After about an hour by car from Napa Valley, we arrived at a vineyard that, from the outside, didn’t look much different from our farm.
When an unfamiliar car pulled up at the farm entrance, a middle-aged man with a bald head and a red beard walked out of the building. His whole impression was almost like a tall dwarf, I suppose.
“You want to make a pre-purchase?”
At a glance, he looked angry, but perhaps thinking that was just the kind of person he was, Dad wasn’t intimidated at all. He stepped forward first and held out his hand.
“I’m Woody Choi.”
“...Stephen Hart.”
“I’d like to see the condition of the farm first.”
It seemed like a good choice to ask to see the farm right away without any small talk. Dad wasn’t particularly good at small talk, and if he talked too much with the farm owner, he might get swept up into needlessly inflating the value.
He looked Dad and me over for a moment, then jerked his chin.
“Let’s go.”
He leisurely walked up through the farm, and I examined the vines carefully. There were no pests or diseases, no withered vines or branches, and the soil was so soft that I was already looking forward to the grapes that would be harvested in the fall.
Of course, that didn’t mean I felt it was better than Redwood Farm, where we had thoroughly designed the soil quality with biochar compound fertilizer and nitrogen fertilizer packs.
Stephen Hart, who had been climbing the hill ahead of us, suddenly stopped and turned around where the entire farm could be seen at a glance, pointing to one section with his hand.
“This is Block C. Over there, west of that boundary line, is D. Farther out are E and F. The pre-purchase has to be at least by block. The area behind that has already been traded, so there’s no need to look.”
“How much comes out of Block C?”
“About twenty-four tons.”
Dad glanced at me once, then asked again.
“And if D is included?”
“That one’s a bit smaller, so it’d be about forty-five tons total. But do you have some experience? That’s quite a lot.”
His eyes were doubtful, but Dad took it lightly.
“If it’s a large quantity, will you make it cheaper?”
“...Well, all I have to do is sell the grapes.”
“How about a three-year fixed contract plus a two-year option for Blocks C and D together, forty-five tons?”
“A five-year contract total? Price per ton?”
“Two thousand three hundred dollars.”
Before coming here, we had already contacted all sorts of places and checked the market price. The wine broker Pierce Morgan had introduced to us had told us the most up-to-date wine prices for farms around California, so we were confident.
“That’s too low.”
“I heard the White Fog Farm right next door signed at two thousand two hundred fifty dollars.”
At Dad’s words, his expression immediately twisted.
“Which bastard is going around blabbing everything? Damn it...”
“We’ll pay twenty percent upfront, and starting next year, we’ll raise it by three percent annually.”
“Only twenty percent?”
“If you want thirty percent, I’ll have no choice but to go to the farm next door.”
A deep crease formed between Stephen’s brows. If he were dealing with someone who didn’t know much, he might have tried to bluff, but since the Asian father and son in front of him had brought up White Fog Farm and even mentioned the exact price, he realized they weren’t fools.
“Our farm’s Pinot Noir is the best in California.”
“I know. That’s why I offered two thousand three hundred.”
“It’s still not enough. I’ll accept twenty percent, so let’s make it two thousand five hundred.”
Knowing the value of the Pinot Noir harvested from his farm, he raised the price sharply. But Dad shrugged and said,
“You’re aware that wine prices per gallon are plummeting right now regardless of variety, aren’t you? We’re taking on risk too.”
“......”
“Let’s do two thousand three hundred fifty. We can match you up to that. If you want two thousand five hundred, you’ll have to find another customer.”
Perhaps aware that the market was currently oversupplied with wine and prices were falling overall, Stephen smacked his lips, then soon nodded.
“Let’s do that. Two thousand three hundred fifty.”
“We’ll pay the balance within thirty days after delivery. In exchange, MOG—Material Other than Grain; foreign matter other than agricultural products—must be one percent or less, and rotten fruit must also be one percent or less. The harvest must be hand-picked, and please use half-ton boxes, preferably with an early-morning harvest.”
“I shouldn’t have bothered asking if you had experience. But early-morning harvesting costs us extra in labor too, so we’ll need another fifty dollars per ton.”
He seemed certain that if he had quoted a higher price, the deal would have fallen through. Someone without experience wouldn’t have brought up the conditions Dad had just proposed.
The reason they had to be hand-picked was that mechanical harvesting caused many berries to burst, and thin-skinned varieties like Pinot Noir were especially prone to damage. And once the berries burst, they come into contact with air, beginning browning and oxidation, which can cause problems with wine quality.
Asking for them to be moved in half-ton boxes was also pointing out that the grapes loaded on the bottom could be crushed and burst, and the reason they needed to be harvested at dawn was because the fruit was cold and firm then, so the aroma wouldn’t volatilize.
