The atmosphere inside the pickup truck heading for Brentwood wasn’t particularly bad. Since Chloe was with me, she seemed to have let go of a lot of her worries and began chattering.
“You went by yourself again... I know I had to stay here, but I was so jealous.”
“Let’s go together next time. It’s just that you happened to be right before harvest...”
Cherry harvest would begin soon. For her, the owner, to leave California now would be no different from going on a trip while leaving a puppy at home—an utter lack of responsibility as its master.
“Instead, I bought you a present at the duty-free shop.”
Since she had clearly been lonely staying behind in California by herself, I had wanted to buy her something to cheer her up.
“What is it?”
“It’s in my suitcase... Want me to tell you?”
“No! Don’t! Don’t tell me! I’m going to open it myself later.”
“...All right.”
“How was it over there? Are the Bordeaux wines that came out at En Primeur amazing again this year?”
“They looked like they would be. This year and next year, Bordeaux wines are definitely going to draw attention.”
“What about you?”
I showed Chloe, who was full of anticipation, a confident smile.
“Redwood, of course, won’t fall behind Bordeaux.”
“Let’s knock them down a peg this time. Robert Parker scores have that much authority in the wine world, right? Let’s get 100 points again.”
“Haha, we should. How are the cherries?”
“They’re great. This year, the frost damage wasn’t bad, and winter was about average too. The trees are healthy, and as of this year, all the cherries at Harris Farm have been completely replaced with the new varieties. Production will increase too.”
Until now, the cherries at Harris Farm had been replaced variety by variety. Not only Royal Tioga, but also Coral Champagne and Sweetheart had been introduced at a ratio of about 5:3:2, so now there were no Bing cherries left at Harris Farm.
“This year will be the real start, then.”
“Right. Should we keep the newly acquired farm as Bing cherries?”
Last year, when another farm ran into difficulties, Chloe had acquired nearly 200 acres of cherry orchards, becoming the cherry queen with close to 400 acres of cherry orchards alone.
If she’d had her way, she would have replaced all the varieties on the acquired farm too, but she also had the pear orchard, so she hadn’t had enough time.
“It would be better to replace them, but... can you manage it?”
“I couldn’t do it last year, using being busy as an excuse, but this year I’ll have to try somehow, right?”
“That would be better. Let’s find a grafting expert so you have to handle as little of it yourself as possible.”
“Got it. Even if it costs some money, I’ll have to find skilled people and proceed. Rather than replacing it in tiny sections this time, should I try doing one-third at a time?”
“That’s not bad either. Harris Farm’s revenue isn’t bad, so it should cover the cost.”
“Yeah! I’ll do that. Haa, I won’t have even a moment to spare until pear harvest.”
“That’s just how farming is. I’ll come by and help you from time to time.”
When it came to grafting, it wasn’t as if my going would be some tremendous help. Chloe’s grafting skills were already very proficient, and adding one more person wouldn’t greatly improve efficiency. I would merely be beside her while she worked, helping her as part of a date.
Even so, as if she liked that, a bright smile bloomed at the corners of Chloe’s mouth.
“We’re here.”
By the time the pickup truck rattled roughly down the unpaved road and pulled up to the farm entrance, it was already nearly nine at night. Two men holding flashlights hurried over.
They were Chloe’s father, Frederick, and her older brother, Brandon. Since we had told them before we left that we were coming here, they had been waiting for us.
“Chloe! And Brian... I’m sorry. I heard you just arrived, and you don’t even get to rest...”
“It’s all right. In farming, timing is important, so we should take care of what’s urgent first. Let’s go.”
“Let’s. Ride in my car.”
Frederick, who was driving, spoke with a stiff expression.
“Was it about a week ago? I saw that some of the branch leaves had suddenly wilted. If it had been widespread, I would’ve paid more attention, but it wasn’t, so I just kept an eye on it.
Then one side of a tree started weakening, and in some spots the leaves turned brown. I thought it wasn’t ordinary, so I inspected all the trees in that area and kept watching them, and yesterday I found dead branches.”
“Hmm...”
