The 30-Year-Old Memory (2)
It was early March, just after the spring rains had passed. Overnight, a thick fog had rolled in along the river, blanketing the vast vineyard in white. The grapevines stood submerged in the mist, their bare, skeletal branches reaching out into the damp air. This spectacular sight was none other than the Russian River Valley.
Two vehicles came to a stop side-by-side on the winding path lined with iron trellises. One was a sedan, the other an old pickup truck. My father and I stepped out of the truck that had followed the sedan, while Mr. Christopher Harris emerged from the car ahead.
He gestured toward the entrance of the farm and said, "This is Grendel Hill Vineyard. It’s the highest-quality Independent Vineyard in the Russian River Valley—they don't make their own wine, but instead sell their harvested grapes to various wineries."
One might wonder why they wouldn't produce wine with such high-quality grapes, but there are several reasons for this.
First, wine production is not just agriculture; it is a manufacturing and branding industry. It is an incredibly risky and challenging endeavor for someone who has specialized solely in farming. From the hundreds of thousands to millions of dollars in equipment investment to the core of winemaking—the winemaker and the staff—and finally, building a brand... it is never an easy task.
Second, the cash flow is slow. When you sell grapes, you get paid immediately after harvest. But if you make the wine yourself, the process from fermentation to aging (one to two years), bottling, marketing, and sales takes at least two to five years. Not many farms have the capital to endure that.
Third, there is the wine itself. Producing wine is difficult, and even for those who are good at it, there is the problem of maintaining a certain level of quality every single year. One mistake can easily ruin an entire year's harvest.
Consequently, farms that can earn a stable income just by selling grapes don't bother with the challenge of running a winery, choosing instead to operate as suppliers.
"What’s the owner's name?" I asked.
"Elias Grendel. He’s very meticulous—they say he won't even sell vines he hasn't tended to himself. Well, that’s just talk; he’s gotten older now and has left everything to his children," Christopher replied.
"He must still be quite particular about his grapes, then?"
"At one time, he was called a man obsessed with Pinot Noir. And even now, Grendel Hill’s grapes are recognized as the absolute best. They capture the essence of the Russian River perfectly."
Just then, the door of an old warehouse creaked open, and a man appeared. He had silver-white hair and a lean frame. In his hands, he held leather gloves etched with the marks of time.
With his blue shirt sleeves rolled up, he looked at us with a heavy, piercing gaze.
"Are you... the guests from Redwood?"
"Yes, that’s right."
"Come in."
His tone was clipped, his eyes sharp. He led us into the warehouse. Empty oak barrels were lined up along the walls, and the air was thick with the scent of old wood and wet earth.
A bottle of wine was already sitting on the table. My father and I were so familiar with it that we looked at each other in surprise.
Elias picked up the bottle and poured the wine as he spoke.
"This is that famous Sylphide, isn't it? I got it from this fellow here. It was impressive. Sit down."
My father and I sat across from him, while Christopher perched half-seated on a windowsill next to the table.
"Yes. It’s a Pinot Noir made using grapes from the Russian River," my father replied. Elias took a sniff of the Sylphide and asked, "Where is the farm?"
"Heart Farm."
"Ah! That fellow, Stephen Heart?"
"That’s right."
"His grapes are quite decent."
Nodding, he suddenly threw out an unexpected question.
"His farm is close to the river and gets a lot of fog, so how did you manage to get this kind of structure?"
My father, caught off guard, turned to look at me. When the person who should have been answering suddenly shifted his gaze to me, Elias and Christopher followed suit.
"Hmm... I handled the maceration differently."
Elias, slightly surprised that such a young man had answered, leaned forward and asked, "Differently? How?"
"I can't tell you that."
"...You fermented it with some of the stems included, didn't you?"
"......"
"It’s fine. I’m not going to make wine. I asked purely out of curiosity. The products from Heart’s farm always had a strong fruit aroma, but this one was different. That’s why it was unexpected. I wondered how this could come from a single vineyard, not a blend. I was very curious. I understand now—I see where these herbal and floral notes came from."
"I see."
He looked at my father and smiled faintly.
"You have a wonderful son."
"Haha... thank you."
He set his glass down, looked me in the eye, and said, "Our farm is different from Heart’s. People who don't know better just say the Russian River Valley is the best place for Pinot Noir, but even within that, the characteristics differ. You know that, don't you?"
"As you said, Heart Farm has a low average temperature, so the daily temperature range is wide, and the fog lingers, which slows down the ripening process. Naturally, the harvest is late, and the grapes have high acidity and low sugar content; even for a Pinot Noir, the skins are thin. But your farm is tilted slightly toward the inland, so there’s less fog than at Heart Farm. That means there’s more sunlight, so the sugar content would be higher and the acidity lower than the Pinot Noir from Heart Farm."
"Heh heh... exactly. So, what do you intend to do with them? Blend them?"
"The reason Sylphide was a single vineyard was due to the circumstances at the time. If you provide the grapes, naturally..."
"I refuse."
"Pardon?"
I was taken aback by his flat refusal before I could even finish my sentence. His expression was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.
"No. If that’s what you intend to do, I won't give you my grapes."
It wasn't just my father and me who were flustered. Christopher was also shocked; he jumped up from his seat and raised his voice toward Elias.
"Mr. Elias! That’s not what we discussed! You promised to make a deal!"
"That was before I drank this."
He held up the wine he had been drinking as if it were obvious.
"What’s wrong with Sylphide?"
"It was a single vineyard. If you stop doing that from next year, the brand’s identity will be ruined."
