I’ve
never been an introspective person. By that I mean I have never trudged up to a mountain top to contemplate the meaning of
life. The only caveat to that is something that has puzzled me since I was a
little boy. In fact, I used to lie awake nights trying to unravel the mystery. To
no avail. It remains as enigmatic today as it did yesterday. What is this paradox? Well, the question is just how
the hell does Hollywood get their animals to do what they do? Look,
it’s an aberration. Take Lassie for example. I’ve seen that poor dog swim raging ice-clogged rivers, traverse dark forbidding forests, battle
bull mastiffs and sinister bullies and still forge ahead tenaciously just to return to her old chum, Roddy McDowell, who could
always be found waiting expectantly, peering out of a storm swept window.
Believe
me, it was torture watching that animal on the screen. Particularly since my pooch, Teddy, wouldn’t even roll over or
shake my hand. For that matter I couldn’t get him to stop biting my Uncle
Norm. Mother was fond of saying that it was a blessing that Norm didn’t
visit much. But to be perfectly honest Teddy was an equal opportunity biter.
Okay,
so dogs are smart. But what about horses?
You see John Wayne leap from his pony amid flying arrows and the smoke of gunfire to find something more substantial
to hide behind than horse flesh. And what, then, does his horse do? It stands there like a dummy until the director yells “CUT!”
Now I ask you when was the last time you witnessed that? Any ordinary
horse would be a speck of dust on the horizon. Heck, I once chased a contentious
horse ten miles in the Wilderness Area. And it was hobbled!
Don’t
tell me that a horse is going to stand around like a statue of Sea Biscuit while his rider drops into the Palace Saloon for
a shot of red-eye. It won’t happen.
And
that brings me to another dismal cinematographic reject, my granddaughter’s horse,
Buddy. Buddy is a rather nondescript sorrel gelding with a patch of white on
his belly and a somewhat surly disposition. He learned early on the more obstinate
he became the less he would be hassled by his mistress. Hence, he could spend
his days lollygagging with his buddies. Then, rather unexpectedly, his buddies,
two mules and a horse, began kicking the bucket. Alas, not even livestock are
immune to old age. Finally, in a period of two months, Buddy found himself alone. It was April and the grass wasn’t as high as an elephant’s eye, but it
was bountiful nonetheless. Still, it was apparently no inducement for Buddy to
stick around for on the 15th of the month he simply vanished.
Suspiciously
I noted that my granddaughter was unburdened with grief and it occurred to me that she had made some sort of scandalous bargain
with Beelzebub. Her father, conversely, was distressed and determined to find
the animal. For weeks Keith took the ATV and searched the logging roads behind
the ranch, once even reconnoitering the area in an airplane. Nada. Zip. The horse had disappeared from the face of the earth.
I was convinced that a mountain lion had made short work of Buddy, but Keith kept reminding me of the horse who was
lost in the high country for six weeks and later found. However, by the middle
of July even the most incurable optimist had abandoned hope.
Then,
something rather strange happened. Around the 1st of August we heard
a rumor that a “wild mustang” was lurking in the hills above Coffee Creek.
A “wild mustang” in Coffee Creek? What were Kipling words?
“And the dawn comes up like thunder.” It didn’t take a member
of Mensa to do the math. In a blink Keith had gathered up a halter, aired the
horse trailer tires, sped to Coffee Creek, waded the river and Voila! Buddy was
busted. And he looked remarkably fit for having spent three and a half months
in the wilderness. In fact, he was trim enough for Keith to slap a saddle on
him and head for Swift Creek the next day. In the movies there would be a long
shot of the meadow bathed in fading sunlight and Buddy standing there nobly gazing into the distance, his eyes seeking the
little girl who stood wistfully in the shadows. “CUT! THAT’S A WRAP!!”
As
odd as it may seem I do have a bit of winery news to convey. Don’t you
just hate it when that happens? Be that as it may, I have to report on the 2007
national and international competitions. It was a K.O. in the first round! We
garnered 8 bronzes, 8 silvers, 5 golds and 1 double gold medal. Every variety
with the exception of Pinot Noir Blanc had medaled. The latter was somewhat anticipated
since we hadn’t entered the wine in any of the competitions. The gold medal
wines were: Gewurztraminer, Chardonnay, Pinot Gris and Pinot Noir. All in all it was a remarkable showing for any winery more
than a stone’s throw of the Napa River. Come to think of it, it was a better showing than ninety-five percent of the wineries
WITHIN a stone’s throw of the Napa River.
The
harvest was long, tedious and, under the circumstances, quite tranquil. The circumstances
being that we shared the pickers with three other vineyards which required a pinch of cunning, a teaspoon of contrivance and
a cup of luck. The latter is always required because pickers rarely drive anything
newer than a 1968 Ford Mustang. It was a godsend that we only had one breakdown
this fall: a broken front axle. Not to worry.
We pick no grapes until their time and the time arrives the moment all vehicles are repaired. Oh, and one more thing: the Sangiovese didn’t make sugar. Again.
This means no Sangiovese in 2009. What can I tell you? You Sangiovese lovers are just going to have to stock up in 2008.
With
no exception the volume of grapes per varietal last fall was fifteen to twenty-five percent below normal. Primarily this was due to the inclement spring weather which interfered with the bud development. The quality of the grapes, however, was superb.
The acids, sugars and flavors were the best we’ve seen in years. This
translated, of course, into some exceptional wines, most of which will not be released until mid-summer. The snow was so deep this winter that it prevented our normal delivery of bottle glass, hence our bottling
was delayed for six to eight weeks.
It
occurred to me when January’s snow reached the depth of four feet why Mondavi, Sattui and the gang didn’t settle
in Trinity County. And by the time the snow had obliterated all signs of my vineyard such as stakes,
wire, end posts and sprinkler heads it confirmed my suspicion that it was possibly more than just a matter of uncertain electricity,
bad roads and the lack of a wine train.
The
winter was so severe that a large segment of our “hearty” locals departed for Yuma,
Belize and Costa Rica. And most of them were thoughtful enough not to send back pictures postcards. One fellow, however, telephoned home to complain of his bad sunburn and as a bye-the-bye
inquired about his property. He was told that unfortunately his home was now
a Trinity Lake
house boat.
What
the heck, the least we could do was make the miscreant’s exodus unpleasant as possible.
Once
again. I wish to thank each and every one of you for your steadfast patronage. Particularly
those of you who have returned year after year like the swallows to Capistrano. We
are humbly grateful.
Most Sincerely,
Mark Groves
