Snow Daze

Wednesday was the first open day that we had ever remained closed. Snow and ice and a tractor flat conspired to make the driveway impassable and I didn't really mind.

The calls started coming in at 7am. "Hey Brian, sorry to disturb you, but are we opening today?" We have a good staff of people. They care about the winery and they really enjoy the work and the customers. They wanted to work. "No, we're staying shut today" I replied. "I don't want any one risking their neck to visit BOW. I've already changed the voicemail message. Stay home and stay warm. It's a snow day." I actually heard disappointment on the other end of the line, "you sure? okay."

While I drank my coffee and wrestled with Barley and Justice, the lovely and surprisingly focused Sharon came into the kitchen in her jogging gear. She had on ear warmers over her ipod earbuds. "Going for a run! If that doesn't work I'll come back and go for a walk!" I was exhausted just looking at her. She is dedicated to working out each day and to me it is a wonder. She inspires me in so many ways.

I was off to the office. It's my view on the world on days like these. The computer has email and the Washington Post online, Facebook and Linked In. Itunes plays my favorites. As if it had been choreographed, Beck's lilting The Golden Age, sound-tracked the snow falling from the roof in small square sheets past my window, shattering below on the growing layers of snow. The sheets flipped and flitted and sailed as they fell and some traveled several feet outward from the wall of the garage below my office. They sharded beautifully upon touchdown.

More was happening just outside my window. Out beyond neighboring Oak Hill estate's ancient house was a soft wall of mist and snow. On clear days I can see to the Blue Ridge and above there would be the contrails of the Dulles people travelling their destinations. Not so this day. Everything was white save the buildings, trees, and vineyard. The occasional bird flew by, also brown and stark against the snowscape. Two hundred feet above the vineyard hovered my favorite bird of prey, a Sparrow Hawk; perfect and compact and prepared to drop and take a dark mouse betrayed by ice and snow.

So beautiful and tranquil, it again took me back to thoughts of Key West where the only ice to be found was in my banana daiquiri. The lovely and frenetic Sharon and I were walking its streets in 2005 when we decided to live our dream. She loved her boss and her commute but the job itself had long since ceased to be fulfilling. After years of trying to help by saying she should quit but instead just sounding judgmental, I finally asked the magic question the right way at the right time. (Gentlemen are you listening?) "If you could imagine doing anything other than your current job, what would it be?" Her answer floored me. "I have dreamt of checking the vines early in the morning with a cup of coffee and my dog at my side and mist over the hillsides. I don't know what I am checking for, but I am checking them." The lovely and visionary Sharon started us on this path and it has been made real here at Barrel Oak. And in the three years since, the lovely and very smart Sharon has become a wine maker: so very cool and astonishing!

I'm still amazed that we discovered our shared dream. When I was fifteen I wrote down five things that I wanted to be when I grew up. Race car driver...comedian...porn star...rock star...winery owner. Ah...the plot thickens. The first four goals would have led me away from Sharon who is as sensible and practical as she is lovely. With any of those first four I probably would have been dead by now as well. But that last goal...that last goal could work, except that I had long before forgotten that I'd had it as a life goal. In between I had opened and closed businesses, visited some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, lived abroad and learned Flemish, gone off to attempt the completion of my studies (several times), crashed several motorcycles, gotten drunk way too many times, loved way too freely, and suffered several sharp blows to the head. No surprise then that I had forgotten the list of life's goals by the time I met the lovely and infinitely patient Sharon. Then five years after our marriage she told me of her dream and I set out to make it real. Soon afterwards I came across an old journal and reading it I found the five goals. I stood rereading the journal several times and remembering that time when I was fifteen and full of the possibilities of the future. In that moment I was grateful to have lost the list and avoided succeeding in those misguided deeds. Most involved fame (or notoriety) and I am so glad that such has escaped me. The progression of years have taught me that anonymity provides joy, fulfillment, and freedom, and I am grateful to have been able to nurture such values. I am especially grateful to have met, wooed, and wed the lovely and very kind Sharon.

Music

People have asked us what we care about at BOW. Of course there are the dogs. But that's not really an answer. We answer that we care about community and charitable causes, our customers and staff; the wine and the music.

