Armando, Chloe, Jacob, and I had all gotten into the same UC Davis, and we had all entered the College of Agricultural and Environmental Sciences, but our majors were all different.
Armando was Agricultural and Resource Economics, Chloe was Plant Sciences, and Jacob was Agronomy. So even though we attended the same college orientation together, we had to split up when they divided us into groups by major.
As soon as the short welcome speech at the college orientation ended, the upperclassmen volunteering in the back waved their hands.
"Now we'll divide into groups by major!"
Small picket signs were already being held up in the hallway. The one that immediately caught my eye was Viticulture & Enology. Following the student holding that sign, about a dozen freshmen of similar age were huddled together.
The small lecture room we were guided to had a vineyard block map on one wall, and on the opposite side hung equipment photos that looked like miniaturized stainless steel tanks. On the long table at the front, tasting glasses and wine bottles were lined up neatly. The paper labels read 'Student Lot.' My eyebrows rose slightly without me realizing it.
One professor in a gray suit, an advisor in a short-sleeved shirt, and two or three sophomores and juniors greeted us. And because there was someone I recognized among them, I quietly hid my face behind the student in front of me.
After finishing his introduction, the professor began writing a large heading on the whiteboard with a marker.
"...To explain about the courses, freshmen take general chemistry, biology, physics, and calculus as foundations, along with soil science basics and an introduction to viticulture and enology. Starting sophomore year, you move into viticulture, winemaking, and Sensory Evaluation. And..."
He wrote 'field & facility (field and facilities)' on the board and raised his head.
"The important reason you chose this school—you'll see the practice vineyard and pilot winery facility today."
At those words, the students looked at one another with eyes full of anticipation. The fact that they wouldn't just sit and listen to lectures but could actually grow grapes and make wine filled the young students with excitement.
A brief Q&A followed, and the advisor went through where to check the course registration system, when to choose majors, and where to find research assistant announcements.
Then someone shot their hand up and asked.
"Do freshmen actually get hands-on experience when making wine?"
The female student who had sniped at me earlier quirked one corner of her mouth and answered.
"Freshmen probably have to start with cleaning, right?"
Shallow laughter spread through the lecture hall. Just as I too let out a chuckle, the professor picked up one of the wine bottles on the table and swirled it.
"And today, we've prepared some wine made by the sophomores to welcome the freshmen. Has everyone tasted it? Ah, which group made this?"
That very female student raised her hand.
"It was our group."
"Oh, Siena. You're the group leader?"
"That's right."
The girl called Siena smiled with satisfaction.
The professor showed a benevolent smile, poured the wine from the glass bottle into a cup, lightly sniffed the aroma, then brought it straight to his mouth to taste. Siena watched his mouth as he worked it with her eyes fixed.
"You made this well. Is it the Viognier variety? The center of the fruit aroma doesn't waver, and the sweetness isn't excessive. Everyone, this is the skill of your seniors. If you concentrate in class and pour in passion and sincerity, you too can make wine like this... no, even better than this. Well done."
Siena grinned broadly and shrugged her shoulders at the praise. But the professor, while patting her shoulder, leaned his face close to Siena and whispered quietly.
"It was all good, but next time, it would be better if you paid a bit more attention to temperature control."
In an instant, Siena's face stiffened. She was grateful for the professor's consideration in not pointing out her shortcomings in front of the students, but she was shocked that the freshman's criticism earlier hadn't just been empty bluster.
"I'll be careful."
"Yes, you're doing well. This isn't bad at all. It's excellent, in fact."
The professor patted Siena's shoulder, said a few closing words, and disappeared. Now only the school seniors remained in front of the winery.
A tall, pale-faced man standing next to Siena stepped forward. His slender build and slightly curly hair made him look like a typical white elite.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Matthew Higgins. I'm a junior, and from now on I'll be telling you about the school rules and things you absolutely need to know. Listen well..."
As with any school, there are trivial rules, so I listened expecting some nonsense, but unexpectedly there was really nothing much. Things like not being late because it disturbs other students, so try to come to class on time, and advice that good grades lead to good jobs.
"Never fight, and if any trouble arises between people, come to me or the seniors to seek a resolution..."
Very normal, you could say? And then,
"This friend here is Siena Harrington. She's the daughter of the owner of Harrington Vineyards in Sonoma County. You'll hear a lot about her after you graduate and enter society. So make sure to get in her good books from now on."
Turns out she was from a prominent family. Harrington Vineyards was so big that even I had heard of it a few times; I'd heard they owned hundreds of acres in northwest Sonoma. They said it was at least ten times the size of Redwood Farm.
But Siena scoffed and pointed at Matthew.
"He's no slouch either, you know? He's the son of the owner of Castello Vineyards in Napa Valley."
This guy who looked like he'd stepped out of Harry Potter was no slouch either. Castello Vineyards in northern Napa Valley was known for producing the finest Cabernet Sauvignon. Of course, the property was a large farm exceeding a hundred acres as well.
There might be a few more large farms like this, but if limited just to the school, wouldn't those two basically be the one-two punch of California wine families?
"It was nice meeting you all. Take care heading back."
"Can we have more wine?"
Someone raised their hand, but Senior Matthew shook his head.
"Just one glass each. It'll be a problem if you get drunk. You'll be able to drink to your heart's content after a year passes, so until then, focus on your studies."
Very exemplary, isn't it?
I too looked at Senior Matthew with satisfaction and nodded, and just as I turned to head home.
"Hey, hold on."
I tried to ignore it and walk away, but someone grabbed my arm tight. Turning around with the best smile I could muster, Siena was staring at me with intense eyes.
"How did you know the temperature was wrong the moment you tasted it?"
