Chapter 33: Harvest (1)

TL: Hanguk

Russian River Valley in Sonoma County.

The way the morning sunlight seeped in between the valleys where a thin fog lay and spread out like a silvery band was picture-perfectly scenic.

Dad, holding the steering wheel, admired the beautiful view.

“Korea has its own kind of beauty, but America really is on a different scale.”

“That’s right. The land is so vast that it feels different to look at.”

“But how did this place manage to avoid this wildfire?”

“We have to go and see first. There might not be direct damage, but varieties with thin skins like Pinot Noir are more vulnerable to smoke.”

“Then we can’t completely trust the claim that there’s no damage. Is there a way to check?”

“Yes. It takes a few days, but it’s possible. We should go and see first.”

“Let’s do that.”

Soon we arrived at the farm, and in the gently blowing wind, along with the scent of damp soil, there was a faint grape aroma.

The farm owner, Steven Hart, checked the car and walked out, and his sun-tanned face, red beard, and sturdy build were still impressive.

“You came at an incredible time. If you’d been a few days later, you would’ve missed the timing.”

“Let’s go and take a look first.”

“Let’s do that. Follow me.”

Dad and I followed him and walked in between the vineyards. Everywhere my eyes reached, I could see grape clusters that resembled pinecones, packed tightly and ripened firm and full.

Steven Hart led us into the block we’d contracted, and at the makeshift table he had brought in advance, he immediately picked a cluster of grapes and set it down.

“Check it.”

“Thank you.”

Before checking in earnest, I wiped the grape cluster’s skin once with my hand and checked my fingertips with my eyes, then crushed a berry and smelled it. At that sight, Steven Hart lifted one corner of his mouth.

“Checking whether it got smoke? You’re pretty thorough.”

What I did when I stroked the grapes with my hand was to check for traces of ash stuck to the skin, and what I did when I crushed one and smelled it was to see if there was any tar, smoke-curing, or burnt wood smell.

When I nodded at not sensing anything unusual, I took out the zip bag I’d prepared, put in about twenty berries, crushed them with my hand, then placed a drop on a glass plate and put a refractometer to my eye.

“24 degrees Brix.”

“The sugar content is good.”

“Most of the seeds are brown, too. If there’s still a greenish tint, it’s under-ripe, but at this level, it’s fully ripe.”

Next, I put the juice into a test tube and measured it with a pH kit, and the reading came out to 3.4. The acidity was on the stable side, so I immediately picked up a few grapes and chewed them with the skins on.

Sweet juice burst out and wetted my tongue, and the aromas of cherry and raspberry rose clearly while, at the same time, a fine astringency spread. But it wasn’t a sharp bitterness, it was the feel of tannins softly wrapping around the tip of my tongue. Even when I chewed the skin, I didn’t sense any raw green or grassy note.

“How is it?”

“It’s good.”

When I simply gave a thumbs-up without saying much, Dad broke into a deep smile.

“Then we’ll have to pick this weekend.”

“I think two days from now would be good.”

As I said that, I looked at Steven.

“I’ll take one cluster of grapes. I’ll just check whether any smoke aroma shows up through a Micro-fermentation test, and if there’s no problem, we’ll proceed with payment as contracted.”

He immediately frowned.

“You’re really picky. Do it if you want.”

Seeing how readily he agreed, it did seem like the grapes truly hadn’t been exposed to smoke, but I still had to check what needed checking. If grapes are exposed to smoke, it often doesn’t show as much right after harvest, and then, during fermentation and aging, the smoke-curing aroma stands out prominently.

Dad offered him a handshake with a gentlemanly smile.

“Thank you for understanding. Then please start the harvest from dawn two days from now.”

“Got it. I’ll have Block C and D all prepared for hand harvesting.”

With that, after deciding on the harvest of the Pinot Noir we had pre-purchased, Dad and I picked a few clusters and headed home.

***

The next day, UC Davis.

“Dad was really worried.”

At lunchtime, Chloe, whom I met at the school cafeteria, brought up the fire again the moment she saw me, even though she had already heard over the phone that everything was fine. "Tell him there's nothing to worry about at all. And especially that not a single spark touched the oak barrels with the cherry wine."

"It wasn't just because I was worried about the cherry wine. He was asking because he was worried about his daughter's friend's farm."

"Okay, tell him I said thank you for his concern."

Just then, Armando came over with his tray, sat down next to me, and spoke.

“Chloe, I heard there’s a goddess in your department. Who is she?” "There's a goddess besides me?"

Her expression said 'ridiculous,' but Armando no longer had trouble speaking, at least when it came to Chloe.

"She had black hair and gave off a gorgeous vibe? Would you understand if I said my heart stopped the moment I saw her?"

“That heart should’ve stayed stopped...”

"I'd really appreciate it if you could find out for sure. Tell her a Latin man with a passionate heart is watching."

"I don't know who that woman is, but I already feel sorry for her."

“That’s because she’s never properly felt the love of a Latin man.”

Chloe made a strange expression, but Armando didn’t care and took a bite of his cold pizza. Soon after, Jacob came with his tray and sat down next to Chloe. Seeing how red his skin had gotten, I could tell he’d been getting scorched by the sun lately.

“We started harvesting this time. Mr. Alberto says it doesn’t look like the yield will be that different from last year. Thanks, Brian. Thanks to you, I think this season’s farming will be a success.”

“Then that’s a relief. I was worried because the rice got pretty damaged.”

“Once the harvest is all done, I’ll bring a few 25-pound (lb) bags over to your place.”

“It’s fine, I should buy it.”

“You said it yourself. Between people who farm, you give and take from each other. I’ll give you the best rice.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll enjoy it.”