BOWMusic.

Notice how we have music most the time you're here? That's our iPods burning it down. We record onto them and set them to shuffle. Keeps the mix interesting and fun and surprising. The staff tries to get me to pull out my pod and insert theirs. To do that they need the right mix of fun and harmony: R&B and favorites and great singer-songwriters with a bit of the Rat Pack, Stones, Moody Blues, Pretenders, Robert Earl Keen Jr., Sam Cooke, Neko Case vibe. Throw in some Manassas and Little Feat, Neil Young and Marty Stuart, Jayhawks and John Hyatt. Mix it up with James Brown and k.d. lang, Eagles and Santana. Elvis Costello and Eddie Vedder. Clapton and Cat Stevens. Emmylou and Cassandra. Springsteen and Blue Man Group. Don't forget Beck & B.B. and Alison Krauss and Amy Winehouse. And of course Aretha.

That's music. That we can listen to day after day after day. That sets our tone and puts our place in order. When we pull out the glass to pour we know that you can stay and listen and enjoy the vibe. Man....dig the music!

I'm a Santa Cruzan. If you go to my Facebook page you'll see that I belong to two Santa Cruz groups. My favorite is "You know you're from Santa Cruz when..." If you link there you'll learn a lot about how I'm hardwired. The list even includes a blurp about an old restaurant that I briefly owned and managed. The Cooper House was a special place on the downtown open air Pacific Garden Mall. It was in the old county courthouse and it had opened in the late 60s as a bohemian art center , restaurant and bar. It had known many owners and managers by the time I called it home (I lived in the office for 3 months during the renovations and reopening) in 1986. It was special for many reasons with an outdoor bar and local characters such as "Rainbow Ginger" who at seventy years of age joyfully danced her spiritually rendered version of the seven veils nearly every day. Tom Scribner was a Wobbly organizer in the 20s and saw player in the 80s whose eerily wailing music filled the narrow alley spaces between the old buildings. And then we had Mr. Twister the Clown who performed for tips and fed the parking meters to save people getting tickets. My favorite character was my friend Don McCaslin who led his band "Warmth" playing every sunny day in front of the Cooper House . With his very long flowing grey beard and hair he led on the vibes with a collection of musicians from other bands and former greats who loved the scene as much as I did. The whole band played for us for $10 an hour and tips. They'd been getting $5 under the previous owner. I'd been listening to Warmth since arriving in Santa Cruz as a ten year old kid in 1972, accompanying my parents on the occasional downtown outing and gaining an appreciation for rigorous people watching which I have nurtured till this very day. Warmth played jazz and R&B standards. I used to sing "Mustang Sally" with them then offer everyone banana daiquiris at half off. Sound familiar?

During this time there was a great local radio station called KFAT out of Gilroy California. Now they are known as KPIG out of Freedom, California, just down from the neighborhood where I grew up. You should check out their website for some really great music webcasting: www.kpig.com. They're the oldest webcast radio station in the world. Who knew? Here in Marshall we have the oldest continually operating Ford dealership in the world. Who Knew?

Santa Cruz still has a great music venue called the Catalyst. The owner, Randall Kane, started out with a funky hippie deli in the glass atrium of a downtown senior citizen hotel. I was just a kid and would watch the typically very dirty and unkempt hippies slouch through and sit on the floors with their beaded leather pajamatop girlfriends. There was a lot of laughter and pot in there and spontaneous flute and conga music. The seniors...the old guys, just sat and starred at the wonder of it all. My how their world had changed overnight! I think that's where old Tom Scribner caught the bug and picked up his saw.

Some years later Randall packed up and moved to the old bowling alley at the other end of the downtown mall and opened the new Catalyst and brought in the Rolling Stones and Crosby Stills Nash and Young, and Bonnie Raitt and the Tubes and so many others famous and nearly famous. My favorite was the Beat Farmers fronted by Big "Country Dick" Montana. We hung backstage with them a few times. Dick dropped dead on stage a year after his docs told him to slow down or else. A lot of those guys didn't make it out alive. But they sure lived!