All these characteristics were matters that had to be handled with even greater care precisely because Pinot Noir had thin skins, so they were points that absolutely had to be mentioned.
After that, Dad drew up an MOU with him and discussed various options, such as target Brix, timing for the harvest decision, and the ratio of risk burden in the event of natural disasters.
“Thank you. Let’s finalize the formal contract with the lawyers.”
“Let’s do that. Thank you for providing good grapes.”
“I hope you make good wine.”
Stephen, the farm owner, looked relieved. With wine prices currently falling, making wine himself was too risky to touch, and since he had secured a sale through a futures contract, it was clear a weight had been lifted from him.
On the drive back, I asked Dad,
“When did you study all that?”
“Oh, that earlier? You know the broker you introduced me to. Mr. Richard. I called him and asked him a ton of questions. By the end, his voice was getting more and more exhausted. Hahaha!”
“Hahaha! Nice job.”
“But I did say forty-five tons. It won’t be too much, will it?”
Forty-five tons of grapes in physical volume would become roughly twenty-five thousand liters of wine. It was quite a large amount, but it was about half the total volume of grapes produced at Redwood Farm, so it wasn’t to the point where the tail was wagging the dog.
It was just the right amount to make a side profit.
“I don’t think so. If worst comes to worst, we can unload it later as daily wine without taking a big loss.”
“Then the only problem now is turning Pinot Noir into good wine... Dad is counting only on you.”
“Of course. I told you, just trust me.”
I spoke with great confidence. And after boasting like that, that evening I confirmed my acceptance from UC Davis and we threw a party at home.
---
Time flew by again, and it was the end of May.
Because of a report from someone(?), half the illegal immigrants who had mainly worked in Napa Valley disappeared, making it extremely difficult to find laborers, but my parents were still managing to get through it well.
And I was finally about to graduate.
“Time really flies.”
The stage set up on the field was decorated with blue and gold balloons. Graduates wearing gowns that sparkled in the sunlight sat in rows, each with a mortarboard neatly settled on their heads.
The audience seats were packed with parents, relatives, and friends. Signs with the children’s names written on them, large bouquets, colorful balloons, and even camera flashes... Some people’s eyes were already growing moist.
On the stage, the principal spoke in a composed voice.
“Class of 2004, congratulations on your graduation!”
At that moment, cheers and applause erupted from the audience. My heart pounded at the thunderous applause. Even though I had regressed once, now that my body had become younger, it seemed my heart had grown younger too; for some strange reason, it was moving.
I brushed down the hem of my blue gown once and glanced at Armando sitting beside me. He had already taken off his cap, his face damp with sweat, and was waving it like a fan.
“Damn it, this is why Mexican graduations are held at night. The sun’s way too hot.”
“They say sunlight is a blessing here.”
When I laughed, Armando grumbled but eventually let out a snicker. Jacob, who was behind us, leaned forward and whispered,
“If you have time, come help out at our farm.”
“Got it.”
Jacob was a guy as serious about farming as I was, and whenever he had a chance, he’d ask me about something. Now, whether something had happened or not, he was even inviting me over. Jacob’s farm was quite far away, so I couldn’t go as casually as visiting a friend’s house; I’d have to make up my mind and set aside time.
A little ways away, Chloe turned her head and looked toward me. Beneath her gold gown, a white dress showed faintly. She fiddled with the end of her mortarboard and smiled brightly.
“We’re really graduating now. Thanks for everything.”
“It wasn’t that big of a deal... I helped because I had something to gain too.”
“That’s kind of a disappointing thing to say.”
“Is it? That’s how farmers are. We help each other and get help in return.”
“I see. Anyway, we’ve started harvesting now. The results will come out soon. Before, I thought I had to win no matter what, but strangely enough, now I feel like I won’t regret it even if I lose.”
“Why?”
“Because I did my best. And... Dad said that if I want, he’ll let me try running another farm.”
“Wow... He really is on a different level.”
Since cherry farms stretched out endlessly, it seemed Chloe’s family was practically on the level of a corporate farm.
“Anyway, congratulations on graduating! I can’t go to the graduation party, but have fun with Evan.”
For a moment, she flinched and said,
“I broke up with Evan. And I need to check on the cherry harvest too, so I’m not going to the party.”
“You... really have become a farmer, haven’t you?”
She gave an ambiguous smile and turned her head away.
Just then, the host called the graduation representative speaker up to the stage. The top student, the valedictorian. The clear, articulate speech rang across the field.
“We have dreamed even amid hardship. And today, we begin a new path.”
Cheers and applause followed. As I watched the scene, which struck my heart in a strangely powerful way, I made a vow to myself.
‘This time, I won’t fail. Not in farming, and not in life...’
My heart grew hot, as warm as the gentle sunlight.