School classes, at least, were incredibly easy for me. As someone who had earned a doctorate in agricultural science, even the basics of soil science were a piece of cake, given that I already had general chemistry, biology, physics, and calculus under my belt.
These days, my weekday routine consisted of cramming my classes into a few days, spending those days running from one class to another at school, and then devoting myself to work on the farm.
And given the timing, I couldn’t exactly focus on my classes. September was essentially the most important time of year for grape growers. What was more, there was another important event that took place around this time of year.
In early September, massive wildfires would break out around California’s Napa and Sonoma regions. I remembered this because wildfires occurred throughout California every year like a regularly scheduled event, and when I had enrolled at NYU, my parents had once evacuated our home before returning safely.
I had no idea whether Napa Valley would be affected or not, so naturally, we had to prepare.
“Please rent it to me for three days.”
I was at a local cooperative located in downtown Napa.
There, I was trying to rent a service known as a custom operator, which provided both the equipment and the personnel to operate it.
“Three days? You’ll have to pay two thousand dollars.”
“Could you lower the price a little? That’s too expensive. And it’s not even that much work. You’d only have to plow around the winery.”
“Hmm... Just around the winery? How large is it?”
“Fifteen acres.”
The man shrugged at the relatively modest size for a winery and said,
“Then let’s do this. Fifteen hundred dollars for two days. But I’ll make sure the work is done properly.”
“Sounds good!”
As long as they did the job I wanted properly, no matter how many days it took, there was nothing for me to lose.
The tractor I rented arrived the next morning and began plowing under the weeds around the redwood farm, which stretched toward the mountains. Seeing it, the farmhands expressed their doubts. They wondered why we were wasting money on something so unnecessary.
“I think it’s a good idea. Risk management is important in business, after all.”
Dad and Mom, on the contrary, actively supported my opinion. Mom, especially, cherished the grape clusters as though they were her own children, so she said that fifteen hundred dollars was nothing compared to preparing for the risk of a wildfire.
That wasn’t the end of it, either. We cleared away anything around the farm that might easily catch fire, checked the weather constantly, and kept a close watch for strangers coming near the property.
After giving my parents and the farmhands strict instructions, I went to school the next day—only to be startled during class.
“Huh? You go to this school?”
I had run into Ileina during class. It was the first time I’d seen her since graduating high school.
But Ileina looked at me as though I had said something utterly ridiculous.
“Are you stupid? We were together at orientation.”
“We were? You too?”
“Where else would I go besides UC Davis?”
Come to think of it, there was no reason for the daughter of the Silver Oak farm owner to attend any school other than nearby UC Davis. It was the place that taught viticulture and winemaking at the highest level in the United States.
“You’re right. How come I didn’t see you?”
“Hmph! Whatever. You seem to have already been marked by the upperclassmen. They’re saying, ‘Who does he think he is, criticizing the Harrington family’s wine?’”
“...The rumor’s already spread?”
“I was watching you and Sienna talking from behind.”
“......”
I had no idea when Ileina’s presence had become so faint, but since she said she had been there, I had nothing to say.
“I was just passing by and offering a bit of advice. Anyway, here’s some advice for you, too. Be careful, because wildfires could break out in this dry weather.”
“Wildfires happen every year. What’s so special about that...”
Since California experienced wildfires to some extent every year, Ileina didn’t seem concerned in the slightest.
“It’s not because I’m worried about you. I’m worried about the grapes.”
Elowen Pike was a nasty person, but the grapes he had raised were innocent.
“Whatever.”
“Ah, yes...”
I shook my head at her cold response. Then, when I saw Sienna’s face in the distance, I hurried into the lecture hall and lowered my head. I didn’t want to get involved with her, so I avoided meeting her eyes whenever possible.
After class, I arrived home around five in the afternoon, and there happened to be guests at the farm.
When I went up to the winery, Dad was standing at the entrance, while Mr. Frederick and Chloe waited beside him, all three wearing identical cowboy hats. Their visit wasn’t quite as sudden as it appeared. I had invited the father and daughter myself.
