This crush is nearly over for me.
In my last post I talked about leaving Westwood and starting something new. Thanks to all who have contacted me expressing support. I assure everyone that leaving Westwood has not been especially traumatic. Some of you know that 5 years ago (nearly to the day) I started treatment for an aggressive stage IV cancer of the head and neck. Compared to that discovery, living through the (really, really painful) treatment and recovery, getting over an addiction to narcotics, and growing back my taste buds — this was nothing. Getting over some things is painful but leaving Westwood wasn’t one of them for me, and I’m thankful every morning I find myself on this side of the grass.
Plus my exit left me with the opportunity to do this new thing, entirely under my own power. For 2014 I bought grapes from the Westwood Estate and from the Thomson Vineyard on the Napa side of Carneros. I started picking early this year, on September 1st — the earliest since 2004. I finished picking September 17th: one of my shortest harvests ever and at just 17 days start to finish, one day longer than the disastrous and rainy 2011 vintage — and in contrast to that dreary year, under beautiful skies and perfect weather in 2014.
So far, I’d say the quality is outstanding. Sometimes I think of it at random and get an ecstatic thrill, raising the hair on my arms and neck. This is a better vintage than 2013, and portends to exceed even the legendary 2007. The wines are just so balanced and elegant, boldly delicate. While there are some in pursuit of balance, many who are not so dogmatic will have achieved it this vintage without even trying. My friend Marcel has dropped in several times, and he concurs.
The two of my three regular readers who have ever tasted my stuff know it is non che male and distinctive, perhaps because I take risks. They are calculated risks, based on hard-won knowledge and long experience, driven by conviction. I may be wrong at times but I’m never uncertain — and sometimes I fail as spectacularly as I succeed. (Um I don’t bottle up the failures, or dwell on them. Lesson learned, move on.) I don’t have or need a muse. My inspirations are internal, all natural extensions of what I have experienced before and am dreaming up now.
Since I started making wine under my own power, I have sought to adhere to a simple, unadorned approach. I see my role as merely creating an environment where the grapes can express themselves and the wines can thrive. I have always sought to exercise a light, patient, and gentle hand. I do not possess my wines, imprison them and demand they entertain me. I don’t abuse them and try to bend them to my will. Instead, entrusted with a responsibility to treat them with respect, I nurture and watch over them and take pleasure in how they choose to reveal themselves. This vintage is no exception other than the fact that what I am seeing is so utterly unexpected and exciting.
This year I produced just five lots. Four are already fermented and pressed, and one of those is already resting in barrel. The experience of this vintage has felt sudden to me, and too brief. But I’m giving the final lot the space and time to see if it has a chance to become something more than it is today.
I’m giving the Cabernet an extended maceration, to see what might still develop — a calculated risk, made riskier by the new, unfamiliar, and at times inimical environment I find myself working in. Extended maceration mostly involves leaving the ferment alone, protecting it to keep it sweet, carefully smelling and tasting it every now and then to see if it is coming to me or moving away, on point to pull the trigger and get it off the skins when it is ready, or do what I can to rescue it if it goes sideways. This has the chance to become something really exciting. Or a disaster — but I’m an optimist. I’m doing this for the wine. But I’m also doing it for me.
Because this crush is almost over
And I’m not ready for it to be