California, an oasis of fast paced culture, fresh produce, relaxed attitudes and quick witted entrepreneurs. The major cities compacted and dense, featuring a smattering of ethnic groups arriving from far and wide in search of wealth and a better life. The Bear Republic first encountered a storm of immigration from around the world in the mid-twentieth century when James Marshal discovered gold at Sutter's Mill in Coloma, CA in 1948. Within a year after the gold reserves were discovered word began to spread around the world about the massive caches of gold hidden in the foothills of the central valley just east of San Francisco and stretching as far north as Eureka. Within the five years some 300,000 people would travel from around the world arrived at California's gates, broken and weary their palms tense and sweaty awaiting their chance to swing a pick or pan along a meandering river. The Forty-Niner's weren't of course the first outsiders to arrive, but their presence was heavily felt as San Francisco blew up, transforming from a refugee sized shanty town to into a boom town of the future. Today it's alleged that over 60,000 people move to California every year. Obviously there is a powerful force pulling people to this land whether it be to plant new roots or re-insert those that had once been torn out.
Naturally California's allure and my ever insatiable thirst for knowledge of winemaking and viticulture were equal players in my decision to seek out work in Mendocino County. The process actually began, for all intensive purposes, in a distant land once commonly referred to as Aotearoa. In the backside of a tank farm on a chilly night in Marlborough, NZ I struggled to find the racking arm of a 60 K litre tank while my veteran Portuguese workmate began to tell me tales of the fabled Navarro Vineyards. Ricardo elaborated as far as telling me of Navarro's solid and balanced Pinot's and award winning Gewurztraminer, close knit working environment and delectable catered lunches during crush. While Ricardo spoke the thought slowly crept into the back of my head that I might take a stab at applying to work at Navarro during the upcoming vintage. As things slowed down in the cellar in Marlborough I began to send C.V.'s to prospective employers sending a personalized letter to the head winemaker Jim. While no job was advertised I used my friendship with my curly haired compatriot and experience at Giesen to cast myself in the best light. Anyway it wouldn't hurt to throw my self out into the open, howling from the top of a mountain top "I'm free, available and ecstatic about shoveling spent skins and scrubbing tartaric acid from the walls open tops!"
The howl's, albeit crackling and raw, worked and three weeks later Jim responded that the winery was interested as hiring me as cellar rat, ahem intern for the upcoming vintage but first he needed to check things over with the family. Navarro, started in the early 1970s, after all has a long history in Anderson Valley as a premier producer of Alsatian varietals and seeks to maintain a healthy work environment
and all decisions are still made by the family and head winemaker concerning the winery. No corporate offices here, just a large estate with ranch house, cellar, vineyards, offices and tasting room on the property. The ranch is packed with character though and can be envisioned as if an established Burgundy Domaine was transplanted to Northern California where it spontaneously imploded into a series of structures with solid redwood beams caked with layers of living Saccharomyces yeast, rich brown panels and foam insulated stainless tanks that have rocketed themselves halfway through an Energizer inspired roof coated with lime green lichen and furry moss. While the winery's reputation spreads far and wide much of Navarro's wine stays within the state of California. The owners Ted and Deborah made a decision early on to deal with customers directly, cutting out the middle man(retailer) and providing quality wine to customers at some of the most reasonable prices in California. For that reason and many others 60 percent of Navarro's customers return year in and out filling out purchase orders and receiving the wine at their doorstep packed in an ingenious mailer.
And frankly speaking if you can't make the trip every year to the tasting room on Route 128 in Pilo, CA who wouldn't want Navarro wine let alone any tasty tipple arriving at the doorstep across country. After a long workday what would be more refreshing thank to uncork the Anderson Valley Cuvee Traditional Gewurztraminer with its gripping spice and citrus fruit taste, hailed by one industry writer as "one of the greatest of all California wine achievements." Conversely, if it's a red you so desire then the Anderson Valley Pinot Noir Cuvee d' le Ancienne is a lighter bodied, delicate pinot which expresses bold spice and dark alluring cherries. This style of pinot at its best dangerous quaff and highly drinkable. Before you realize it the bottle will be tipped over an it side, your head spinning with mirth and your mouth reeling from the lingering last sip.
Returning to the story...
After his first response Jim got back to me, spelling it out in not so many words that he was pretty sure he would like to hire me but we needed to have a phone interview first. While his reputation as a winemaker is impeccable, Jim wouldn't make a bad private investigator either. Without asking me to brandish a single reference he found the contacts for my previous employers and contacted them himself. The results were superb of course, I'm a bust ass worker. The interview took place in a decaying, run down farm house in the Wairau Valley; at least on my end. Jim, however was holed up in sunny California while I nervously took pulls off a deep black cup of French pressed Joe, the phone pressed hard to my intent ears, pacing the room as per any normal conversation while Jim laid out my day to day duties as we discussed experiences abroad. If I had to venture a guess the interview had more to do with personal character than my knowledge of a propeller pump or using tasting off a T-valve. That sealed the deal. My interviewer presented himself as articulate, relaxed, accommodating and interested in having me on board. The other job offer was in the Willamette Valley with another well known Pinot producer, but that was out. Stepping out the door en route to the vineyard in my butch Swandri flannel and imitation Levis I had a shiteating grin on my face. I was heading to Anderson Valley! Yee-haawww!
