June 6 2008
I had an “ah-ha” moment the other day about the allure of wine as a rock in the stream of life.
First, I should say that I have never understood the staunch critics of progress in wine. To me, it just never made sense. You have to keep up with the times. Like a shark, if you are not constantly in motion moving forward, than you die.
But, a recent turn of events caused me to take a moment and look contemplatively, a brief respite from a life on the go, a life that isn’t that different from millions of other people, our days simply markers in a rush of a turn of events.
One of the many memories that I hold dear is a childhood spent at my family’s rustic lake cottage in NE Indiana.
When I say “rustic” I mean, rustic—outhouse, pump well for running water and the whole bit. The cottage was a relic from the 1920’s, stick frame, no foundation, two-bedroom shotgun-style place. In fact, many of the furnishings that I grew up laying about on were from the sale of the place to my grandparents in the 1940’s. They are not antiques if you use them, that is for sure.
Despite the lack of modern day amenities, I have some of the fondest (and priceless) memories from the lake—meals full of summer harvest vegetables, fishing for bluegills with my Grandpa, Dad and brother, swimming, running and around and just being a kid; playing innocent games with water and empty dish soap containers, not toys from Target, before rushing inside to eat the other half pan of brownies.
Ah, those are sweet memories, every single one of them. It was a childhood of abundance.
However, over the course of the last 15 years or so the cottage fell into a state of disrepair that was not recoverable. Time and age had taken its toll, very similar to the peaking of a wine. It had been on a steady decline for a number of years prior, but was still serviceable and still enjoyable. The view, the location and the calmness making up for what was not present in a physical state.
Then, one summer, it just kind of died—not literally, but figuratively, in terms of its usefulness.
After laying relatively dormant for a good number of years, my mother very graciously passed the deed to the cottage down to my brother, sister and me, leaving the fate of the cottage in our hands—good, bad or indifferent. After much contemplation, consideration and teeth gnashing, we decided to tear down the cottage that had been in my family for the last 60 + years and build anew—not a small decision, particularly when my grandmother, who is 99, is still around—the matriarch of a family that is hidebound by tradition. There is a real need to be respectful to the past.
That said, this past Memorial Day, my Mom, brother, sister and I moved into the new cottage, Lake House. It is a three bedroom with two full baths, stainless steel appliances and all of the modern amenities you could want, with plenty of room for all.
What a blessing, what a luxury.
However, it was not until the “golden hour,” the weekend of the move, when the sun was setting, others were out for a boat ride, and I watched the sun fade visibly in front of me, that I realized that the mystery with wine is not flavor profiles, technology, old ways versus new ways, or any other issue; it is the simple fact that for so many millions of people wine is their marker of passing time.
At that moment, at approximately 8:48 pm on May 24, 2008, as memories washed over me, each with a timeline associated with it rooted in the new place that I was, that used to be really old, I realized that traditionalists in wine are traditionalists because they don’t have a cottage, they have a winery, or an affinity for a sensibility from a winery.
As I was rooted in calm, glass of wine in hand, I realized what exactly the lake meant to me and I realized that this human need, this desire to have a rock in the stream, a sense of rooted-ness denoted by place, hidebound by tradition, was unique to every single one of us.
Wine is a time marker, the thing that denotes the eloquence of passing time.
I understood. And, the next Monday I went to buy some French wine.
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