The Geyserville Fire (1)
Schoolwork was incredibly easy for me. Having been a PhD in agricultural science, the basics—general chemistry, biology, physics, calculus, and even introductory soil science—were a piece of cake.
My weekday routine had become cramming my classes into a few days, running through the lectures, and then pouring all my energy into the farm.
Besides, it wasn't the time to be focusing on school. September is effectively the most critical month for grape farmers, and there was another major event that happened in September.
It was the time of year when massive wildfires would break out near Napa and Sonoma in early September. I remembered this because, in my previous life, my parents had to evacuate their home when I was a freshman at NYU, though they returned safely later. Whether the Redwood Vineyard was in the path of the fire or not wasn't something I remembered, so taking precautions was a given.
"I need to rent this for three days."
I was at a local cooperative in downtown Napa, looking to hire a custom operator—a service that provides both the equipment and the labor to operate it.
"Three days? That’ll be 2,000 dollars."
"Could you lower it a bit? That’s too expensive. And it’s not a lot of work. I just need the area around the winery plowed."
"Hmm... just around the winery? How big is the scale?"
"15 acres."
It wasn't a large scale for a winery, so he shrugged and said, "Alright, let's do this. 1,500 dollars for two days. But I’ll make sure the job is done right."
"Deal!"
As long as they did the work I wanted properly, it didn't matter how many days it took. The tractor I rented arrived the next morning and began plowing the weeds around the Redwood Vineyard, which connected to the mountain range. The farmhands looked at it with suspicion, wondering why I was wasting money.
"I think it’s a good idea. Risk management is essential in business, after all."
My parents, on the other hand, actively supported my decision. My mother, in particular, cherished the grape clusters as if they were her own children, so she felt that 1,500 dollars was nothing compared to the risk of a wildfire.
Actually, that wasn't the end of it. I cleared away anything flammable around the farm, checked the weather constantly, and kept a sharp eye out for strangers near the property. After giving strict instructions to my parents and the workers, I went to school the next day, only to be surprised in class.
"Wait? You go to this school?"
I had run into Elena in class. It was the first time I’d seen her since graduating high school.
Elena looked at me as if I were an idiot. "Are you stupid? We were at the orientation together, weren't we?"
"We were? You too?"
"Where else would I go if not UC Davis?"
Come to think of it, there was no reason for her, the daughter of the Silveroak Hills Vineyards owner, to go anywhere else. It was the best place in the U.S. to study viticulture and enology.
"True. How did I miss you?"
"Hmph! Never mind that. It seems you’ve already been marked by the upperclassmen. Who do you think you are, criticizing the Harrington family’s wine..."
"...Has that rumor spread already?"
"I saw you talking to Sienna from behind."
"......"
I didn't know when Elena’s presence had become so faint, but since she said she saw me, I had nothing to say.
"I was just giving a piece of advice as I passed by. Anyway, let me give you some advice too: be careful, there might be a wildfire because of the dry weather."
"Wildfires happen every year, what’s the big deal..."
Wildfires were a constant occurrence in California, so Elena didn't care at all.
"I’m not worried about you, I’m worried about the grapes."
Elowen Pike might be a nasty person, but the grapes he grew were innocent.
"Whatever."
"Ah, right..."
I shook my head at her cold attitude. When I saw Sienna in the distance, I hurriedly ran into the lecture hall and kept my head down. I didn't want to get involved with them, so I avoided eye contact as much as possible.
I arrived home around 5 PM after class, and guests had just arrived at the farm.
When I went up to the winery, my father was standing at the entrance with Mr. Frederick and Chloe, all of them wearing cowboy hats. It wasn't a sudden visit; I had called them over.
"You're here."
"Woody here won't show me anything, saying the wine is entirely your responsibility."
I shook hands with him as he joked. "That’s not entirely wrong. Let’s go inside."
"By the way, I saw a tractor running around. What’s that about?"
"The weather is getting dry, so I cleared the area around the farm just in case of a wildfire."
"Oh, to think of that... that’s not easy to do."
"I’m just a cautious person."
At those words, Frederick smiled even more contentedly and patted Chloe’s shoulder.
When I opened the winery door, stainless steel tanks stood in a row, reflecting a sleek silver light, and steam-cleaned oak barrels were gathered on one side like a half-moon. The barrels looked magnificent, with their finely carved wood grains still visible.
"I asked you to come because you were so curious..."
"Did I?"
"You kept asking through Chloe."
Every time I met Chloe at school, she asked how the cherry wine was coming along. By the third time, I had even told her, "How would I know? I haven't even gone inside the stainless steel tank."
"I’m dying of curiosity, what can I do?"
"Yes, so now that the initial fermentation stage is over, I invited you to taste the wine before transferring it from the stainless steel tank to the oak barrels."
"Oho, is that so? Is there a special reason?"
I approached the giant stainless steel tank, held a cup to it, and opened the small tap. The ruby-red liquid poured into the cup, looking absolutely brilliant.
"Stainless steel makes temperature control easy and prevents oxidation, so it preserves the fresh fruit aroma. It also has a low risk of contamination by harmful bacteria. Especially for cherry wine, where the aroma is crucial, you must use stainless steel, but the story changes once the initial fermentation is finished."
Frederick, who only farmed cherries and liked wine but lacked professional knowledge, listened with sparkling eyes.
"How does it change?"
I handed him the cup I was holding. "Wine isn't just juice. Adding a more complex aroma is one thing, but because of the characteristics of the oak barrel, micro-oxygen enters the barrel, which softens the tannins and strengthens the structure. Try it once."
