistic perspective.
"Fine. Then I'll graduate from high school and enroll in the University of California, Davis (UC Davis)."
"University of California? Is that a good school?"
Mom asked, tilting her head. Naturally, my parents didn't know much about the university.
"It teaches the highest level of Viticulture & Enology in the United States. Mom, you know why Napa Valley is famous for grapes, right?"
"Yes... I didn't know before, but they say this is a world-class pre... what is it."
"Premium wine."
As Dad helped her out, Mom immediately continued.
"Right, a premium wine production region, they say? And the grape variety we pick is... what is it? Cabernet Sauvignon?"
"Cabernet Sauvignon."
"Right, Cabernet Sauvignon. How do you know so much when you've never been interested in the farm?"
Of course, I hadn't been interested at the time. I only became interested ten years later.
The SDA program for immigrant farmers was also something I only learned about after I took an interest in the farm.
"I just know. Dad, do you think I don't know what you and Mom do?"
"My goodness... how thoughtful. Anyway, is that school the best place in the world for teaching grape farming?"
"I don't know about the whole world, but it's the best in the US."
"Ah... then that's the same as the whole world."
"I suppose so. Anyway, this opportunity is a gift from heaven. California Cabernet Sauvignon is a world-recognized wine, and there will never be another chance to acquire a grape farm in Napa Valley this cheaply."
Of course, I only say that because I know the future.
"Hmm... let me think about it for a bit."
Dad was clearly worried about failing again. He had brought his family to the US, and he must have been terrified that if he failed again, we might end up as drifters.
I understood his reasons perfectly, but I couldn't give up.
"Dad! Please! If we're even a little late, someone else will snatch it up. They say business is all about timing. This opportunity won't come again. Just trust me this once."
It was likely the first time Dad had seen his son try to persuade him with such a serious face since I was born. To him, I had always been the slightly rebellious type.
"I might consider it if you go to college and learn the farming methods, but I can't waste a year in the meantime."
"Don't worry. I'll take responsibility and save the farm."
"You don't know anything about agriculture!"
"No. I've... I've learned a lot about grape farming while at school. If we miss this chance, we'll have to live our whole lives working for someone else's paycheck. If we become the farm owners ourselves, what we work for becomes our own, and our effort and sweat won't be in vain. I know how to revive the farm. We must not miss this chance."
Dad fell into deep thought, silent, before finally looking at me as if he had made a decision.
"Are you truly confident about grape farming?"
"Yes."
"Then shall we go to the farm now and check?"
"Good, let's go."
Dad was taken aback by his son standing up so confidently, but he soon stood up and went outside to start the car.
"You're going right now?"
Mom asked worriedly as she followed us out, but I climbed into the passenger seat.
"Don't worry. I'll be back soon."
Since we weren't going to a fight but to a vineyard, Mom just told us to drive safely as she sent us off.
Dad didn't say a word the entire drive. His mind was clearly a mess.
Even though the farm had failed, it wasn't as if they had locked the doors like a retail store, so Dad parked near the farm and walked ahead, his steps heavy.
As we walked for a while, I, a former agricultural PhD, could tell at a glance that the state of the vines was poor. But I didn't bother pointing out the problems first.
Suddenly, Dad stopped in his tracks.
"Do you see this? Why do you think this is happening?"
Dad pointed to a tree with branches slightly longer and higher than the surrounding vines. The leaves were covered in white, powdery fungal spots, as if someone had dusted them with flour. The hazy, shimmering sight was turning a piece of the fresh vineyard into a dull gray.
"It's White Powder Disease."
Dad was startled by his son answering immediately, and he no longer looked at me as just an immature high schooler.
"That's right, it's White Powder Disease. At the start of summer, if the weather is even a little humid or too dry, it spreads easily. It wasn't the decisive factor in the farm's failure, but it was a cause of major problems. How would you solve it?"
I stepped closer and lightly touched the leaf with my fingertip. The white powder, soft like dust, spilled onto the back of my hand. At that moment, the 'incomplete grape cell structure' I had seen under a microscope in my laboratory at age 46 came to mind.
"You might think you just need to spray pesticides... but it can be treated very simply."
"What? How?"
I scanned the vast vineyard once and spoke calmly.
"One cup of milk per tree. And ten cups of water. If you mix them in that ratio and spray it on the trees, it reacts with sunlight to cause an oxidation effect on the fungal mycelium. You'll probably need a lot of milk."
Dad's eyes wavered significantly.
"Is that for real? Milk instead of pesticides?"
"Yes. And if you mix natural sulfur powder with water and spray it, it prevents the fungal spores from germinating. It has good persistence, too. Baking soda can also be used as an auxiliary agent."
"You..."
I looked at Dad, whose eyes were wide with disbelief, and spoke with sincerity and determination.
"So, trust me now. If you just trust me, I'll make sure we harvest the best Cabernet Sauvignon here in Napa Valley, California."