The Graduation of a Winemaker
It took about an hour to drive from Napa Valley to the vineyard. At first glance, it didn't look much different from our own.
As our car pulled up to the entrance, a middle-aged man with a bald head and a thick, red beard emerged from the building. He looked like a tall, grumpy dwarf.
"So, you're the ones looking to buy futures?"
He looked like he was in a foul mood, but Dad, perhaps assuming that was just his natural personality, didn't shrink back. He stepped forward and held out his hand.
"I'm Woody Choi."
"...Steven Hart."
"I'd like to take a look at the vineyard first."
Cutting straight to the point without small talk was a good move. Dad wasn't particularly gifted at idle chatter, and getting into a long conversation with a vineyard owner often led to them trying to inflate the value of their crop.
Hart studied Dad and me for a moment before nodding.
"Let's go."
He walked up the vineyard at a leisurely pace, and I carefully inspected the vines. There were no signs of pests, no withered canes or branches, and the soil felt soft and rich. I was already looking forward to the harvest in the fall.
Of course, that didn't mean I thought it was better than our Redwood Vineyard, where I had meticulously designed the soil quality using Biochar Compost and nitrogen fertilizer packs.
As we climbed the hill, Steven Hart stopped abruptly. He turned around to give us a view of the entire vineyard and pointed to a specific section.
"This is Block C. Everything west of that boundary line is D. Further out are E and F. You have to buy in at least block-sized increments. Don't bother looking at the back; that area is already under contract."
"What’s the yield for Block C?"
"About 24 tons."
Dad glanced at me before asking again.
"What if we include D?"
"That one's a bit smaller, so about 45 tons total. Do you have any experience, though? That's a fair amount of fruit."
His eyes were full of suspicion, but Dad brushed it off effortlessly.
"Since the volume is high, will you give us a better price?"
"...Fair point. I just need to sell the grapes."
"How about a 3-year fixed contract with a 2-year option for 45 tons, combining Blocks C and D?"
"A 5-year total contract? What's the price per ton?"
"2,300 dollars."
We had already contacted everyone we could before coming here to check the market rates. The wine broker introduced to us by Piers Morgan had provided the most up-to-date pricing for vineyards across California, so we were confident.
"That's too low."
"I heard the White Fog vineyard right next door signed for 2,250 dollars?"
At Dad's words, Hart's expression twisted immediately.
"Who the hell is running their mouth about that? Damn it..."
"We'll pay 20% upfront and increase the price by 3% every year starting next year."
"Only 20%?"
"If you want 30%, I'll have to go to the neighboring vineyard."
Steven's brow furrowed deeply. If we were amateurs, he might have tried to push back, but by mentioning the White Fog vineyard and the exact price, we had proven that this Asian father-son duo wasn't clueless.
"My vineyard's Pinot Noir is the best in California."
"I know. That's why I offered 2,300 dollars."
"Still not enough. I'll accept the 20% down, but let's make it 2,500 dollars."
He knew the value of his Pinot Noir, so he hiked the price up. But Dad just shrugged.
"You know that the price per gallon of wine is plummeting across all varieties right now, don't you? We're taking a risk here, too."
"......"
"Let's settle on 2,350 dollars. I can meet you there. If you want 2,500, you'll have to find another buyer."
Perhaps realizing that the market was indeed suffering from an oversupply of wine, Steven smacked his lips and eventually nodded.
"Fine. 2,350 dollars it is."
"The balance will be paid within 30 days of delivery. In return, MOG (Material Other than Grain) must be under 1%, and rotten fruit must also be under 1%. Harvesting must be done by hand, and if possible, please harvest at dawn using 0.5-ton bins."
"I guess I shouldn't have asked if you had experience. But dawn harvesting costs us extra in labor, so that'll be an additional 50 dollars per ton."
He seemed convinced that if he had pushed for a higher price, the deal would have fallen through. After all, someone without experience wouldn't have known to list those specific conditions.
The reason for hand-picking was that machine harvesting crushes too many berries, which is especially damaging to thin-skinned varieties like Pinot Noir. Once the berries burst, they come into contact with air, triggering browning and oxidation, which ruins wine quality. Moving them in 0.5-ton bins prevents the grapes at the bottom from being crushed under their own weight, and dawn harvesting is essential because the fruit is cold and firm, preventing the volatile aromas from escaping.
