Napa Life...

Living By the Vines: The Grafting of an East Coast Girl
to a Wine Country Life

The first thirty years of my life flowed to the rhythm of the seasons on the East Coast. The school year began with the first sign of cold air and coloring of the leaves. Thanksgiving and Christmas were sure to come soon after the first snow. Spring was the all-too-brief time when you shed your parka and breathed in fresh, cool, greenness. The sticky, steamy heat of summer meant long nights lit up by fireflies and carnival lights. Crisp apples and brightly colored leaves brought the end of vacation, the beginning of the next cycle of life.

For the past five years, I have lived in California – “Wine Country,” to be specific. At first, I enjoyed the break from bitter, frigid winters. Then I began to realize that years were slipping by in a barely perceptible pattern of rain-warm sun-hot sun-warm sun-rain, the poetry that Californians accept as seasons.

Without the grating of the snow plows, I tend to forget Christmas is coming until the outdoor shopping mall Santa startles me into the holiday spirit. During a particularly chilly bit of June, I might find it difficult to remember if it is spring or fall.

After a couple of years, I discovered my perception was changing. While walking my dog in the vineyards behind my home, I became acutely aware of the life of the vines. Seasons do not merely manifest themselves as weather, they have the wonderful ability to express themselves in the slightest, almost imperceptible, changes that make up the life-cycle of a grape vine.

For several months, the vineyard is a dead-looking forest of gnarled black stumps shooting boney, fingerlike, lifeless canes into the low grey sky. Then the rain comes, bringing a carpet of bright green to accentuate the blackness of the dormant vines.

The beginning of the year is the time for pruning the dead canes. This is also the time when I make my new year’s resolutions, start diets, and purge my home of unnecessary clutter. Both serve the same purpose; clear away the old to prepare for new growth.

Just when winter seems darkest, the mustard comes. Fields of bright yellow flowers overtake the sullen, stubbly vineyards, creating the illusion of summer sunshine in the wet fog of late winter. Each year it comes just in time to save me from the blahs that threaten to overtake me when the sun has been gone too long.

Days sometimes blur together under the gray flannel haze. It always surprises me the first time I realize that it’s starting to get light earlier and I don’t have to rush home from work to walk the dogs before it’s too dark in the vineyard. This is when I start looking for the tiny buds that will soon be forming on the stubbly canes.

After a long, seemingly dormant season of inner growth and strengthening root systems, miniature green buds form, growing rapidly into precious little leaves. Days are growing a bit longer, the sun visits more often, and I seem to have much more energy for long walks and new projects.

Once the new life force takes over, the new green canes grow inches overnight. It’s not long before the vineyard looks like a forest of brand new dwarf trees. This is a busy time of year in wine country. The weekend visitors from the city return. At first a few here and there, but soon they will line their cars up for miles down the road. The past few months of easy restaurant reservations and parking places on Main Street are just a distant memory. Life has returned to the valley.

Summer is just around the corner when the vines begin to flower. I never think of it as flowering, exactly. It looks more like Lilliputian bunches of green grapes. If I had children instead of dogs, I’d make up stories for them about vineyard gnomes dining on huge bunches of juicy grapes for dinner each night after the moon comes up. Since I do have dogs instead, I just let them chase away the birds before they make a feast of the next vintage.

Before spring has sprung, the sun often breathes its hot breath a bit too emphatically. The East Coaster in me wonder, “what ever happened to spring?” One day it’s freezing, the next it’s over 85°!

The leaves and fruit grow with abandon, basking in the hot sun during the day and the cooling fog at night. The vineyard is luxurious with rich, lush canopies covering succulent bunches of future wine. Life in the valley is also luxurious at this time of year. The rich and famous are in full view. Limousines form a train from one end of the valley to the next. Wine flows like water in the tasting rooms and restaurants. And, all the big, beautiful homes on the hillsides glow with the activity of entertaining.

Harvest brings a frantic buzz to the vineyard. There is no rest until every worthy bunch has been crushed and converted to bubbling tanks full of fermenting juice. Tourist season is at its peak. All wine lovers are fascinated with the magical process of turning simple fruit into the elixir of the gods. The energy level is contagious.

Like the vineyard, my life completes its yearly cycle. The time of stillness, reflection, and inner growth returns. Still… the outdoor shopping mall Santa sneaks up on me every time!