All that great music. All those characters. All that weirdness. It all shook to pieces in 1989 when we had the Loma Prieta earthquake. The Catalyst made it. The Cooper House didn't. My friends back home have often commented over the past two years of building BOW: "Of course you own a winery! It couldn't be otherwise. You've spent your life practicing for that job."

I guess that thinking about the music brings back memories. It also moves me. I've found so many communities over the years listening to music. That's probably why we're featuring lots of music at the winery throughout the winter. It seems that folks like hanging at the winery when we have music. Even better if it's live. Maybe when next you're in you can share a few stories that may come up listening to all the music. Sharon and I are pretty much always around. Looking forward to seeing you and hanging out.

BOW Holidays

We hope that this is the wonder-full time of year for you. We are still recovering from the work load and doing well after an extraordinary summer and fall at the winery. Our staff and customers have given us so much support as we have worked to improve the winery at every step. Of course, the holidays are always a mixed bag of joy and life's challenges. I continue to exercise Sharon's nearly unlimited patience and how she puts up with me I really don't know. Around us are so many friends, some of whom face extraordinary challenges with moving dignity. I opened a photo card yesterday from a couple; friends we last saw here at the winery in August. When they visited us they'd clearly had a very tough year. He is a very strong man who'd been greatly weakened by chemo. Seeing them together with her helping him walk brought tears to my eyes. While I felt true joy as we each hugged one another, I was also deeply saddened by the toll the cancer had taken on them both. So imagine my happiness upon receiving their holiday photo card yesterday. The shot showsthem sitting in their pool in Florida. They have big smiles and they both look great! I have the photo here in front of me and I can't stop smiling. It was great seeing them in that photo. It was great to learn that they have regained their strength and together emerged from a difficult period.

Of course it's no great insight on my part to share with you that life offers good times and bad. But as I grow older I become more aware of the dignity with which so many of our friends face life's challenges. Trying to put my feelings into words now about these friends I am inspired by their strength and essential humanity expressed in the face of our shared mortality. I guess what I want to share with you is that for me this season is essentially about the dignity, the strength, and the humanity found in the full embrace of life. Sharon and I hope that all of these things completely fill your life and the lives of those you love this holiday season.

The Flemish Turkey. Enjoy!

At this time of family, love and hope, we thought you might enjoy a short story about the Flemish Turkey.

I was a young and naive sixteen and I'd been in Flanders living just south of Antwerp with a wonderful host family for about four months when a package unexpectedly showed up at the kitchen door. It was a large frozen turkey from the States sent by the student exchange program. I was one third of the way through my year abroad and I'd forgotten that the holiday was a week away. That evening we gathered in the living room as I tried to explain to my family about the tradition, the history, and the feast. It was a difficult task because I didn't really know my history very well and I'd never cooked a turkey. It was made the more difficult bymy very rudimentary conversational Flemish.

Of course these days I am the turkey king -or, as Sharon likes to say "the King of Turkeys!" I start brine-ing the bird on Tuesday night and make up the stuffing on Wednesday evening, stuffing myself in the process as I taste after every addition, trying to get the flavors just right. Sharon watches warily and snacks on cheese, crackers and spinach leaves while I make a mess of the kitchen, adding exotic ground herbs, dried fruits and nuts and savory bits of sausage and bacon. She rolls her eyes when I cook up the oysters -and she's right. "Oysters in Turkey? Fish in Fowl?!" However, the ridiculous thought doesn't slow me down in the least and I gleefully work into the late night on the extravagance of the following day's meal. The next morning always starts early as the stuffing goes into the bird -everywhere in the bird that it will fit with extra on the floor and in the dogs and in me and sometimes stuck to the walls. Before popping it in the oven the juice is poured over everything to create the perfect basting environment under the foil cover. Then that bird cooks and cooks and the smells...oh the smells. By the time our family and friends show up early in the afternoon we all tend to hang out in the kitchen soaking up the wonderful aromas emanating from the oven. We sip on wine and champagne and wait on the bird which actually comes out perfect most every time. Clearly, aside from trying to divine my lovely wife's thoughts and needs, cooking the turkey is one of my few true obsessions.

