Atop the Mountain
While backroads filled with walking tractors, big rigs packed to the brim with fruit and motorcades of pickers moving from one vineyard to the next are all visible signs that harvest is upon us, it is our sense of smell that reminds us the rats are busy in the cellar.
Driving past any large winery in Russian River, Alexander or Napa Valley or even passing by Geyserville on highway 101 and you will notice the pungent aroma of fermentations blasting away; yeast happily consuming glucose and fructose and in the process producing alcohol and carbon dioxide to give off the various odors that waft about the valleys. Melon, rose petal, tangerine, banana, tomotoes and peach to name a few.
It is not uncommon to smell the ferments on one side of the winery or production facility and then notice the rotting funk on the other said, spent grapes skins most likely carted out into a back field to decompose undisturbed. With a giant heat spike upon us in late September the rotting skins produce a vinegar aroma that is not quite as pleasing to the senses as that of the healthy ferments.
The temperatures have been so hot that everything under the sun appears to be fermenting. Today I steeped inside a Port-a-John and although freshly cleaned the neutral blue solution below the toilet bubbled and fizzed to my surpise. There is just something unsettling about a solution fermenting below your botttom when you are taking care of business.
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Although temperatures have spiked many of our clients are still content to leave fruit on the vine, which in turn provided us with a Saturday off in the middle of harvest.
Taking advantage of the free day I awoke early, with a queasy stomach, and powered up to Cloverdale to pick a half a ton of Chardonnay which will become my first wine baby to date.
Last night I was gitty and anxious, but today I was all business. We attempted to pick the fruit early to keep it cold but were once again foiled by the hot temperatures. By the time I had arrived in Cloverdale the temperature had risen some 20 degrees from the time I left Santa Rosa. By 8 am the sun was pulverizing, forcing black coffee and last night's booze to seap through and clog my pores.
My co-worker/boss Paco and his father assisted me with the pick which allowed us to pick a heaping Macro bin in just a hair over an hour.
I guess I should speak a little about the fruit. The chardonnay we picked comes from a mountain top vineyard that was planted a year before I was born, a humbling feeling no less. We decided to pick from the easterly facing slope hoping our fruit might retain a bit more acidity and contain less sugar than the westely facing rows.
Our ultimate goal was to create a naturaly acid driven wine but giving the heat wave and inability to pick at the desired moment fell by the wayside this past week as Shaunt plugged away in the cellar and I in the field.
We will decide what path we want to take after we crush tomorrow. Our fruit tranquily awaits us in an air controlled cellar at 58 degrees.
It is off to the presses! Stay tuned...
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