Fact. It’s been exactly one year since I moved here and was fortunate enough to find myself hip-deep in grapes during last year’s harvest. I hadn’t lived until I got to stick pinky to arm pit into a vat of freshly picked grapes. As a consummate over-achiever, last year’s 2-day harvest stint with Kirk Venge was going to be a tough act to follow. But I’ve outdone myself, by somehow scoring a full-time gig as assistant grape sampler to Mr. King of the Grapes Venge himself (my nickname, not his, he is far too humble for such nomenclature). And it is the job of a lifetime, especially for someone who spends most waking hours and many late nights writing about and or sip’in on da’wine. But this year I am working for my wine which makes the bounty all the more sweet. While harvest was a little late in getting to the party this season, we are now bouncing off the grape walls. The run down to date. First it was cool when it should be hot, then hot when it clearly should be not. It rained, and threatened to follow on with some good old fashioned fall weather, but not before one last heat snap. What does this mean to those in the grape biz? Premature gray and balding hair, unless you’re like Venge, who appears to thrive under these sorts of conditions. Oh, forgot to mention. He was looking for a few more thrills so he decided to erect a new winery facility(Venge Vineyards) smack dab in the middle of harvest. Living on the edge never looked so good. Nor does the new winery and the grapes within. Note to self: learn some tips of the trade from this kid, he knows his stuff. A quick snapshot into my world, with more to follow in the upcoming weeks. It goes something like this: rise at dawn, wake up before the grapes do (pre-sun swelter), throw on a grape-stain resistant frock, pack up your hound, your grape cooler, some baggies for sampling, some water to rinse the juice, and an eye for the changing tides and tendencies of the grapes. At this hour you encounter only other grape-hounds and we are a mixed breed of a whole lot of something, none of which can be repeated to this PG crowd. We run through the fields, row by row, plucking a wide assortment of grapes from an unbearably long list of vineyards, that truth be told could do a much better job of labeling the vineyard rows and blocks. The iPhone GPS can get you only so far, then you have to rely on good old grape intuition, of which I had none initially, but now I am swimming in its sweet juices. As you are running through the field, fetching samples (methods are secret!), you often trip on dead and gangly vines that pierce skin like a blade, yet these road warrior scars never looked so good! You also get a pretty majestic view tooling down the 29 towards Napa during the wee hours of the morning. Gaggles of hot air balloons descend upon our valley, an idyllic vision if you ask me. If you don’t live here, what are you waiting for? This scene and these scents are like nothing you've ever witnessed, not to mention tasted. After combing the valley up a
nd down for grapes, I hit the chemistry lab (I knew I should have paid attention to this junk in school, who knew?) to put my plucky grapes through a battery of tests to reveal Brix, PH, TA. I sound like I know what I’m talking about, right? Just enough to be dangerous. Then my world class mission continues as I track down my master and deliver our classified info. All of which will tell us if the grapes are ready to move off the vine, or if they need to keep hanging on for dear life. And that my friends, my wine-swilling peeps, is where I will leave you for now. My skin is as thick with stick (grape juice), as it is with sweat. My ankles are beat up and scraped, the bags under my eyes are ever-increasing, yet I can’t wait to get up and do it all again, tomorrow! While slinging ads in New York and making movies in LA all had their glim and glamour, they’ve got nothing on this sweet deal. Check back for the latest rantings...live from the trail. May all your grapes be good ones!