As Frederick took the glass and smelled it, his expression changed. He took a sip without a sound and rolled it slowly on the tip of his tongue. His eyelids lifted ever so slightly. It was the expression of someone who had been dealing with alcohol for a long time, not just a farmer.
After closing his eyes for about five seconds to savor the finish, Frederick drew a deep curve on his lips and said, "This is incredible. To be honest, even just this much is among the highest quality cherry wines I’ve ever tasted."
It had to be. The combination of yeast I used was something no winery in this era had ever tried. That alone would be enough to change the worldview of existing cherry wines, which were just sweet.
"What is it like? Me too!"
"Hey!"
When Chloe clung to him, Frederick widened his eyes as if it were a waste to give her his, and moved the cup far away from his daughter. She struggled, clinging to the tall Frederick.
"Haha, I’ll give you some, wait."
My father, who had been watching, poured half a glass for Chloe, who was glaring at Frederick. She accepted the cup with an adorable "Thank you~," took a sip, and her eyes went wide.
"Wow! It’s delicious!"
Since it was naturally delicious, I shrugged and said, "We’re going to transfer it to oak barrels for about three months of aging. After that, we’ll invite owners of high-end restaurants in the California area for a tasting event and start selling it in earnest. Since the quantity itself isn't large, I think the stock will be sold out quickly."
I rolled over an oak barrel, connected a pump, and adjusted the angle of the racking arm. After purging the hose with nitrogen to drive out the oxygen, I slowly opened the valve, and a red stream slid through the transparent hose into the bung of the barrel. The sound of it flowing down the wood echoed with a low 'cluck-cluck.'
"How much is there?"
"About 6,000 liters. It’s about 10 tons of cherries, so it’s not that much. Calculating it into 750ml bottles, it looks like about 8,000 bottles."
10 tons sounds huge, but considering that cherries have large pits and various losses, the liquid yield is usually 60-70% of the raw fruit weight.
"8,000 bottles... looking at it now, it’s a bit of a shame."
At the time, he had sent them thinking he was being generous, but after tasting the wine that came out of the stainless steel tank, he felt regretful about why he hadn't sent more.
In fact, the cherries produced on his farm reach nearly 1,000 tons a year, and sometimes up to 1,200 tons in a good year. Since his cherry farm is 200 acres, this yield wasn't particularly special.
I chuckled, having grasped his inner thoughts just by looking at Frederick’s bitter face. "I didn't want to leave the winery idle, so I just made it, so I don't feel too bad. And I’m just grateful that you participated without any loss, Mr. Frederick."
The biggest reason I made cherry wine was that I didn't want to leave the winery idle, but after making it, I realized another important advantage.
It was that I could raise the status of the winery. When recognized as the only winery in California capable of making such special wine, it becomes a brand in itself. Especially if word spreads to high-end restaurants and gourmets, its value rises to the point where people seek out that specific winery’s wine from afar.
"Even if you don't feel bad, I... have some regrets, that’s all."
From the perspective of a producer who makes the primary raw materials, it’s tearfully enviable to think of the profits gained when going through a skilled processor. If he knew that what I was really thinking of as money was the Pinot Noir that hadn't even arrived yet, he would surely be even more envious.
He sipped the remaining wine, seemingly genuinely envious of this winery, and then said, "Just a little more..."
"Ah, yes. Is it delicious?"
"It’s breathtaking. To think cherry wine could have such a soft and rich aroma. Can I bring my friends to the tasting event?"
"Of course."
I had invited him on purpose to do just that.
"Good. Oh, but have you decided on the name of the wine?"
I hesitated and tilted my head. Come to think of it, I had been focusing on making good wine, so I hadn't thought about what to name it yet.
"Not yet..."
Frederick laughed while rolling his glass. "Then let me name it."
"Aren't you going to emphasize Brentwood or the farm name too much?"
"...That’s not it. I’ll come up with a cool name."
"Then I’ll leave it to you."
At this, Chloe approached her father and said quietly, "If it’s too weird, I’ll change it."
"Haha, I’m counting on you."
After filling a 750ml bottle for him, as he kept expressing his regret, and sending him home, I looked up at the sky at the entrance of the farm.
"I should go to the Russian River Valley by tomorrow."
The harvest time for Pinot Noir had been decided to be discussed with me from the time of the contract. And for that harvest time, I had to check the condition of the fruit myself; I had already gone once a week ago and judged that more time was needed.
Now it was time to go again.
"The harvest time for Pinot Noir seems to be approaching, when are we looking at?"
I answered while slowly walking back up the farm with my father. "Early to mid-October? I think I’ll have to check the exact date at the end of September. Right now, I’m giving it about minus 12 bar of SWP, but I have to lower it to about minus 14 bar right before harvest."
"Even that much?"
"Yes, just for a day or two? It’s pushing it into an extreme environment before harvest, but you shouldn't do it for too long. If you do that, it will be fine next year without any big problems..."
Just then, something strange caught my eye in the distance.
"Why?"
"Dad, that’s not a sunset, is it?"
The red glow visible in the distance. It was late afternoon, the time when a breathtakingly beautiful sunset would occur... but the color was a bit different, wasn't it?
"It’s a wildfire!"
My father, horrified, ran straight down. I, having confirmed the firebreak created by the tractor, stared blankly at the red flames in the distance. And without realizing it, I looked at the ripening grape clusters and muttered.
"Don't worry. Nothing will happen."