“You’re here?”
“Mr. Woody here said that wine was entirely your responsibility, so he wouldn’t show us around.”
After shaking his hand and exchanging a joke, I said,
“He’s not exactly wrong. Come on in.”
“But I saw a tractor driving around. What was that about?”
“The weather’s gotten dry, so I cleared away the vegetation around the farm in case something like a wildfire broke out.”
“Oh, you thought of that... That’s not easy to do.”
“I’m just overly cautious.”
At that, Frederick smiled even more contentedly and gave Chloe’s shoulder an affectionate pat for no particular reason.
When we opened the winery doors, stainless-steel tanks stood in neat rows, reflecting a sleek silver light, while oak barrels that had just finished being steam-cleaned were gathered to one side in a crescent-shaped formation. The fine grain etched into the barrel surfaces was still visible, making them look particularly elegant.
“I asked you to come because you seemed so curious...”
“Did I?”
“You kept asking through Chloe.”
Every time I ran into Chloe at school, she asked how the cherry wine was coming along. The third time she asked, I had even told her, “How would I know when I haven’t even gone into the stainless-steel tank myself?”
“I was dying to know.”
“Yes, so now that the wine has finished its initial aging stage, I asked you to come and taste it before we transfer it from the stainless-steel tanks into oak barrels.”
“Oh? Is that so? Is there a particular reason?”
I approached one of the enormous stainless-steel tanks, placed a cup beneath the spigot, and opened it slightly. The red, ruby-colored liquid trickled into the cup, so brilliant that it was mesmerizing just to look at.
“Stainless steel is easy to control for temperature, and because there’s almost no oxidation, it preserves the fresh fruit aromas. There’s also less risk of contamination from unwanted microorganisms. For a cherry wine like this, where the aroma is especially important, stainless steel is essential. But once the initial fermentation is complete, things change a little.”
Frederick, who knew little about wine beyond growing cherries and enjoying a drink, listened with shining eyes.
“How do they change?”
I handed him the cup and continued.
“Wine isn’t juice. Oak adds a little more complexity to the aroma, but because of the characteristics of oak barrels, tiny amounts of oxygen seep into the wine, softening the tannins and strengthening its structure. Try it first.”
Frederick accepted the cup, and his expression changed from the moment he smelled it.
He took a silent sip and slowly rolled it across his tongue. His eyelids lifted ever so slightly. It was the expression of a man who had spent years dealing with alcohol, not merely a farm owner.
Frederick closed his eyes and savored the wine, including its finish, for about five seconds. Then he smiled broadly and said,
“This is incredible. To be honest, even at this stage, it would rank among the finest cherry wines I’ve ever tasted.”
It couldn’t be helped. The combination of yeasts I had used was probably something no winery in this era had ever tried. That alone was enough to revolutionize the world of cherry wine, which until now had been nothing more than sweet.
“How is it? Let me try!”
“Now, now!”
When Chloe clung to him, Frederick widened his eyes and held the cup away from his daughter as though he couldn’t bear to give any of it up. She struggled in vain, hanging from the tall man’s arm.
“Haha, I’ll give you some. Just wait.”
Dad, who had been watching, poured about half a cup for Chloe while shooting Frederick a reproachful look.
She accepted it with a cute little “Thank you~,” took a sip, and opened her eyes wide.
“Wow! It’s delicious!”
Naturally, it was delicious, so I shrugged and said,
“We’ll transfer it into oak barrels and age it for about three months. After that, we’ll invite the owners of upscale restaurants throughout California to a tasting and begin selling it in earnest. Since the total quantity is limited, I expect the stock to sell out quickly.”
I rolled one of the oak barrels over, connected the pump, and adjusted the angle of the racking arm. I flushed the hose with nitrogen to drive out the oxygen, then slowly opened the valve. A red stream slid through the transparent hose and flowed into the barrel through the bung. The sound of it running down the wood echoed softly, like a series of muted knocks.
“How much did you get?”