“Do you know what it is?”
“I have an idea... but I’ll tell you after I go and confirm it with my own eyes.”
We drove for about ten minutes and arrived at the destination.
“Here it is. Brandon, shine the light over here too. So we can see the whole thing.”
The almond trees illuminated by the truck’s headlights clearly had a problem at a glance. The leaves had lost their vitality and were discolored yellow in a V shape, and some had already burned brown and were crumbling.
“Do you have a knife?”
“I do.”
When Frederick took out a folding knife and handed it to me, I decisively cut off one of the lower branches from the tree in the worst condition. Then I held the cut surface of the branch close to the flashlight beam.
“Look at this.”
The cross-section of the branch revealed under the light was not normal. The xylem, which should have been clean—in other words, the water-conducting tissue of the tree—was stained a dirty brown as if someone had splashed ink over it.
“Do you know what used to be planted on this almond farm?”
Since it had already been an almond orchard when they acquired it, I thought he might not know, but fortunately Frederick did.
“They said it used to be a tomato farm. Like how Chloe plowed under a tomato farm and planted pears, I heard they switched this place to almonds because tomatoes weren’t profitable.”
“Ah, I see.”
Seeing my expression harden, Frederick asked carefully.
“Why? Is that bad?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, it’s Verticillium wilt.”
At the disease name that came from my mouth, Frederick’s shoulders visibly drooped.
“Verticillium... So it was that after all. I heard that once that fungus gets in, the farm is finished. That it’s a nasty bastard that survives even soil fumigation...”
“That’s right. It’s a fungus called Verticillium dahliae. What makes these things frightening is that they can remain dormant underground for more than ten years in the form of microsclerotia.
Then, when they detect secretions from tree roots, they awaken and climb up through the xylem. In the end, they block the tree’s blood vessels.
The tree can’t draw up water, so it dries out and dies on its own.”
Greatly shocked, Brandon raised his voice and asked,
“If it’s Verticillium wilt, isn’t it just over? I heard everything dies.”
Brandon had once seemed completely uninterested in farming, but seeing that he now knew what Verticillium wilt was, it was clear that he had been continuing to make efforts in his own way.
And as shocked as he was, Verticillium wilt was indeed an extremely serious disease in almond farming. The horror of this disease was that there was almost no cure for it.
Still, I looked around the farm. As a farmer, rather than simply despairing, I had to find a way to respond.
“For now, I’ll go home, think about countermeasures, and come back tomorrow morning.”
“It’ll be... difficult, won’t it?”
“Even if it’s difficult, we have to find a way. It’s late today, so please go in.”
Frederick and Brandon’s faces were a mess after hearing the worst possible news. I felt sorry for them for no reason, but farming was never something that went according to a person’s wishes.
“All right. Let’s go.”
After arriving at the farm office in Uncle Frederick’s car, I got into the car Chloe was driving this time and headed for Napa Valley. Chloe’s face was just as dark.
“But why did you ask what was planted there before?”
Chloe asked as she cautiously kept her eyes on the road, hands on the wheel.
“Ah, that... In California, there are a lot of cases where land was farmland, then changed to vegetables, and then changed again to almonds, pistachios, olives, cherries, and things like that.
But tomatoes, potatoes, cotton, and strawberries are typical hosts for Verticillium. So when places that had tomatoes or potatoes planted on them later become almond orchards, pistachio orchards, or cherry orchards, Verticillium wilt often appears like this.”
At the word tomatoes, Chloe was startled.
“Tomatoes? Mine used to be tomatoes too, didn’t it? Can pears be attacked by that fungus too?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But that doesn’t mean the fungus will just automatically appear in pears. Several conditions have to line up. It emerges when soil pathogens have accumulated and the trees become vulnerable due to stress.”
“Ah...”
“But don’t be too afraid. You can’t stop farming just because pathogens are scary, right?”
“That’s true... Ah, farming really isn’t easy.”
“Haha, of course not. Still, you’re a success case. How much did you sell in pears last year?”
At the mention of money, Chloe’s face brightened.
