Summer Check In

 

In the summer it is difficult to move ahead on studies.  I just did a paper on soil nutrition for vines, and I gotta tell ya, I wasn't digging it.  However, if you want to know about foliar treatments for vines with potassium deficiency, I can weigh in.  This is not the kind of topic that tends to drive the ladies wild, unless of course you live in the Willamette Valley, in which case groovy chicks named Celeste that own horses will likely move into your ironic trailer home and fellate you while you listen to Phish.  This is Ohio.  Instead I look out my suburban window and see my neighbor grimly mowing his grass on his lawn tractor with noise cancelling headphones.  A quick aside on middle aged men that wear protective headphones while mowing...  I have been in a loud rock band for 30+ years and can stand in front of a 737 at takeoff and it doesn't bother me.  The only thing you are conserving is your annoyance at hearing stranger's conversations in public spaces.  I pray for white noise.  You get the whole enchilada, you sorry sack of shit.

I am trying to cram all the technical knowledge I need into my skull.  This is difficult due to the basset hounds unceasing need for attention and the cloud of dread floating over me from my unbelievably passive aggressive toxic work environment.  It's nice to sit back to try and figure out where the anxiety that has nestled on me has been sourced.  Often it's my espresso machine, which is always a wild card depending on the beans The Brit has purchased.  "Hey, what's "Heart Stopper Blend"?".  Yet, I soldier on.

I need to visit some vineyards and see what's doing these next couple months.  The only issue is my job expects me to "do my job", which is admittedly totally reasonable.  I have a plan to do a Blitzkrieg visit to Gusbourne in England in August and maybe slide into Chapel Down to unwittingly ask an offensive question.  (I think back to an old work mate that went to Paris and went to the good old "Don't you know you'd be speaking German if not for Americans like me!" after his first inevitable Parisian waiter dust-up.  This was despite the fact he was 350 pounds and could barely get up a flight of stairs and his only connection to D-Day Soldiers was to having seen Saving Private Ryan.  He wasn't saving any nations in his lifetime.  He was going to eat the shit out of their restaurants though.  My offense will likely be asking about the English winemakers copying standard French production methods and having to pretend they are doing something "all new" despite all evidence to the contrary.). Perhaps I can slide into Canada to see what's happening in Niagara, but the thought about fighting through Buffalo tourists is a little grim.  Maybe I'll buzz out to SFO and see what's doing out there with My People.  I hate to waste the summer.

When you live somewhere that has nice weather 23 days a year, it's hard not to blow everything off as soon as the sun peeks out of the clouds.  Our area's businesses should thank their lucky stars that their labor force doesn't blow every 76+ degree day off for day drinking and cornhole.  I'm looking at 6 weeks until I need to find my jackets.  In 9 weeks I'll probably be raking.  Still, I don't have anytime to waste.  I have to start pressing.  I am forcing myself to become at least somewhat familiar with soil treatments, oak integration levels, plant disease, winged vectors, yeast impacts, and fermentation temperature ranges just to have a fighting chance in 11 months.  I've been plugging away for what?  2.5 years?  I still feel like I know less than I did the day before.  

I've been trying to work more New World wines into my diet.  I find myself leaning further and further into high acid/savory wines, exactly on point with all wine drinking cliches.  I am forcing myself into more Australian/New Zealand/Chile/USA wines with my head on a swivel for anything from South Africa that's not total bullshit.  Frankly I should spend the rest of the summer grilling and drinking Shiraz/Napa/Otago/Maipo to get my head on straight, but what's the fun in that?  Here I sit, thinking about reading my Jura wine book, sipping a Mosel pinot noir while sitting on my patio.  Six weeks of summer left.  Let's fucking go.