The Harvest
The UC Davis Cooperative Extension office was located not far from the school athletic field where I’d received the call. It was only because Pierce knew I was a student at UC Davis that he could suggest I drop by so easily. Otherwise, in a country as vast as the United States, it wouldn't have been simple to ask a twenty-year-old kid to drive several hours back and forth.
“Hello!”
Since I had been here once before, I greeted the staff member familiarly. Elisa Chen, the agricultural outreach and support coordinator, smiled and pointed toward the back.
“Go ahead, Mr. Pierce is waiting for you.”
“Thank you.”
When I entered Mr. Pierce’s office, he was just pulling out some documents, but he smiled when he saw me.
“You made it right on time.”
“I hadn't left school yet, so it worked out perfectly.”
“Come, have a seat.”
I set my bag down next to the sofa and sat. Mr. Pierce brought over a large map, laid it out on the table, and said, “Harvest season is upon us. How is it going? Are you doing well?”
“Yes. We should be starting the harvest soon.”
“Are you managing the water stress well?”
“Of course.”
He nodded, then layered several specialized maps on top of the general one: aerial photography, soil surveys, aspect analysis, fire hazard grids, and even the smoke diffusion paths from the recent wildfire.
Pierce Morgan hung his jacket on the back of his chair and pointed his pen between the maps.
“Alright, Brian. There were more, but since you specifically asked to see only the land directly damaged by the wildfire, I have three spots for you today. Naturally, the prices are 30–40% lower than usual. Do you know what that means?”
“It could be a great opportunity. But people don't prefer it.”
“And the reason?”
“Because they won't be able to generate any revenue for at least three to four years.”
He gave me a satisfied smile at my answer.
“You know your stuff. Yes, these are all areas that were scorched by the fire. You have to buy seedlings, plant them, and wait quite a long time before they grow enough to produce commercial income. If not for that reason, there would be no reason for this land to be on the market.”
“That is exactly why I think I am the most suitable candidate. I am the person who can utilize this land better than anyone else.”
Pierce Morgan let out a dry laugh at my immense confidence. It was, in a way, a mystery how a twenty-year-old kid could show such confidence in farming, a field where experience is prioritized above all else.
He pointed to a section of the map with the tip of his pen.
“Alright. First, at the northern end of Napa, there’s 14 acres on the southern slope of the Calistoga AVA. The slope is 5–12 degrees, and the soil is a 7-to-3 ratio of Bale loam and Gravelly loam. It has a lot of gravel, so the drainage is fast. It won't turn into a mud pit after the rain. And for the planting... I don't need to tell you, do I?”
“No. I’d have to replant it anyway.”
Throughout the explanation, Pierce kept glancing at me, watching my reactions as if he were sizing up an opponent in a game of Go. He seemed curious if I understood the significance of the information I’d just heard. But I deliberately refrained from commenting on it.
He lowered his pen slightly on the map and continued.
“Next is the Bale AVA. 20 acres. Slope is 5–8 degrees. The soil is over 80% Bale loam. You were looking for something under 20 acres, and this fits perfectly. It was one of the areas hit hardest by the fire. That’s why it’s priced the lowest.”
I didn't even ask for the price.
“What about the other one?”
Pierce asked, surprised by my lack of interest in that land.
“Why? It’s cheap and the land is spacious.”
“I want to know about the others first.”
In truth, what I disliked most was the land itself. The 'Bale' mentioned here is a proper noun named after the local region; it’s deep, homogeneous, and contains some clay—a very decent soil. However, it’s best thought of as a generic loam that’s fine for growing not just Cabernet Sauvignon, but also Merlot, Chardonnay, and other varieties.
If you were to compare it to a soccer player, it’s a 'jack-of-all-trades' player. But I was looking for soil optimized for Cabernet Sauvignon, so it was out.
“...Fine. Lastly, it’s not far from your vineyard. 18 acres in the northern block of the Silveroak AVA. The slope is 6 to 15 degrees. The ratio of Bale to Gravelly loam is about 4 to 6. This one isn't up for auction; it’s listed at a fixed price.”
“What is the price?”
When I finally showed interest and asked for the price, Pierce’s eyes lit up.
“1.3 million dollars.”
“That’s expensive.”
“It’s 30% cheaper than usual.”
“The land is completely burnt. It won't generate revenue for over three years, and if I’m planting Cabernet Sauvignon, that adds another two to three years on top of that.”
“Don't try to persuade me. You need to persuade the landowner.”
The landowner would be Elowen, and if I tried to persuade her directly, she might refuse to sell out of spite. So, I had to persuade Pierce further.
“Since it’s a distressed sale, it usually starts at under 70% of the market value, but there are already two other plots under 20 acres that came out for auction due to the wildfire. Adding Silveroak makes three options. With more choices for bidders, the price should drop further. Above all, any bidder has to shoulder the risk of fire damage and account for massive restoration costs.”
“I don't think it would be massive? A significant portion is covered under wildfire damage restoration grants.”
I tried to play the victim once, but Pierce wasn't going to be swayed easily.
“They don't compensate 100%, do they? Regardless, it will take at least three years of hard work to turn this into usable land while carrying these risks. Do you really think someone will buy it at 70% of the price?”