“Last year... a lot, right? It was over five million dollars.”
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call her pear farming an enormous hit. The quality of the fruit itself had been astonishing, but a premium had also been attached to it as a fruit that hadn’t existed before, positioning it as a luxury fruit that ordinary working people could barely afford, causing the unit price to soar.
The debt she had taken on from the bank to buy the farm had been paid off in one stroke, and her farm was now wholly her own land, no longer even held as collateral by the bank.
“Exactly. There’s no such thing as work without risk. Farming is the same. You have to think of farming as preparing for and managing risk.”
“Hmm... Do you really think there’s a way?”
“I’m working on a plan for now. The worst-case scenario would be cutting down every tree in that section, but...”
Since they had contracted Verticillium wilt, we had to assume the worst-case scenario. I felt bad that misfortune kept striking only the almond orchard, strangely enough, so this time I really wanted to help.
---
The next morning, when I visited the farm, I had Brandon lead the way.
“Brandon, where is the channel on the low-lying side of the farm?”
“This way...”
Arriving at the end of the farm, I grabbed a handful of soil beneath my feet to check its texture and measured the acidity with the portable pH meter I had prepared in advance. After spending about twenty minutes combing every corner of the farm, I stood before Frederick and Chloe again.
“At least this is fortunate. You won’t need to plow up the entire farm.”
“Is that true?”
At his question, I drew a map on the ground with a twig and explained.
“Verticillium bacteria move through water. Looking at it now, the trees where this disease has appeared are all concentrated in the low-lying area on the west side of the farm—in other words, the section where drainage stagnates.
When I dug up the soil, this side had a high clay content, so drainage is slow and there’s a lot of moisture. It’s the perfect condition for fungi to propagate. But the sandy soil area up on that hill is still clean.”
It was truly a relief. If the entire farm’s soil had been clay, the situation could have been much more serious.
“If you thoroughly isolate this area from now on and apply the proper treatment, you can protect the remaining 80 percent of the trees.”
“Treatment? Do we have to spray fungicide?”
When Brandon asked with a very stiff expression, I shook my head.
“Strong chemical fungicides would actually be poison. They kill off even the beneficial microbes, and later the fungus ends up running even more rampant.”
“Then?”
“I’m thinking of trying biological control through beneficial bacteria to suppress the proliferation of the pathogen and boost the trees’ immunity.”
“What’s that supposed to be?”
I understood why he looked puzzled. The term biological control sounded like something used in a university laboratory. To farmers, control was synonymous with filling a sprayer with powerful fungicides or herbicides and drenching the field.
“To put it simply, it’s like hiring mercenaries. We send an army of beneficial bacteria—stronger and good—into the land occupied by the villain called Verticillium, and make them fight a turf war.”
“Mercenaries? You’re going to make bacteria fight each other?”
Brandon scratched his head as if he found it hard to understand. I continued explaining as much as possible at their level.
“Yes. We’ll use antagonistic microorganisms like Bacillus subtilis. These microorganisms cling tightly around the roots of the almond trees and form a kind of protective barrier.
Even if the Verticillium fungus tries to invade the roots, the beneficial bacteria that have already settled there steal its food and release toxins, starving the fungus to death or driving it away.”
Uncle Frederick asked cautiously,
“Then do we just spray that bacteria right now?”
“No, sir. Bacteria are living organisms too, so they don’t start working the moment you spray them. First, we need to completely cut off the water channels in this low-lying section.
Verticillium swims around through water, you see. We’ll dig isolation trenches more than one meter deep around the infected trees and physically cut off the water veins.”
I pointed out where the trenches had to be dug and added,
“And it will take some time to culture the strain. I have to propagate the original culture I brought from a UC Davis lab so it’s suited to the farm’s environment.
After about a week of mass culturing, we’ll inject it directly into the lower root zone through the irrigation system. In the meantime, you and Brandon need to prune away all the dead branches from the infected trees and burn them. Do not bury them in the ground under any circumstances.”
“A week... All right. I’ll call in the equipment right away and start with the trenches.”
