It has begun!
Last year we made wine by hand with Samantha's visiting parents Ada & George who sat and stood in front of 800 litre Jumbo Bins and stripped 610kg of grapes off of their stems.
Sound easy...I think not.
It's like learning to compose Trois Gymnopedes I with a Kazoo. Realistically, it takes over 30 minutes to strip one lug box filled with black and purple grapes (that really resemble ticks in the wrong light). And, you've got to fill each Jumbo Bin with a minimum of 33 lugs full of grapes. Do the math... 30min per lug times 33 plus one hour for lunch plus 30min lost to pee breaks plus another 30min lost to sending the empty lugs and stems to the empty jumbo bins outside (to be eaten by the Baboons later)...
...that equals (ok the square of the hypotenuse divided by the sum E as E=energy spent over time, divided by some silly term denoting honest hopes and desires of finishing before mid-night and that makes) = 18 hours/per Jumbo Bin...give or take bad math.
It takes for-flippen-ever to get one jumbo bin ready with grapes. The top photo, by the way, is from the early part of the day. At the end of the day I'd given up stripping for topping up the barrels and taking the Balling samples. Sam was crushed under the collective weight of Keenan, Quinn and Jessica all demanding her time "NOW!" Then she had the audacity to try and help even though there was no chance in hell of Ralph letting anyone interrupt his rhythm.
John and Jullian both quit the following day.
This work is not for the faint of heart or the timid of soul...it is the work of Giants.
And, thankfully, the wine reflects the greatness of the participants.
Next year we're going to borrow someone's grape de-stemmer. That way Sam and I can do the work by ourselves...
...and Ralph can just press the button.
Love,
J.
Paradise
Ok. We lost tons of chardonnay to animals and a small first harvest. Fine.
But we did harvest some chardy...and a bit of viognier.
They are all quietly (and not so quietly) fermenting in wood as I write this. Every day one of us has to go downstairs and test the balling (the amount of solids in the juice directly related to sugars - either fructose or glucose) of the wine. This is a time consuming process but always rewarding and fun. The rewarding bit is that we have an olifactory and taste knowledge of our wine that goes far beyond the end result (we do take notes and refer to them prior to meeting important people).
The fun bit is that although the wine at this point might seem to be "not ready for tasting", it is however, at its most expressive. Emile Peynaud described this period as "Paradise". He's not far off the mark. Jancise Robinson has said that this period is the one in which most winemakers refuse to allow tastings because they are tasting so much already.
I must agree wth both sentiments...you cannot have any because we've had all there is to taste. And, it's so good I don't think your mind could handle it properly and you might just explode from joy after tasting it.
In fact I'll only let another winemaker taste mine after they let me taste theirs...selfish, not at all.
Look, this is just one of those things you're going to have to luck into...but, not now, with ours... so enjoy the photos...an just understand that the smile on my face is from a special joy the wine is giving.
Love,
J
ps. I'll let you taste a touch if you visit...but only a touch.
But we did harvest some chardy...and a bit of viognier.
They are all quietly (and not so quietly) fermenting in wood as I write this. Every day one of us has to go downstairs and test the balling (the amount of solids in the juice directly related to sugars - either fructose or glucose) of the wine. This is a time consuming process but always rewarding and fun. The rewarding bit is that we have an olifactory and taste knowledge of our wine that goes far beyond the end result (we do take notes and refer to them prior to meeting important people).
The fun bit is that although the wine at this point might seem to be "not ready for tasting", it is however, at its most expressive. Emile Peynaud described this period as "Paradise". He's not far off the mark. Jancise Robinson has said that this period is the one in which most winemakers refuse to allow tastings because they are tasting so much already.
I must agree wth both sentiments...you cannot have any because we've had all there is to taste. And, it's so good I don't think your mind could handle it properly and you might just explode from joy after tasting it.
In fact I'll only let another winemaker taste mine after they let me taste theirs...selfish, not at all.
Look, this is just one of those things you're going to have to luck into...but, not now, with ours... so enjoy the photos...an just understand that the smile on my face is from a special joy the wine is giving.
Love,
J
ps. I'll let you taste a touch if you visit...but only a touch.
Another weekend, another baboon...
Sunday March 4, 2007; Lismore main road.
Keenan, Quinn and I were car bound returning home from Greyton giving Sam an unusually long relaxation period sans our madness; whereupon arriving near the bottom house, we spied two huge male Baboons strutting from under the trees next to the lower dam. On their way towards the few remaining Syrah grapes.