Like that, the four friends chatted about pointless things until it was time for class, then split up. When I arrived at the Introduction to Viticulture classroom, the students were murmuring among themselves.

When I sat down and listened to what naturally reached my ears, it was talk about the fires that had swept across the Sonoma and Napa area this time. Since it was a group of kids learning viticulture and enology, that seemed to be their biggest concern by default.

Most of them had enrolled simply because they loved grape cultivation and wine, but since there were also, now and then, children of farm owners who ran vineyards in California, it was something they couldn’t help but pay attention to.

I opened my book and waited for class, and Elaina, who was just entering the classroom, flinched in surprise when she saw me. But she soon squared her shoulders, walked over confidently, and said,

“You must feel pretty smug, huh? You warned me about the wildfire risk in advance, and you’re thinking inside that we couldn’t handle it properly, so we’ve got what we deserved, right?”

“...Not at all? I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“Hmph! Lies...”

Elaina crossed her arms and sneered, but honestly, rather than feeling satisfied inside, I felt sorry. According to what the firefighter said, a quarter of the farm had been damaged, and that level of damage was a fatal blow.

For one thing, having a quarter burn down was a huge hit in itself, but it also meant the rest of the farm’s grapes had all been exposed to smoke. Grapes exposed to smoke and ash are excluded from coverage to the extent that they weren’t even mentioned in the 2004 insurance policy terms.

So it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that this year’s wine was completely ruined.

"Don't worry too much. You must have had insurance at least. We also suffered a massive pest infestation last year, but we worked hard and recovered from it all. You can do it too."

Elaina, who had been about to say I was mocking her, remembered that last year the entire Redwood Farm had been afflicted with powdery mildew.

"How much help can insurance really be..."

“Still, it’s better than nothing.”

Before the regression, the point when insurance companies started jacking up premiums and even refusing new policies outright in some regions was after the 2017 Napa and Sonoma megafires caused billions of dollars in damage.

Before that, most vineyards were protected by crop insurance run jointly by the federal government (USDA) and private insurers, so I assumed Silveroak Hills would be the same.

Of course, even so, it wasn’t an enormous help. Compensation only covered the amount of the decrease compared to the average yield.

In the end, it would have been better for Silver Oak Farm if everything had burned down completely. Now, reviving the farm depended on how the farm owner sacrificed and worked.

I wished them well, but it probably wouldn't be easy.

“By any chance... how about our grapes for making your vinegar? Are you interested?”

I put on an awkward smile.

“Sorry, but volatile phenols that come from smoke still remain even if it turns into vinegar. Even if I filter with activated carbon, they still linger, so using it as vinegar for high-end dressing is... I’m sorry.”

No matter how sorry I felt, what couldn’t be done couldn’t be done.

When making vinegar, only the alcohol turns into acetic acid, but bacteria don’t get rid of these phenol molecules. Rather, under acidic conditions and enzymatic action, the phenols can bind with sugars and then get released again, revealing the odor, so I had no choice but to refuse firmly.

If there was any way to save those grapes at all, it would be to make them into wine while having the smoke aroma, but whether it would actually sell...

"Fine, whatever!"

Elaina, who had swallowed her pride and asked once only to be flatly rejected, turned on her heel with an embarrassed face and took a seat far away.

After that, having to sit through material I knew all too well, I got through the boring class and headed to the parking lot to go home. As I trudged along, thinking about what time I needed to go to the custom crush company tomorrow,

“Brian!”

When I looked up, Siena was standing in front of my car, an old pickup truck, with her arms crossed, wearing a short skirt like before. As if she didn’t want to touch the car, she stood a step away, squinting in the sunlight, and it seemed like she’d been waiting for a while.

“Uh... nice to see you.”

"You don't look happy to see me at all?"

“That’s just your imagination.”

“Is it? I heard your farm makes cherry wine?”

While I tried to think hard about whether I’d been loose-lipped around school, Siena added,

“It’s something Mr. Pierce told me.”

"Ah, so you know Mr. Pierce Morgan well?"

“It’s only natural for the Agricultural Extension Office and big farms like ours to be close. We can learn a lot about the latest farming methods.”

“Oh, I see. So Harrington Vineyards don’t have an aversion to the latest technology?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

With her sharp features, I would’ve thought she had strong preconceptions, but surprisingly she seemed open-minded.

“Anyway, I heard you asked Mr. Pierce to connect you with high-end restaurant owners? You said you wanted to hold a tasting.”

It turns out Mr. Pierce has quite a loose tongue.

“He told you that too?”

“Think about it. Who knows more restaurant owners, Mr. Pierce, or my dad? Mr. Pierce brought it up to my dad because he wanted to help you.”

“Ah...”

“And Dad says he wants to attend too.”

So that was the point.

"Why would he?"

“He says he’s curious about the cherry wine.”

“Mm...”

“Why? You don’t like it?”

“Honestly, you are competitors.”

“We don’t make cherry wine.”

“We make wine with Pinot Noir too. It’ll come out next year, but...”

At that, Siena’s brow twitched.

“You grow Pinot Noir in Napa?”

“No, that’s not it. We’re planning a custom crush.”

“Ha, you’re really ambitious. Have you done it before? If the variety is different, the winemaking techniques will be different.”

I shrugged, and she stared at me hard before speaking.

“So you’re saying you can’t do it?”

“...No. If you’re inviting restaurant owners for us, of course I should invite him.”

“Then why does your face look like that? Are you worried because my dad is coming in person to see it?”

“Yes, I’m worried.”

“In what way?”

“I’m worried he might be too surprised, because it's so delicious...”

I gave a small grin, passed by her, and got into the car. Then I started the car and drove off, leaving her behind looking dumbfounded.

*****

Author’s Note

This is an image of a burned Napa grape farm.