My actual life is getting a bit ahead of my posts which naturally has both good and not so good aspects to telling a story. Because of this I am often talking about what went on a day or so ago. My greatest regret/irritation in the retelling is what I have missed to capture in a meaningful way. I am speaking here about photos and the use of the camera. As I have protested more than once in this still short-lived, burgeoning continued search for absolute fullness and completion (ooppps, is that something like death?), I have never used a camera to document my existence so it is not a natural. I am even less inclined to take photographs of people living their lives. It seems intrusive. I have always felt that way and suppose organically I always will. But, what the hey? The whole world is on someone’s iphone, so why can’t I enjoy the same exposition of such?
AH, but I am. I am just starting to have some fun with the camera. People may come next, who knows? And just as I have had a good round with myself about not being comfortable with the camera and its use, I wonder if not using the written word to convey the story does not have more meaning. If a story must be told quickly then a photo seems like the correct medium (video works here as well, any visual media), but if one wants to enjoy the luxury of dramatic story telling using words to create for the reader a ‘scene’ that then becomes ones’ own…..?????
So, is one art, the other pop?
One literature, the other gossip?
None of this matters to six year old Amy and four year old Sasha who love the camera:
Toes and Toys
Mom and Sasha
Carrie Hams for the Camera (cellar rat by day/gourmet cook at night)
Et Moi
A dark and ominous storm gathered as I headed south. I thought that finding Maury would be simple as there HAD to be a sign for the town along the autoroute. But no, so I pulled off the road around some town names that I did know. Of all people I should NEVER travel without a map as I have no sense of direction. The sun helps of course….but first she must be out. (Another friend who suffers from this problem calls it “directionally dyslexic”. Since I am dyslexic in writing and speaking it all adds up.) I did indeed have a map so finally pulled myself over and dug it out of my suitcase. Wow, it cleared things up right away, imagine that!
My contacts here are Richard and Sarah Case. Both are English but as winemaking was the chosen field for Richard, France was a natural. Richard was making small lots of Old Vine Grenache and Old Vine Carignan in his basement…a humble facility at best. The Vallé d’Agly was soon discovered for its plentiful hillsides of OVG and OVC. These grapes had been going into Vin Doux Natural but it did not take long for winemakers from other areas/countries to see the gold hanging on these slopes. Richard is now making his wine and wine for several others in an absolutely perfect winemaking facility designed and built by Dave Finney of Orin Swift/Prisoner fame (who has made a sizable investment in vineyards and the winemaking facility).
Richard and I had agreed by email that I would either come by the winery or call him on his cell, depending on the time of arrival. I like to hone in a bit on my destination first….get the lay of the land. I arrived in Maury around 6:30 and as I drove through its main street I passed the local pub. I was immediately at home as I saw Richard (he is very tall) and a group relaxing over a beer. I considered this a very good sign of days to come.
Turns out he was hanging with his associate Bob (also English), and Brian (and his cousin Pete) from Napa Valley. Brian works with Dave (and Pete was just on vacation) and was here for the launch of the harvest. A few beers later we were off to a party in Tautavel. I completely blew it here as I did not have my camera. I am not used to documenting my life and have never used a camera so it is not second nature. I tried to get a few pictures of the party with Richard’s iphone, but…..
In any case please picture an old cellar but thoroughly renewed, with a long table with over 200 wines and a food table at one end where shortly two lambs were being sliced for our dining pleasure. Dozens of winemakers from the area were here to kick off harvest with what is apparently an annual get together. I was surprised to run into a few people I knew and of course there were many winemaking connections from both France and the rest of the grape community. This was grand start to the week!
Although I missed a handful of party shots, I can share some of the beauty and charm of Maury.
The Local Hollywood Sign
The Local Cemetery
The Hills Slowly Close In
Magestic Risings
To the North
Although the day was filled with treasured sentiment the evening was filled with good cheer. Dominique invited a dozen or so friends and family from the area to her home and a celebration of everything important ensued. Champagne flowed, loads of goodies made it to the table and we drank, laughed, chatted, and danced the evening away. The courtyard held its own magic as the party moved from inside to out. It was a lovely, soft Indian summer evening that lingered into the wee hours of the morning. I even made my first official joke in French (yes, they laughed)!
My original plan had me leaving around 8 or 9 in the morning. In fact I left after another superb lunch lovingly served by Myriam. Roussillon calls.
The Aftermath
The First Sink Full
A Last Look
Friday was my final day working in the cave at Domaine de Cristia. The winemaking experience was fantastic of course. I was given every opportunity to observe the vineyards, their individual terroir, the fruit as it arrived to the cellar and then to work with the juice/wine over my ten days. Baptiste and his father were incredibly helpful in explaining their methods and techniques (some of them very old world and some very modern) and Alain was ever ready to share with me his library of winemaking books and internet articles offering evidence of support for this decision or that.
Further, I was introduced to scores of winemakers from the area who also opened their cellars and their ideas for my further edification. I not only felt a part of the winemaking community of CNdP but became increasing close to the Grangeon family.
Both of Dominique’s grandparents (her father’s father Etienne, and her mother’s mother Coulette) joined us for lunch and coffee on my final day. When leaving to return to the cellar after lunch and taking a few extra moments to say my goodbyes I became overwhelmed with emotion. In fact, I had to depart rather quickly rather than suffer a complete meltdown. Etienne asked me to join him for a moment at his home (which is directly next door to the cave) on my return to work. I did so and was again overtaken by emotion. He showed me a decoration that he had put together for the millennium welcoming in the new century. It consisted of a grapevine designed as a tree announcing the births of his children and grandchildren. There was other memorabilia resting on the table creating a very personal display. He then offered me a copy of a poem that he had written for the occasion. It was titled the ‘four seasons’ and outlined for him the significance of each with respect to the growing of the vines. His final words to me were, “my great passion in life is my vines, my great honor in life is that my children and grandchildren continue to work them”. I tried to hide my falling tears as I returned to the cellar to continue his work.
Etienne Joseph Grangeon, "Papé"
Papé would ride his bike over several times a day to check up on us. I always saved my sweetest kisses for him.
I have often been asked what I love about France and I have tried to put my finger on it all these years (this love affair started when I was around thirteen or fourteen and my mother introduced me to Colette). I usually say something about tradition, love of the good life or maybe a more relaxed life (with food, wine, home, and hearth being the heart of this) but this trip I have come closer to understanding a part of French life that is most endearing. There is a human element that is foremost in this culture. Each and every encounter must include some kind of physical gesture, a moment of personal intimacy if you will. The most ritualized of course is the kiss(es) to the cheek. Regardless of socio-economic level there must be some kind of physical acknowledgment. When Baptiste arrives at the vineyard to check on the pick for the day he greets each and every member of the crew (and this can be 20-25) with a handshake or the traditional cheek peck depending on how well he knows them. The ladies of course all receive the trois bises of local custom.
I loved the early arrival each morning á la cave. The feel was often early Autumn, sometimes late summer. I started the work day with a round of bises that required one to seek out their work mates and in my case each of the “boys” in the cellar/vineyard, Baptiste, his father Alain, my co-worker Michel, Ahmed, etc. etc. Three kisses is the tradition of southern Rhône, two in some areas and I found out that it is FOUR kisses for the Parisians……Michel is a Parisian! The affectionate greeting sets a tone for the working relationship throughout the day. I would love to try something like this in the states, but you can already see the mystified expression on everyone’s face! Alors, one of the cultural idioms that must remain here at home in France.
Baptiste
Alain
Michel
Ahmed
Christian