These were not your run-of-the-mill Mutual of Omaha Baboons, but a pair of huge mating alpha-males with testicles the size of grapefruits and canines larger than any African lion. Their silver manes would have given the Tsavo East Lions quite a fright. On all fours they stood as high as my unburdened gut. So, imagine my glee when Keenan yelled, "Daddy Baboons, lets get 'em!" He's four. Not much for the "wrestle with reality whilst sitting in the bumper seat from Grandma Ada" but, he's big on watching daddy in action. Dad, mildly nervous and not wanting to lose any more grapes to our primate neighbours, said, "That's right Keenan, let's get 'em".
I revved the engine, set the palm on the horn and with our windows down rode screaming bloody murder into the thick of both of these males.
The car worked its magic.
I doubt very seriously if they even heard Keenan and I screaming our guts out. One of the males made for the hillsides opposite our dam while the bigger of the two loped up into some African Beefwoods.
The Beefwood stand about three feet apart and number roughly twenty. They're approximately 25 feet tall. We continued chasing the larger Papio higher into one tree. Realising that the car wouldn't go closer that its bumper I stopped. I rolled up Keenan's window, stepped out onto the mud and stood between the car door and the tree...looking up trying make my city eyes keen enough to discern his head for the branches, I felt vaguely like my Yanomamo cousins staring up a tree to find a primate in the Amazon.
Not holding anything mild resembling a poison dart gun or a shotgun, I did the next best thing, I swung both hands furiously together, making a hell of a crack. Mind you it wasn't like a shotgun, but it sure was louder than a .22 or a spit wad.
It worked. The guy freaked.
He started leaping from tree to tree and I kept up the painful staccato of applause. He'd gone across the tops of five or six trees when he missed a branch, and fell. 25 feet would have killed me but quick...he, however, kept falling and grabbing branches, ripping them out, as he tumbled down. He'd obviously fallen from a few trees.
He hit the ground with quite a padded thump and then, in lieu of running off willy-nilly arms akimbo and eyes alight, he just sat there in the high grass staring at me as if to ask, "I fell out of that tree because you were clapping at me."
Like a proverbial Pavlov puppy I kept up the claps...he stared through me to the grapes behind my head and understood that I wasn’t going to quit applauding his critique of Newtonian physics or budge. Unlike the other male he refused to sprint off and ambled past the far side of the dam and up the hill to have the ticks picked off of his back by the harem.
We, the great Baboon frighteners, saved the grapes for yet another day.
Later, I returned to the scene of the fall to get a better picture of the damage he'd sustained. I found his landing area substantially padded. He was quite the acrobat...as he fell, he kept ripping out branches and hurling them beneath himself. He'd made himself a crash pad of the falling branches and needles...then landed right in the centre de cible he'd created. I tell you these Papio Ursinus (Chacma Baboon) are just too smart.
Makes you think we're related.
Wait...I hear them, again...hmmm...maybe its just an ultra-light...then again...
Love
J.
Keenan, Quinn and I were car bound returning home from Greyton giving Sam an unusually long relaxation period sans our madness; whereupon arriving near the bottom house, we spied two huge male Baboons strutting from under the trees next to the lower dam. On their way towards the few remaining Syrah grapes.
These were not your run-of-the-mill Mutual of Omaha Baboons, but a pair of huge mating alpha-males with testicles the size of grapefruits and canines larger than any African lion. Their silver manes would have given the Tsavo East Lions quite a fright. On all fours they stood as high as my unburdened gut. So, imagine my glee when Keenan yelled, "Daddy Baboons, lets get 'em!" He's four. Not much for the "wrestle with reality whilst sitting in the bumper seat from Grandma Ada" but, he's big on watching daddy in action. Dad, mildly nervous and not wanting to lose any more grapes to our primate neighbours, said, "That's right Keenan, let's get 'em".
I revved the engine, set the palm on the horn and with our windows down rode screaming bloody murder into the thick of both of these males.
The car worked its magic.
I doubt very seriously if they even heard Keenan and I screaming our guts out. One of the males made for the hillsides opposite our dam while the bigger of the two loped up into some African Beefwoods.
The Beefwood stand about three feet apart and number roughly twenty. They're approximately 25 feet tall. We continued chasing the larger Papio higher into one tree. Realising that the car wouldn't go closer that its bumper I stopped. I rolled up Keenan's window, stepped out onto the mud and stood between the car door and the tree...looking up trying make my city eyes keen enough to discern his head for the branches, I felt vaguely like my Yanomamo cousins staring up a tree to find a primate in the Amazon.
Not holding anything mild resembling a poison dart gun or a shotgun, I did the next best thing, I swung both hands furiously together, making a hell of a crack. Mind you it wasn't like a shotgun, but it sure was louder than a .22 or a spit wad.