“So, what price do you want?”
“1 million dollars.”
“You want to slash it by nearly half?”
I grinned and put on a pitiful expression.
“Please talk to them. The owner will want to dispose of it quickly to get cash anyway. In a state where everyone is panicked by the wildfires, will someone easily appear to take over that land? If time passes, that land will just become desolate, with no one daring to touch it. It’s not like the Silveroak owner, who has no money, can restore it, right?”
If they had the ability, the land wouldn't be on the market. Elowen was likely scrambling to dispose of the smoke-tainted grapes at any price, but since that wasn't easy, she was clearly trying to overcome the crisis by offloading land that was currently a money pit and would require immense effort to revive.
And as the Cooperative Extension, they would also want this good land to be sold quickly so it could return to productivity.
“I’ll talk to them. But what about the funding?”
“Obviously, a loan... I acquired the Redwood Vineyard through the SDA (Socially Disadvantaged Applicant) program before.”
I grinned, and he let out a dry laugh.
“Well, yeah... You can get low-interest loans for land acquisition directly from the FSA (Farm Service Agency). Since you’re already registered in the SDA program, you’ll be eligible for priority review. But that still won't be enough, will it?”
“Come on, there’s the Emergency Farm Loan, isn't there? We’re included in the disaster area declared by the federal government.”
For once, even Pierce looked at me with wide, surprised eyes.
“You know about that too?”
“Of course. I’ve already looked into it. As long as I can prove my total debt capacity, I can do both as a package. But I believe the revenue earned from vinegar in less than a year is more than enough to prove it. And we have cherry wine ready at the winery, so I can explain it sufficiently.”
“That’s incredible... Alright. I’ll talk to them.”
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me too much. The deal only happens if the landowner agrees. You’ll probably need to adjust from that 1 million dollar figure.”
“I can accept some adjustment.”
“Oh, and one more thing. Why did you choose Silveroak? Just because it’s close?”
I pondered for a moment and gave him an answer he could understand.
“I read in a book that Cabernet Sauvignon does well in gravelly loam.”
“As expected... you knew that too.”
If I told him I planned to tear up the land and reconstruct the optimal Terroir from scratch, he would look at me like I was a lunatic.
Even within Napa Valley, the reason the price of the same Cabernet Sauvignon variety varies by several times is because of the Terroir, and my intention was to build an entirely new foundation on the land scorched by the fire.
On my way home, I racked my brain trying to figure out how to convince my father. Even if he was a bit surprised, I was certain he would give his permission.
Silveroak Farm.
“What? 1 million dollars?”
Elowen gritted her teeth. It was land she had built up with her own hands; the thought of selling it at a bargain price of nearly half its value was so painful it made her heart ache. But if she acted stubborn, the thought of the money she needed to pay out this year made her future look pitch black.
The costs—hiring people every year, her daughter’s tuition, the principal and interest on the real estate loan—were substantial. Her entire financial plan relied on the money made from farming each year, but last year it was ruined by organic farming, and this year it was ruined by the wildfire.
The blow was indescribable.
“I cannot sell it that cheaply.”
However, the voice of the real estate agent on the other end of the line was calm and languid.
“Yes. I’m just relaying the opinion of the buyer conveyed through the Department of Agriculture. You are free to wait until a buyer who offers a higher price appears. But for your reference, you should know that there is almost no one interested in the farm right now.”
The unenthusiastic tone, as if to say the choice was entirely hers, made Elowen feel even more desperate. Unlike regular land, an AVA requires a business plan that includes the passion and experience for grape farming to purchase, so it wasn't like a house where you could just wait leisurely for a buyer to appear.
“When do I need to give you an answer?”
“The sooner the better. If the buyer becomes interested in other land...”
“Give me time. Ten days... please wait just ten days.”
“Understood. I will relay that.”
After hanging up, Elowen bit her lip. If she could clear out the smoke-tainted Cabernet Sauvignon at a bargain price within ten days, she might be able to hold on a little longer. The best-case scenario would be for it to become material for distilled spirits, where the smoke doesn't matter as much, but that wasn't easy either—it’s not like there were only one or two tons of smoke-tainted grapes in Sonoma and Napa.
Realistically, that was why the best choice was simply to dispose of them and file for insurance compensation.
“Damn it...”
Elowen thought she might have to make a decision. 1 million dollars was, after all, not a small amount of money.
In early October, with the weather turning noticeably chilly, I climbed the hill from dawn as usual and picked a grape to put in my mouth. The sugar content had risen sufficiently, and I could clearly feel the sweetness of the juice in my mouth, accompanied by a refreshing acidity and a sense of richness.
I spat the seeds into my hand to check; they were brown and hard, and the one I chewed had a quite nutty flavor. I gave a faint smile and shouted to my father standing behind me.
“Dad, it’s tomorrow!”
“Is that so? Then starting now?”
“Yes, for one day.”
Just one day. My father and I decided to set the SWP (Stem Water Potential) to minus 14, close to water stress. The time for harvest had arrived. And as if waiting for that moment, a message arrived.
I smiled, replied that I understood, and as I held a cluster of plump, well-ripened, dark red grapes in my hand, I muttered.
“Let’s hold on for one day, just one day.”