Page 62 of Red Mountain Burning
Emilia loved the idea of “raising” grapes. Just like children. She could listen to Otis talk all day, every day.
He carried on. “Those of us practicing regenerative farming are fighting an uphill battle when our neighbors choose to spray whatever they’d like. We can’t think in terms of vineyard blocks. We need to think of ourselves as stewards of the same farm. If we’re not working together, then we’re not tapping the true potential of our AVA.”
Bellflour made a show of shaking his head and grinning.
A winemaker named Mark Wallace interrupted. He had a long, brown beard that was graying at the ends. “Otis, not all of us are selling out of our wines. We can’t take the risk of committing to organics. Not when we’re still trying to get some good scores and build a following. No offense, Otis, but I don’t think forcing people to farm your way is the purpose of this group.”
“It’s not my way at all, Mark.” Otis paused. “It’s the proven way to sustain a growing area for the long term. If we could somehow get past all the opposing views in this room and agree that taking care of our land is paramount, then our wines will garner the attention they deserve.”
The two men went back and forth for a while, and then others jumped in. Emilia was starting to feel uncomfortable. She couldn’t believe how differing their opinions could be. She was no expert by any means, but she found herself easily siding with Otis and Brooks. Maybe she was biased, but everything they said made sense.
Bellflour eventually spoke, having to tap the table to grab everyone’s attention. He looked directly at Otis. “Your idea is very nice, but we’re not communists, Otis. It’s like Mark said. You can’t tell people how to farm their land. You worry about your property. Not mine.”
Otis looked like he was about to jump across the table. “You and I both know that the choices you make on your property can and do affect mine.”
Bellflour sat back and crossed his arms. “My guy messed up and sprayed on a windy day. A few droplets drifted your way. You’re making too big of a deal out of it.”
“Itisa big deal, Bellflour. Those vines are my life.” Otis drew in a long breath and looked around the room. “Sometimes, I think we aren’t looking at our mountain from a global perspective. Not only is farming organically the right thing to do—and the easiest once you get the hang of it—but it’s what the world wants. It’s where we’re going. You people are worried about selling your wines. Instead of begging for wine club members with discounts and free parties, let’s make them come to us.” He put a finger on his temple. “Let’s think bigger. Imagine a purely organic AVA. Imagine Red Mountain lingering on the tips of every wine drinker’s tongue. You’re worried about making money, making a living.Thisis the answer.”
He hit the table. “We must think and move as a collective. We must heed the call from the planet. How do we make wines that can compete on the global stage? By making them as true as possible! By farming them to express Red Mountain. You can’t do that by killing all the living things. They each have a purpose.”
Bellflour started laughing. “Otis, are you growing wine or weed down there? All I hear are the words of a washed-up British hippie.”
The rest around the table laughed nervously.
Emilia could see Otis struggling to find his words. “We don’t always see eye to eye on the mountain, but at some point, if we’re to excel, if we’re to have a region that people in Burgundy talk about, then we need to elevate our game. That means some of us must compromise.”
“Or bend to your will,” Bellflour jabbed. “Some of us think it’s time you accept a little technology and innovation.”
Otis pleaded with the rest of the group. “Is that the mentality we want? To do whatever is easiest?” He shook his head. “I am getting old, but I’ve learned a few things in my day. It’s not about conforming to my ideas; it’s about working together to take care of our mountain. And if we do, she’ll give us her finest bounty. You won’t be worrying about paying the bills. You’ll be free to make a wine you believe in, and the people will come out in droves to support you.”
The moderator at the end of the table said, “We can’t let this topic take up the entire meeting. It’s apparent we’re not even ready to take a vote on the matter. We’ll table this for later discussion. On to the next point on the agenda.” She glanced down at the piece of paper before her, and the rest of the meeting was spent going over what seemed like more trivial issues.
After it was over, they climbed back into the truck, and Otis was eerily silent. Only once they were driving did Brooks say something. He patted Otis’s knee. “We’re not going to give up. They didn’t build Burgundy in a day, you know?”
Otis sighed. “I hope to be here to see our little mountain realize her full potential.”
“Come on, Otis. You’re still young.”
“Young? I’m young like the mountain is young. But my body is catching up with me. I can’t keep fighting this fight forever.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Brooks said.
Emilia had been afraid to speak but couldn’t stop herself. “And me too.” She wanted to say more but knew it wasn’t necessary. She had just made a tremendous promise to the grapefather.
He turned back to her. “Thanks, dear.”
