Everyone says I shouldn’t make my own wine— “Well, you shouldn’t just make wine so you can write about it,” one person said. I should have asked “why not” but didn’t. I don’t need an answer to the ‘why not’. I don’t entertain the ‘why not’. Next vintage it happens, my barrel of Merlot. But from where.. I’ll bother and bugger with that later. Right now I want to enjoy dreaming, and write about the dreams. Imagining my babies playing on the property, and saying hello to people walking into the tasting room, going to the back to get paper or bags, or bottles (probably Jack)— Dreaming is how to get to a sought actuality, make it a caught reality.
And I’m not just making wine to have it jotted or typed in a caffeinated flurry, to some blog I have or to some brick of pages I intend to print. I’m going to make wine, diary my steps and thoughts and self-teachings, and see what’s on the next page, what the next vintage holds and what I can do differently next vintage.