"Why are you worried about that, sir?"
In truth, Christopher had been slightly worried about this part, but he was also looking forward to it. He had been curious about what a Sylphide blended from two farms would feel like.
But the stubborn farmer drew a firm line.
"It’s not about worrying; if it’s wrong, it’s wrong! Wine is made by both humans and the heavens. The air the land exhales, the path of the rain, the depth of the soil—it’s all contained in the bottle. That’s why a single vineyard has meaning. If you’re going to mix them to sell a product, create a different brand from the start."
It was both bewildering and refreshing to see a grape farmer challenge winery policy and declare he wouldn't sell his grapes.
"I drank Sylphide and thought of Heart’s grapes, and I had many thoughts. To me, if you mix Heart’s grapes with mine, Sylphide is no longer Sylphide. You want me to participate in that? Are you crazy?"
Christopher, who had been listening with wide eyes, seemed to shift from the identity of a wine distributor to that of a wine critic, and he quietly sat back down on his small stool.
In truth, I found Elias’s attitude worthy of respect, yet novel. Until now, wine had been an academic subject of study, and now, a result of my farming, created for profit—not something I had made out of love for the wine itself.
But Elias’s attitude toward wine made me think differently.
"Mr. Elias?"
"Forget it. There’s no need to try and convince me to blend them. You’re a winemaker, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I respect and admire winemakers. They create what I couldn't produce with my grapes. But a winemaker must take responsibility for the results they create."
I wondered if he had to go that far, but I decided to accept it.
"I understand."
"Oh?"
"I said I understand. I will maintain the single-vineyard identity and make Sylphide using only the grapes from Heart Farm."
Elias’s eyes widened, and a faint smile played on his lips.
"Really?"
"Yes. It’s not impossible; I just have to make it that way."
There was no reason it couldn't be done. Even now, large wineries often sell four to six single-vineyard Pinot Noirs in a single year. It wasn't easy for a small winery like Redwood, but it was possible if we paid close attention.
"Then what will you name it?"
The way he asked with sparkling eyes made it clear he had been pushing for this from the start.
"Mr. Elias, were you just jealous of Stephen Heart?"
Christopher asked, bewildered, and Elias shrugged his arms and grumbled.
"Jealous? What’s there to be jealous of? Do you know how many wineries have made masterpieces with my grapes? I was just... curious. If this taste was achieved with Heart’s grapes, what kind of taste would it have with mine..."
There was a reason he wanted to go with a single vineyard.
"I will decide the name after I taste it."
"So that means you’ll pick the grapes at the end of this year, and we’ll know by the end of next year?"
"That’s right."
"I’d better not die until then."
Watching him speak as if it were a pity, my father and I burst into laughter.
"Hahaha, that’s true. You won't be able to close your eyes in peace if you pass away before tasting the single-vineyard Pinot Noir made from Grendel Hill grapes."
"In that case, I must exercise hard and live healthily. Bring the contract."
Elias said that, then smiled at my father and added, "Oh, the block you can take is about 50 acres. How much do you intend to contract?"
"The entire amount."
The amount harvested from 50 acres of vineyard would be 100 to 140 tons. Considering that we receive 100 tons of cherries every year from Brentwood to make Cerassia, it was an enormous amount. But since I had already finished talking with my father to some extent, there was no need to worry.
I had already spoken to Christopher, and the winery facilities attached to Redwood could now handle that volume. Of course, this was possible because we had renovated the old winery facilities of the newly acquired Ironwood Cellars.
"Heh heh, you’ve thought it through well. It’s my own boast, but if you don't secure our farm’s grapes when they come out, you can't get them."
He smiled proudly and signed the prepared contract with a flourish.
Christopher smiled and chimed in, "You’ve made a good choice. Everyone considers Redwood Winery the hottest winery in Napa right now. This friend here has been selected for the New Blood of Napa session, a young winemaker invitation session at the 30th Anniversary Re-tasting of the Judgment of Paris, which is just two months away."
"Oho, is that true?"
He burst into a satisfied laugh.
"Hahaha! That’s how it should be. You’re qualified to receive my grapes."
"The only regret is that most of the wines Redwood released last year are sold out, so there are few wines to bring out on the day of the event," Christopher added.
"Well, well... the person who made the most profit is you, isn't it?"
Elias pointed at Christopher and laughed teasingly. It was a remark made because, in fact, Christopher might be the one making the most money, more than the person who farmed all year or the winery that used its technology to make and age the wine.
"That’s business, after all."
"My goodness... this is why I don't like sending my daughter to a friend who does business. They only look for a quick score."
"A quick score? I’ve staked my life on wine."
"At least your wine criticism suits my taste, which is good, but let’s see if your business sense is as good this time."
"You won't regret it."
Elias, who had been smiling strangely at Christopher’s confidence, suddenly turned back to my father and me with a serious expression.
"As a farmer, I live with a few points of pride, and the greatest among them is Pinot Noir. But since there are things that do better than my Pinot Noir, wouldn't I be a bit upset? Let me ask you one favor. With the Pinot Noir single vineyard from my farm, I don't know about anything else, but I’d like you to beat just one wine—the one I’m about to name."
"Which wine are you talking about?"
"Harrington Noctis Ridge Pinot Noir."
A winery I knew well came up in an unexpected situation.
"Harrington? Is there a reason...?"
"Don't ask for the reason. Can you do it?"
I nodded at his gaze, which seemed to hold some hidden story.
"Yes... I’m not the type who likes to lose, either."
"That’s just like me."