These were all non-negotiable requirements for a delicate variety like Pinot Noir.
Afterward, Dad drew up an MOU with him, discussing and setting various options such as target Brix levels, harvest timing, and risk-sharing ratios in the event of natural disasters.
"Thank you. Let's finalize the formal contract with our lawyer."
"Let's do that. Thank you for the good grapes."
"I hope you make some good wine."
Steven looked relieved. With wine prices falling, the risk of making the wine himself was too high, and having secured a sale through a futures contract, a weight had clearly been lifted off his shoulders.
In the car on the way back, I asked Dad,
"When did you study all that?"
"Oh, that? You know the broker you introduced me to? Mr. Richard. I called him and asked him a ton of questions. By the end, his voice sounded completely exhausted. Hahaha!"
"Hahaha! You did great."
"But I did commit to 45 tons... that's not too much, is it?"
45 tons of raw grapes would yield roughly 25,000 liters of wine. It was a significant amount, but since it was only about half of the total production capacity of Redwood Vineyard, it wasn't a case of the tail wagging the dog.
It was the perfect volume to generate some side revenue.
"It won't be too much. If push comes to shove, we can always sell it off as daily-grade wine without taking a big loss."
"Then the only problem left is making that Pinot Noir into a great wine... I'm counting on you, son."
"Of course. Just leave it to me."
I spoke with absolute confidence. After that, I received my acceptance letter from UC Davis that evening, and we threw a party at home.
Time flew by, and it was already the end of May.
Due to someone's report, half of the illegal immigrants who had been working in Napa Valley had disappeared, making it extremely difficult to find laborers, but my parents were managing to pull through.
And finally, my graduation ceremony was just around the corner.
"Time really flies."
The stage set up on the field was decorated with blue and gold balloons. Graduates in gowns that shimmered under the sunlight sat in rows, their mortarboards sitting perfectly on their heads.
The stands were packed with parents, relatives, and friends. There were signs with the graduates' names, giant bouquets, colorful balloons, and camera flashes... some people were already tearing up.
The principal spoke from the stage in a crisp, clear voice.
In an instant, cheers and applause erupted from the stands. My heart pounded at the thunderous sound of the clapping. Even though I had regressed, being in a younger body seemed to have made my heart younger, too; it was strangely moving.
I smoothed down the hem of my blue gown and glanced at Armando, who was sitting next to me. His face was already drenched in sweat, and he was using his cap like a fan.
"Damn it, this is why Mexican graduations are held at night. The sun is way too hot."
"They say the sunlight is a blessing here."
When I laughed, Armando grumbled but eventually chuckled along. Jacob, who was sitting behind us, leaned forward and whispered,
"If you have time, come help out at our farm."
"I will."
Jacob was just as serious about farming as I was, so he was always asking me things, and now that something had come up, he was even inviting me over. Jacob's farm was quite far away, so it wasn't a place I could just visit like a friend's house; I'd have to make a real effort to go.
A little further away, Chloe turned her head to look at me. A white dress was faintly visible beneath her gold gown. She toyed with the tassel of her mortarboard and smiled brightly.
"It's finally graduation. Thanks for everything."
"It was nothing... I got something out of it too, so it was a fair trade."
"That's a bit cold, isn't it?"
"Is it? That's how farmers are. We help each other out."
"I see. Anyway, we've started the harvest. Results will be out soon. Before, I felt like I absolutely had to win, but strangely, I don't think I'll feel bad even if I lose now."
"Why is that?"
"Because I did my best. And... my dad said he'd let me run a different vineyard if I wanted to."
"Wow... that's a different class of support."
With cherry orchards stretching out endlessly, it seemed like Chloe's family farm was practically a corporate operation.
"Anyway, congratulations on graduating! I can't make it to the graduation party, but have fun with Evan."
She flinched for a second and said,
"I broke up with Evan. And I'm not going to the party because I need to check on the cherry harvest."
"You... you've really become a true farmer, haven't you?"
She gave me an enigmatic smile and turned her head away.
Just then, the emcee called the valedictorian to the stage. The top student of the class. Their clear, articulate speech echoed across the field.
"We have dreamed even in the face of hardship. And today, we begin a new path."
Cheers and applause followed. Watching the scene that strangely touched my heart, I made a vow to myself.
'I won't fail this time. Not in farming, and not in life...'
My heart burned as hot as the warm sunlight.