It worked. The guy freaked.
He started leaping from tree to tree and I kept up the painful staccato of applause. He'd gone across the tops of five or six trees when he missed a branch, and fell. 25 feet would have killed me but quick...he, however, kept falling and grabbing branches, ripping them out, as he tumbled down. He'd obviously fallen from a few trees.
He hit the ground with quite a padded thump and then, in lieu of running off willy-nilly arms akimbo and eyes alight, he just sat there in the high grass staring at me as if to ask, "I fell out of that tree because you were clapping at me."
Like a proverbial Pavlov puppy I kept up the claps...he stared through me to the grapes behind my head and understood that I wasn’t going to quit applauding his critique of Newtonian physics or budge. Unlike the other male he refused to sprint off and ambled past the far side of the dam and up the hill to have the ticks picked off of his back by the harem.
We, the great Baboon frighteners, saved the grapes for yet another day.
Later, I returned to the scene of the fall to get a better picture of the damage he'd sustained. I found his landing area substantially padded. He was quite the acrobat...as he fell, he kept ripping out branches and hurling them beneath himself. He'd made himself a crash pad of the falling branches and needles...then landed right in the centre de cible he'd created. I tell you these Papio Ursinus (Chacma Baboon) are just too smart.
Makes you think we're related.
Wait...I hear them, again...hmmm...maybe its just an ultra-light...then again...
Love
J.
The suns' rosey fingers pinked the clouds this morning.
Still waiting for the Syrah to ripen.
The Field mix of Viognier and Syrah has been hit by the birds...amazing that the wildlife can remove tons and tons of fruit in a week. Our Cab Franc was removed entirely. We lost four tons in two days to Baboons (those evil grape sucking f#@*&^rs) and red wing starlings. We lost three tons of Chardonnay to the Cape White Eye, Baboons, and Starlings. I mean one of the Bosman clan was out there every day with a whip and still we lost so much fruit that it hurts.
But, you may be happy to know that of the 6 tons for Ataraxia wines we managed to deliver only 3. A net loss of 50%. Not bad considering I slept out there and on weekends Avi Bosman visited the farm each day. Sucks for Kevin Grant (winmaker to the Gods) but we did more for him than we were able to do for ourselves. I think we may start employing the shoot first ask questions later rule next season. No love lost, just grapes.
Speaking of love...
We've finally bottled (with the financial help of FNB) the Baboon Butt Red and the first bottles of the Lismore Chardonnay. The Baboon Butt is getting better by the day and we should be out of it by the time we bottle the next run of Lismore and BBR. So, if you want some ask now or forever hold your piece (of coinage). The Chardonnay was seriously startled by the bottling process and is going to have to sit for a few more months to regain its former glory.
That is the life of wine though. Ripen as slowly as possible. Ferment as slowly as possible. Barrel age as long as possible. Bottle age a while longer. Then Drink the damn thing faster than you can utter, "where's my screw pull' when twisting off a cap.
Love,
J
The Field mix of Viognier and Syrah has been hit by the birds...amazing that the wildlife can remove tons and tons of fruit in a week. Our Cab Franc was removed entirely. We lost four tons in two days to Baboons (those evil grape sucking f#@*&^rs) and red wing starlings. We lost three tons of Chardonnay to the Cape White Eye, Baboons, and Starlings. I mean one of the Bosman clan was out there every day with a whip and still we lost so much fruit that it hurts.
But, you may be happy to know that of the 6 tons for Ataraxia wines we managed to deliver only 3. A net loss of 50%. Not bad considering I slept out there and on weekends Avi Bosman visited the farm each day. Sucks for Kevin Grant (winmaker to the Gods) but we did more for him than we were able to do for ourselves. I think we may start employing the shoot first ask questions later rule next season. No love lost, just grapes.
Speaking of love...
We've finally bottled (with the financial help of FNB) the Baboon Butt Red and the first bottles of the Lismore Chardonnay. The Baboon Butt is getting better by the day and we should be out of it by the time we bottle the next run of Lismore and BBR. So, if you want some ask now or forever hold your piece (of coinage). The Chardonnay was seriously startled by the bottling process and is going to have to sit for a few more months to regain its former glory.
That is the life of wine though. Ripen as slowly as possible. Ferment as slowly as possible. Barrel age as long as possible. Bottle age a while longer. Then Drink the damn thing faster than you can utter, "where's my screw pull' when twisting off a cap.
Love,
J
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2008 Chardonnay
Snow in the clouds...
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