“About six thousand liters. It’s not that much, since we only used around ten tons of cherries. By my calculations, if we bottle it in 750-milliliter bottles, we’ll have roughly eight thousand bottles.”
Ten tons might sound like an enormous amount, but cherries had large pits, and once all sorts of losses were taken into account, the usual liquid yield was only around sixty to seventy percent of the original fruit weight.
“Eight thousand bottles... Now that I think about it, it’s a little disappointing.”
At the time, he had sent the cherries over without giving it much thought. But after tasting the wine that had come from the stainless-steel tanks, he regretted not sending more.
In fact, his farm produced nearly a thousand tons of cherries a year, and in particularly good years, the yield could reach twelve hundred tons. With his cherry orchard spanning two hundred acres, that level of production was hardly unusual.
I could tell what Frederick was thinking just by looking at his disappointed face, so I chuckled.
“Honestly, I only made it because I didn’t want the winery sitting idle, so I’m not that disappointed. And I’m just grateful that you agreed to participate without taking a loss.”
The main reason I had made the cherry wine was that I didn’t want the winery sitting idle, but once it was finished, I realized it had another important advantage.
It could raise the winery’s standing.
If we became known as the only winery in California capable of producing such a special wine, that alone would become a brand. Especially once word spread among upscale restaurants and gourmands, the wine would gain enough value that people would seek it out from far away—or specifically look for wine from this winery.
“Even if you’re not disappointed, I am. I really regret it.”
From the perspective of a producer of primary ingredients, it was genuinely painful to imagine the profits to be gained when one’s produce passed through a skilled processor. If he knew that the real fortune I had in mind was Pinot Noir that had not even arrived yet, he would surely envy me even more.
Perhaps truly envious of the winery, he continued taking small sips of the remaining wine.
“Just a little more...”
“Ah, yes. It’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s astonishing. Who would have thought cherry wine could have such a smooth, rich aroma? I can bring my friends to the tasting, can’t I?”
“Of course.”
That was precisely why I had invited him.
“Good. Oh, by the way, have you decided on a name for the wine?”
I paused and tilted my head. Come to think of it, I had been so focused on making good wine that I hadn’t yet thought about what to name it.
“Not yet...”
Frederick swirled his glass and smiled.
“Then I’ll come up with one.”
“You’re not going to push Brantwood or the farm’s name too hard, are you?”
“...I won’t. I’ll come up with something wonderful.”
“Then I’ll leave it to you.”
At that moment, Chloe approached Dad and whispered,
“If it’s too strange, I’ll change it.”
“Haha, please do.”
In the end, I filled a 750-milliliter bottle and handed it to Frederick, who was still lamenting the limited quantity, before sending him and Chloe home. Then I stood at the entrance to the farm and looked up at the sky.
“I should go to the Russian River Valley tomorrow.”
We had agreed from the moment we signed the contract that the harvest date for the Pinot Noir would be decided in consultation with me. And to determine that date, I needed to inspect the condition of the fruit myself. I had already gone there once a week earlier and decided that the grapes needed more time.
Now it was time to go again.
“The Pinot Noir looks like it’s approaching harvest. When are we thinking?”
I answered as I slowly walked back up through the farm with Dad.
“Early to mid-October? We’ll probably need to check again at the end of September to know for sure. For now, we’re watering at around minus twelve bars of SWP, but right before harvest, we’ll need to lower it further, to around minus fourteen.”
“That much?”
“Yes, but only for a day or two. We’re pushing them into an extreme environment right before harvest, so we can’t keep it up for long. If we do that, then next year as well, without any major problems...”
That was when I noticed something strange in the distance.
“What is it?”
“Dad, that isn’t the sunset, is it?”
A red glow could be seen far away. It was late afternoon, around the time when the sunset spread across the sky in dazzling beauty... but the color seemed a little different.
“It’s a wildfire!”
Dad, horrified, immediately ran downhill. After checking the firebreak created by the tractor, I stared blankly at the distant red flames. Then, without realizing it, I looked at the ripening grape clusters and murmured,
“Don’t worry. Nothing will happen.”