“Unfortunately, save only what can be saved. If a tree looks beyond saving, cut it down decisively.”
“I suppose we’ll have to.”
Uncle Frederick forced a smile.
“Still, keep your spirits up. Almond prices this year will definitely be better than last year.”
“I sure hope so.”
They would rise. They would certainly rise, but... now what mattered was how much this almond farm would be able to harvest.
234 Aether (1)
A makeshift laboratory set up in one corner of the almond farm six kilometers from Brentwood. Calling it a laboratory was generous—it was nothing more than a desk shoved into the corner of a farm equipment shed, with a self-powered generator and a temperature control device—but what was happening inside was by no means insignificant.
I carefully inoculated the incubator with a stock culture of Bacillus subtilis that I had urgently obtained through an acquaintance at UC Davis. In 2009, biological control using microorganisms had been established in theory, but it was still rare to see it applied to actual large-scale farms. But I knew. Killing the soil with chemical fungicides was ultimately nothing more than a vicious cycle that weakened the trees’ immunity.
“Brian, is it going well?”
Chloe peered anxiously into the incubator as she asked. The liquid inside was turning cloudy, releasing tiny bubbles.
“Of course. It’s going well.”
“I think I saw something like this in class before. I remember hearing that you have to control the temperature carefully.”
“Yeah. It needs to stay between 28 and 30 degrees Celsius. That’s the temperature where these guys multiply most actively. If it gets too hot, the bacteria die, and if it gets too cold, their growth rate won’t be able to keep up with the Verticillium fungus.”
The culturing process was a battle against precise numbers. This wasn’t simply making a single-use antifungal treatment; it was a process of creating symbiotic bacteria that would settle into the root systems of the almond trees and live with them for the rest of their lives. That made it even more important. I adjusted the culture medium’s pH to 6.5 and continuously supplied a nutrient medium with a proper blend of nitrogen and phosphoric acid components.
“It’s a shame. If we’d done this first, the trees wouldn’t have died.”
“Unfortunately, you can’t farm while preparing for every single bad thing that might happen, right? You just have to do your best each time. Even now, this is the best possible response.”
“I know. But somehow it feels like only I’m doing well, while my brother’s farm is struggling like that... It just feels wrong.”
It was true that the cherry farm she owned was posting record sales every year, and the pear farm had also been a huge success with its first shipment last year. Meanwhile, Brandon’s almond farm had suffered major damage from frost and heat waves, and now it had been hit by another misfortune in the form of Verticillium wilt.
It was no wonder Chloe felt bad.
“Don’t worry too much. Almond prices will rise just as sharply as cherry prices.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course.”
For the almond market, if the period before 2009 could be seen as the groundwork for growth, the period after 2009 could be considered a time of explosive expansion as a global superfood.
Until 2008, the global financial crisis had dampened consumer sentiment and put downward pressure on prices. But I knew that because production dropped sharply due to the heat wave and drought that year, prices would begin to rise from 2009.
The problem was that I didn’t know how much they would rise or exactly when they would expand rapidly, but farming wasn’t something you did for only one or two years anyway, so I didn’t see that as a major issue. If the price of the crop you were growing would eventually rise, then simply holding on well was enough to guarantee success.
After three days, the culture medium began giving off its distinctive sour yet savory smell. Under the microscope, hundreds of millions of Bacillus bacteria in the liquid were actively moving, their tails whipping back and forth.
“All right, it’s ready now.”
At dawn the next day, an invisible tension hung over the low-lying section of the farm. After checking the isolation trenches that Uncle Frederick and Brandon had dug through the night, I connected a special pump to the farm’s irrigation system.
“We’ll begin injecting the culture medium now. The strains will flow through the drip irrigation hoses right beside the tree roots. Keep the water pressure low. We need to give the bacteria time to cling to the roots.”
As the pump began operating, the concentrated beneficial-bacteria culture spread through transparent tubes among the almond trees. Every single drop seeping into the soil was a soldier standing against the demon called Verticillium.
“So this stops the Verticillium?”
Uncle Frederick crouched down beside me as I watched the culture medium flow through the tubes and asked.