Three months and 3,000 plus miles later and I was crossing state lines into California. At the agricultural customs stop a confused agent asked me of the origins with a bag of black beans and wild rice. "Jerry's," I casually responded advising our kind inspector that one should never leave home without the proper fixings for righteous burritos. The agri-fuzz waved me on and I was soon careening and swerving my way down the Sierras into the the foothills only to be shot out into the scorched San Joaquin valley where much of the fresh California veggies and fruit and mass produced. Was this the California I had envisioned when I was a youngster? Way back when I was working at a boat launch along the mighty Ontario, I envisioned the California in the way Steinbeck had painted it. While devouring the lives of the unsavory characters of the Palace Flophouse in Cannery Row and the boys in Tortilla Flat I envisioned rustic canneries, endless seas of Nativo grape fields, broken down saloons doubling as brothels, the seashore teaming with life and a heartless Californian sun whose power equals if not surpasses its legend. The outskirts of Maryville and Columa were living up, at least partially, to my adolescent vision although the parched straw countryside and a lush trail of trees lined up to soak their feet along the lazy riverbed differed greatly from the lush grass and hills that were emblazoned into my visual memory bank. The tortured beige hillsides with sporadic vegetation were beginning to remind me more of Chile than the Western paradise we learn of through story books. Summer in the valley has been harsh though, will little to no rainfall, but that hasn't stop modern drip irrigation to allow fields of sun drenched red tomatoes, non-GMO soy, smelly cabbage and juicy table grapes to flourish and be picked for wholesale.
Traversing the Mendocino ridge to the coast last weekend I had a non-epiphany while scuttling down a rugged sea bluff to the shores of Elk. When I was younger I always envisioned myself living within the vast expanses of the state of California, but later in life passed off those thoughts as childish daydreams. After all why would I, a jaded, moody yank decide to up and move to an overpopulated state? A region that coincidentally for many represents a ecological utopia with mild winters and toasty summers. A state that facilitates outdoor activity for the neo-eco jock/weekend warrior, a bloated entertainment industry and its spoiled villains, and gives cash crop farmers looking to be paid an honest if not large sum for their goods. While walking I concluded that California is the ultimate destination to live, especially for someone in my shoes. Booming wine industry-check, parks to cycle, hike and sea kayak-check, fresh food year round-check. If both coasts in the U.S. were given magnetic fields the East would surely be the the negative charge and the West coast the positive. After all Easterners are an introverted folk, hidden away in their hovels for a better part of the year. Wary of outsiders and casting disapproving looks at anything out of step with their conventional way of life. Not to your face of course, but rather behind clothes doors. There's a twang in the country and a fast paced business attitude in the city.
Conversely California and the West coast are filled with people whose ancestors were not content with sticking to the East or the mid-West for that matter. Many were pioneers with an adventurous spirit and today many remain hellbent on keeping their country, state and community progressive. What does that mean? Anything from universal health care to supporting the local economy ("Made within 100 miles" read a display at the local grocery today). People on the West coast are by nature relaxed and while some still cling to their hippie roots others have long sold out but chose to drive $30 K hybrids and shop exclusively at Whole Foods. Green Republicans would be an interesting splinter party from the GOP. On top of that a growing Hispanic population is also changing the face of California which brings new family values, foods and religion to the table and will eventually leave an indelible mark on the geo-political landscape of the state.
To me it makes perfect sense that I ended up here and now. An East coaster "with hippie tendencies" who was attracted to the West Coast. Science tells us that positive attracts negative after all. Then again some things are certainly going to take some time getting accustomed to. For example when the goateed lady at the Elk Grocery and Deli orders me to get the Peanut Butter Cookie with a "yum yum" approving grunt. "No chocolate, no deal girlie," I muttered stubbornly under my breath. Down the road I shuffle into a boutiquey clothes shop peering over the coast begging for a pen to jot down some fleeting thoughts. The only sales representative inside was a 60 year old ex-Berkleyite who kindly asked if I might have any singles. "If you happen to have change for a twenty, now that would really be groovy," she continued as my ears shriveled and curled into their waxy canals. "Are you fucking serious," I thought to myself as I grabbed a blue ball point I had no intention of using. "No, but I might just palm you a twenty if you jump in the next wormhole and warp your dead(beat) dialect back to the sixties," I mused silently as I stepped out into a fresh crustacean sea breeze.
Will California work for me? Who knows, we both seem to be floating out on an island cut off from the rest of the world. Time will only tell.
No comments:
Post a Comment