What He Said

My father was not a man who gave compliments. This was not cruelty — it was a generation, a region, a way of understanding that approval was communicated through continued work rather than words. I knew he was satisfied with me when he gave me more responsibility. This was the system, and I understood it, mostly.

In 2001 I made a wine that I was genuinely proud of. One of those years when everything cooperates — the summer heat balanced, the harvest timing right, the fermentation doing what you want without intervention. I brought him a glass in January when the first assessments were done. He held it for a long time. He said: this is better than anything I made.

He died in 2004. Those were the last words I remember him saying about the wine.

I've made better vintages since then, I think. I still reach for that sentence sometimes when I'm trying to explain what I'm working toward.

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