“Yes. Once the tree accepts these bacteria, a membrane called a biofilm forms on the surface of the roots. Then no matter how much the Verticillium fungus tries to infiltrate, it gets turned away at the door. It’s like building a kind of fortress wall.”
Once the injection was finished, Uncle Frederick wiped away his sweat and gripped my hand tightly. The tremor I felt in his rough palm spoke of all the anguish he had endured.
“Brian, I truly appreciate this. Now all we can do is wait on heaven’s will.”
“There’s heaven’s will too, of course, but these guys will do their part. Forget about the trees we cut down. There are far more healthy ones.”
“Of course! The damaged trees don’t even make up ten percent. I can’t let this get me down.”
After confirming that the culture medium was spreading evenly across the farm, I straightened my legs and stood up.
“Now let’s watch for a while. If things go according to my expectations, we should be able to stop the fungus’s advance here. But just in case... let me know if any trees start showing problems.”
“I will.”
Then I turned my head toward Chloe.
“I’ll tell you how to do it, so take that culture medium to the pear farm in Lodi and run it through the same way. Then you should be able to prevent Verticillium wilt from appearing at the pear farm.”
“Okay. Thanks. Hurry and go.”
Knowing that I had something important ahead of me, Chloe gave me a light kiss and saw me off. Having resolved the issue at the almond farm, I hurried to Napa Valley.
“So now you can finally focus on the wine?”
Warren, who had endured his loneliness in the aging room for several days until I arrived, greeted me with a bright smile.
“Yes. You’ve waited a long time. Are you ready?”
“Silver Oak’s Cabernet Sauvignon has already finished stabilizing in the blending tank. As for the Petit Verdot, I personally went to Columbia Valley, met that exacting Miriam Cole, and brought back her best barrels.”
“Oh, is it even better than what goes into Astra Veil?”
“Of course. As you know, Miriam Cole is a woman who wants Petit Verdot to be the star, so even if she says she’ll give me top-grade barrels, wouldn’t she want to sell the truly best barrels as single-vineyard wine?”
“That’s true.”
“I figured she must have some hidden barrels, so I went to meet her, and amusingly enough, Miriam Cole was struggling with a problem similar to Michel Rolland’s. I cheered inwardly.”
“Wow, so you must have given her the exact same advice I gave.”
“Hahaha! That’s right. While helping her out, I brought back a few barrels of Petit Verdot she’d kept carefully hidden away, and I stabilized them.”
Warren’s obsession with wine truly had to be acknowledged. Seeing him treat Redwood Wine as if it were his own winery, I couldn’t help thinking, if only his sons had possessed even a little passion for wine... If they had, it was obvious Warren would never have sold the winery, no matter what happened.
“You did well.”
“Now all that’s left is to add that black pearl you brought from Argentina.”
I took out an experimental graduated cylinder and beaker. Blending was not merely mixing liquids together; it could be called a chemical bond and an artistic sublimation. So, as I first tasted the Cabernet Sauvignon from the Silver Oak vineyard, which would make up 95% of the blend, I focused all my senses on my nose and tongue.
Powerful tannins, a brilliant blackberry aroma, and the deep flavors of black plum and cassis, as if the hot sun of Napa Valley had been condensed into them, surged in layers. With every swirl of the glass, the cool graphite scent of pencil lead and the spice of freshly ground clove rose up, proving just how solid this wine’s innate structure was.
And the texture I felt the moment I held it in my mouth was rough yet filled with weighty strength, like tightly woven tweed. The acidity was alive, and the tannins gripped the tip of my tongue forcefully. This alone was undoubtedly a fine wine, but... I was looking higher.
“Now, let’s open it.”
I opened the oak stopper bearing Michel Rolland’s clear signature. In an instant, the entire winery was filled with a heavy, rich aroma. It was the scent of Malbec essence that had survived in the barren gravel fields of the high Andes. Even its color was as black and deep as ink.