Twenty five years ago in Flanders as a pimply faced kid I didn't know any of this. I only knew that we had a bird to cook and my wonderful host mother Margaret didn't really speak any English.

After describing with many hand gestures the stuffing procedure (picture exaggerated stuffing motions) of the bird and the boiling of the corn on the cob (they didn't eat corn on cobs which were used exclusively as pig feed back then), and the potatoes and the salads and the jellied cranberries in the can (something none of us understood in the least), my host mother dutifully went to work on the feast's preparation. She bicycled the bird over to the butcher to be prepared and stuffed. We had both worked out that the butcher was the only person qualified to prepare such a grand feast and neither one of us dared take the risk of screwing up this job!

My host family had six children then ranging in age from about nine to twenty years old. Their eighteen year old son had gone to Michigan as an exchange student and I had been accepted as his surrogate for twelve months. I stayed in his room in the attic and was accepted as another son. It was such an extraordinary year! I was a pretty quiet and introverted kid back then, surrounded by this very large family of kids and all of their friends. I went to their school and took dance lessons with them; we were in the scouts together and I would join them at the local youth club on Thursdays and Saturdays to flirt with to the local girls and drink a beer or two. At the end of that year I came home full of life and passion and engagement in my world and determined to live fully with friends and love in all and for all that I did. I have been grateful to that family ever since for what they gave me in those short twelve months. But before any of that there was still the little matter of that turkey.

That Thanksgiving evening the table was decorated and the fine wines were decanted. Yes, there was cob corn on the table served with some trepidation along with the mashed potatoes which I had made and the carrots (which moeder had made and which I called "sad roots" in Flemish - "triestig wortels".) The family gathered and the turkey was brought out on dish under cover. The candles were lit and a toast was made with great mirth. Then, as the cover was removed from the great turkey or "den groot kalkoen", all watched for my reaction. I did very poorly. Looking at the center of the table with mouth agape, I was obviously devastated. There before me was a very large meatloaf-looking object without discernable bird shape or fowl form. I couldn't comprehend what I was looking at and what I saw was horrible. A bird had been sent out and this had been returned, stuffed and shapeless. There was no leg, no thigh, no apparent dark or light meat, no savories stuck in the nooks and crannies of anything even resembling a bird, no pope's nose and no wish bone. And yet the skin of the bird was still whole and intact! It was like reading a very bad tabloid: the juicy particulars had been removed with every last potential bone of contention. The eviscerated turkey flesh was now just a wrapping around the stuffing placed grandly inside.

To this day I don't know how that butcher made those bones disappear. And I have no idea how many hundreds of dollars he must have charged to create the strange magic of that formless boneless turkey presented on that far away table.

I was appalled and it showed. Fortunately, my host family shared a deep and wicked sense of humor and they quickly determined why I was so crestfallen. My very witty host father quickly compared me to that bird and nicknamed me the Flemish Turkey for my apparent lack of recognition for all the effort that had been undertaken to make this a special moment for the American.

The reaction was immediate. Everyone including me laughed so hard that soon we were crying and snorting and having a hard time catching our breath. The awkward moment past, the turkey was served with great fanfare and greatly enjoyed by all. Wine and wonderful beer flowed freely and we learned again about our differences and our similarities. It was a truly wonderful Thanksgiving.

In the years since we have often been reminded of --and laughed about-- that Flemish Turkey. On occasion this story has reminded me of the value of well-timed humility. Sharon and I have been to my host parents' home several times and they were here as family for our marriage. Several of their kids have visited us. I even spoke with both my host parents earlier today and I again remembered and laughed about the "groot kalkoen". The world where an American turkey makes for such fun is a wonderful place indeed.

Sharon and I are so grateful for the kind love of these generous people. Had it not been for them I am certain that I would never have been the person that attracted the beautiful and loving Sharon into my world.

Wherever you are this holiday, whoever you are with, we hope that you are having a wonderful day full of loved ones and their joy. If you happen to make it by the winery this weekend we'll share some of our joy with you. If not, we hope to see you here soon.

Thank you for becoming a part of BOW and Happy Thanksgiving!