"..."
"Fine, I'll grant you a hundred concessions—maybe you could sense something was off with the taste. But how could a mere freshman know the cause was the temperature? Even my dad probably couldn't do that."
Of course. Ordinary people are just those who enjoy wine. Someone like Siena's father, as a winery owner, might be a bit different, but even so, by my standards he's merely someone who knows a bit more than the average person.
But I'm different. When I was at Cornell, I'd secured quite a few wine-related projects from the US Department of Agriculture and the California Department of Food and Agriculture (CDFA).
From climate-change-responsive grape cultivation methods to utilizing new yeast and MLF starters, enhancing aroma and color stability during fermentation, water-saving vineyard management, and so on... Cornell had its own wine research institute, so while conducting research projects on various agricultural methods excluding wine, I could simultaneously carry out projects like these.
Consequently, the reason I'd sampled so much wine before regressing wasn't because I enjoyed wine, but because of research. So inevitably, I was markedly different from ordinary people...
"I make wine too."
This was the best answer I could come up with after racking my brain as much as possible.
"You make wine? Where's your winery? Sonoma? Napa?"
"Napa. Redwood Farm is ours."
"Redwood?"
Not sure if she simply didn't know it, but Siena's brow wriggled. Even though it was fifteen acres, from her perspective it seemed to be such a small farm that she might not even know of it. It was the size of six soccer fields, after all...
"There is, a place like that..."
"Anyway, you must be making wine there? Then it must be better than what I made?"
"Um... sorry, but we acquired the farm last fall, so the harvest for proper wine is this fall. So I don't have any wine."
Siena's face immediately contorted. Here she had received harsh criticism on the wine she'd made, yet the other party didn't even have wine to be evaluated, so she was annoyed.
"What, so you're all talk?"
"Well, you could say that..."
Maybe because I nodded too readily? Siena grew even more curious.
"You said the problem with the wine earlier was the temperature, right? Then exactly what should I have done?"
"Even if I don't tell you, if you go home and watch the winemaking, won't you figure it out yourself?"
"Tell me properly."
"The temperature was too high. Check the details at your winery. The initial temperature control will be different from how you did it."
"Initial?"
Harrington's winery was famous, so they clearly made proper wine, and the initial fermentation temperature would be correctly set through experience accumulated until now.
The problem with the wine she'd made was that the temperature had risen too much in the early fermentation stage, stressing the yeast and extracting excessive unnecessary astringency. It was clear that if she learned Harrington Winery's wine production methods properly, she could easily fix it.
"..."
"Then..."
Siena stared blankly at the Asian man disappearing into the distance, then packed up the wine she'd made altogether.
Seeing that, Matthew asked.
"Leaving?"
"Yeah, I'll ask the others to clean up."
Having driven over two hours with the wine, Siena returned to Healdsburg, where her home was. She headed straight to her father, who was talking with someone in the living room.
"Dad, are you busy?"
Her father, Mark Harrington, asked his conversation partner for a moment of understanding and spoke in a somewhat stern voice.
"Could you mind your manners when Dad is talking business?"
"...Sorry."
Seeing the small stainless steel container in his sulking daughter's hand, Mark suddenly grew curious and asked.
"What's that?"
"It's wine I made. I tried making it at school..."
Only then did Mark realize she hadn't come to find him because she had nothing better to do, and he gestured with his chin.
"Really? Bring it here."
Siena brought the stainless steel container and several wine glasses. The man who seemed to be her father's guest was also watching with great interest.
"Did you bring it to brag?"
"No. Someone said there was a problem, so I'm curious."
"Oh? Is that so? That's a good attitude."
Mark felt very satisfied with her attitude of seeking his advice upon discovering a problem rather than simply trying to brag.
His daughter personally poured the wine, and after tasting it together with his guest, Mark savored the wine swirling around the corners of his mouth to the fullest before setting down his glass.
"It's remarkable."
The compliment from her father's guest didn't reach her ears. Seeing her just steal one glance and then immediately look at her father, Mark grinned.
"I was satisfied too."
"You were really satisfied?"
"What evaluation did you receive on this wine to make you act like this?"
"They said the astringency was strong."
At those words, Mark opened his eyes wide.
"There is that tendency, but it's not that severe. This is excellent. What variety did you use?"
"Viognier."
"Siena, this is excellent. Sometimes wines sold in stores have this level of astringency too."
"But our family's wine isn't like that."
"That's... true."
"If someone told you to buy and drink this with your own money, would you?"
"Wouldn't that depend on the price? It's sufficient as a daily wine."
Siena bit her lip at him mentioning daily wine, the cheapest kind. Mark asked his disappointed daughter.
"What on earth happened?"
The hesitant Siena spoke.
"A certain freshman tasted it and said the initial temperature was wrong. So a strong astringent taste came out... But the school professor pointed out the exact same thing."
"Really?"
"But they say that freshman is the son of the Redwood Farm owner, do you know him?"
At that moment, the man who was Mark's guest cut in.
"Redwood?"
"I haven't heard of it, is it a farm you know?"
Pierce Morgan, who had been Mark's guest, put on a faint smile.
"I know it, somewhat... but that kid, to call him a student..."
Mark had questions about Pierce's ambiguous words.
"Why? Is he not a student?"
In fact, Pierce wasn't certain yet either. What to call that child. However, at least one thing was certain.
"He's a friend who knows what farming is. And not someone who makes wine in small batches like this, but someone commercially producing ten-ton-scale cherry wine. He's practically no different from a farm owner."
"So... similar to me?"
"Exactly. It'd be like having a pro player in Little League, wouldn't it?"
Mark turned to his daughter.
"An interesting friend has entered the school as a freshman."