Into a 1,000 ml beaker, I precisely poured 950 ml of Cabernet Sauvignon and 30 ml of Petit Verdot. Then, using a dropper, I carefully added 20 ml of Altamira Malbec.
The deep violet liquid seeped into the red Cab Sauv, creating a beautiful swirl. As I slowly stirred it with a glass rod, the color of the wine shifted into an even deeper, more elegant ruby hue.
“Would you like to taste it?”
I handed the first glass to Warren. Filled with anticipation, Warren brought the rim of the glass to his nose and inhaled for a long while. His eyebrows trembled faintly, and then he took a sip and rolled the wine around in his mouth. The spectrum of aromas released by the wine as it came into contact with oxygen spread through the air.
“My word... The Cab Sauv itself was already fantastic, but with the addition of Petit Verdot and Malbec, it feels as though the wine’s soul has been completed. The coarse tannins of the Cabernet Sauvignon are wrapped in the round, weighty texture of the Malbec, becoming smooth as silk. And yet the Malbec’s unique cool minerality supports the Cabernet Sauvignon’s splendor. It’s like solid granite pillars standing behind the stained glass of a vast cathedral.”
I lifted my own glass. The moment the liquid passed over my tongue, I was certain. This was the real thing.
The highly concentrated minerality originating from the gravelly soil of Altamira in the Andes, especially that cool graphite texture, penetrated seamlessly into the rich polyphenol structure of Napa Valley Cab Sauv. The slight mid-palate hollow that had been perceptible when it was a single-varietal Cab Sauv was immediately compensated for as it combined with the dense anthocyanin particles of the Malbec.
The 95% Cabernet Sauvignon was undoubtedly fantastic, but the addition of 2% Malbec accelerated the polymerization reaction of the tannins, and this performed the role of an anchor, holding volatile aromatic compounds called esters inside the liquid for a much longer time. Thanks to that, the Cabernet Sauvignon’s characteristic blackberry aroma did not scatter into the air, but was instead conveyed in a far more precise and lingering wave from the back of the tongue to the nasal cavity.
“The polymerization reaction between the anthocyanins and tannins has occurred perfectly. It’s as if the Malbec has added flesh onto the framework held in place by the Petit Verdot. Ha, I made it myself, but... this is really good.”
Warren, unable to hide his excitement, patted my shoulder.
“I don’t care what Bordeaux has to say. The moment this wine enters the world, the history of Napa Valley will be rewritten. If the Judgment of Paris was considered Bordeaux’s mistake, then this will surely be judged as Napa’s evolution.”
Then, after raising his glass and taking another sip, he asked,
“Master, what are you going to call this wine? This certainly feels different from Astra Veil. Astra Veil is wonderful in every way, but it was a shame that we couldn’t put Napa Valley on the label. But this time, it can truly be seen as a wine representing Napa...”
I fell into thought for a moment. The continent we had crossed for this wine, and my conversation with Michel Rolland, flashed through my mind.
“I’d like to call it Ether.”
“Ether? You mean the fifth element that connects all things.”
Originating in ancient Greek philosophy and medieval alchemy, the term refers to the mysterious substance that fills the celestial realm, apart from the four elements of earth, water, fire, and air.
“Yes. There’s the classical meaning, of course, but what I focused on was its definition in nineteenth-century physics. The absolute medium that was believed to be necessary for the wave called light to cross outer space and reach the visual cells. If we consider the ninety-five percent Cabernet Sauvignon to be the light source...”
Warren raised a hand with a stern expression. Just from the look on his face, his unwillingness to hear any more was plain to read.
“...That’s enough. I more or less understand.”
“......So you like it, right?”
“It’s excellent.”
And so the wine’s name was decided as Ether.
“Then shall we get to work now?”
“Phew, let’s do that.”
What we had just done with a dropper in a beaker was merely a simple bench tasting. Blending wine in large quantities was not something that could be finished as easily as making instant coffee mix.
“But are you sure you don’t need to hear more of the explanation? The reason is actually pretty convincing.”
“I said that’s enough, didn’t I? It’s a perfectly good name.”
Warren quickly slipped away, wearing an utterly fed-up expression.