We spend the next half-hour walking down every fourth row or so, so that at the end his bag is full of grapes that represent the overall profile of the vineyard. My husband walks up ahead with a Ziploc bag, picking grapes at random. They take off like shots down the rows, running until they are little specs in the distance, stopping every few minutes to pluck a grape from a vine and pop it in their mouths. When we arrive at the vineyard our boys can't jump out of their car seats fast enough. We help them be at their best so they can craft the wine that makes the Napa Valley famous. Those on the front lines are the heroes, but they could not do the work that they do without the army of supporters behind them. But I am also proud to play my own harvest role by shepherding our family through this challenging time of year.
This is the season when his expertise shines when each day he makes a hundred decisions to translate his vineyards' bounty to the bottle. Above all I am proud of my husband, who has risen to become winemaker at one of the most renowned wineries in the valley. "harvest widow").ĭespite what I know is ahead - incessant "When will daddy be home?" questions, bath time meltdowns because mommy's mo-hawks don't hold a candle to my husband's, a sense of loneliness after the kids go to bed - I have an incredible sense of pride in this time of year. We each have a marathon before us - his awash in grape juice, mine as a single parent (aka. Today's vineyard trip checks off the boxes of work and family time, the latter being at a premium as we will not see much of my husband for the next two months.
The season officially began for our family last week, when my husband's winery had it's first Chardonnay pick. It's mid-August and harvest's annual whirlwind is nipping at our heels. Today's mission has a purpose - sampling grapes for ripeness. This is the life my husband and I dream of affording one day. As we wind down country roads, I look out at the farm and ranch houses dotting the landscape and imagine what it must be like to wake up to this view every morning. Along the drive my winemaker husband tells us how this particular vineyard is his favorite to walk at dawn, the sky saturated with pink and orange, the landscape blanketed with fog. Nestled in the hills to the east of downtown Napa, Coombsville is especially breathtaking for it's sea of rolling vineyards, silhouetted against Vaca mountain range. We pile into the car (in record time!) and head towards Coombsville, the newest AVA (American Viticultural Area) in the Napa Valley. If only I could get this sort of enthusiasm when we actually have to get somewhere. I'm not sure which element has our littlest guy so excited - I'm guessing it's the smashing - but needless to say he's ready to get the show on the road. We told the kids at breakfast that the day's adventures included a trip to one of daddy's growers and tasting, smashing, and juicing grapes. That's our two-year-old's rebel cry this morning, earnestly fastening the Velcro on his sneakers, pushing us out the door to go to daddy's vineyard (which technically isn't daddy's vineyard, but that nuance is lost on a two-year-old). "Go daddy's wingard! GO DADDY'S WINGARD!"
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