Outside the car window, as we sped along the road, endless plains and hills appeared in turn, and here and there orchards that had already finished their harvest stood with bare branches, preparing for winter.
Chloe had the wheel, and I sat beside her, checking the map and the road signs by turns.
“They said it should be there if we turn right here. The name is... Sandy Hill Nursery. Huh? That’s it!”
Once we turned off the road, we passed through a small grove of oak trees and came upon a wide-open stretch of land. In the middle of it stood a white wooden building lightly dusted with dirt, apparently used as both a warehouse and an office. The roof was old and faded in patches, and on one wall, the word NURSERY was painted in large, vivid red letters.
In front of it, several greenhouses stood in a row. Their clear plastic sheeting sparkled in the sunlight, and inside, small trees were lined up densely.
When we parked the car, a middle-aged farm owner in a pulled-down cap walked out from in front of the building. His boots were caked with dry soil, and he held a pair of work gloves in one hand.
“Welcome. You’re here to see pear saplings?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
We followed the farm owner into the greenhouse. The inside was wider and longer than I’d expected, and near the ceiling, thin pipes that carried water were tangled like a spiderweb. The air was faintly damp with the scent of soil and moisture, but it was also filled with the smell of living trees.
Small saplings about waist-high had been planted in even rows, and the farm owner pointed to them as he explained.
“The row on the right here is Asian pear, and the left is mostly European pear used as rootstock. The rootstock has good drainage tolerance and resistance to disease and pests, so once you graft onto it, it’s much more stable.”
Chloe stroked one of the trunks and said,
“They look sturdier than I thought. I can’t believe this is the first step for the farm I’m going to start.”
I smiled and nodded.
“For Shingo pears, the rootstock you graft onto is especially important. If you just plant them somewhere with poor drainage, the roots rot in no time. If you graft them onto European pear rootstock, they’ll hold out much longer.”
The farm owner pulled up one of the saplings and shook off the soil to show us. Beside the straight root, fine root hairs grew in dense clusters.
“This one grew out this summer, and the root condition is excellent. As long as the grafting is done well, it’ll definitely establish itself quickly next spring.”
Chloe nodded and looked at me.
“This should work, right?”
“Yeah. You just need to manage the grafting site well. Sir, about how many Shingo pear saplings do you have here?”
The farm owner took off his cap, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and answered.
“We’ve secured about 5,000 this year. How many do you need?”
“We need around 14,000.”
At my answer, the middle-aged farm owner stared off into the distance for a while before speaking.
“That should be possible. For the rest, we can graft them onto rootstock that’ll be ready next spring and deliver them then. But you’ll need to put down a contract now. Once spring comes, reservations flood in and they’ll be gone in a flash.”
Chloe’s eyes shone as she asked,
“How much per tree?”
“Around eighteen dollars.”
Just as I was about to say that was too expensive, Chloe frowned and said,
“We’re making a bulk purchase of 14,000 trees. Surely there’s some kind of discount? For your information, I’m the daughter of the family that owns Harris Farm in Brentwood, a two-hundred-acre cherry orchard. We also grow walnuts, tomatoes, olives... I’m not some beginner with no experience.”
At her rather confident introduction, the farm owner flinched and gave an awkward smile.
“Ha ha, I only gave you the retail price because you asked. Of course, if you’re taking that many, there’ll be a bulk discount. I can make it twelve dollars per tree. In exchange, if you put down a thirty percent deposit, I’ll have the entire quantity ready by next spring.”
“Then for 14,000 trees, the total would be...?”
The farm owner immediately took a calculator from a large pocket and said,
“One hundred sixty-eight thousand dollars. You’ll need to prepare about fifty thousand dollars as the deposit. As for transport, it’ll have to go out by the truckload. We’ll pack and tie them in trays of five hundred each. A truck can carry about two thousand trees at a time, so if the destination is Brentwood, you should know it’ll take about seven round trips.”
Chloe muttered as if taking notes.
“Thirty percent deposit, remaining balance upon spring delivery. Twelve dollars per tree, 14,000 trees...”
Then she immediately held out her hand and shook the farm owner’s.
“Good. Let’s sign the contract. I’ll write you the deposit check today.”
A smile spread across the farm owner’s face.
“With a scale like this, you’ll be establishing a proper orchard next year. Shingo pears are selling quite well in Asian markets these days, so in my view, it’s a fantastic choice. If you grow Shingo pears properly, the fruit gets this big. You’ve probably never even seen one.”
He made a gesture as if holding something huge in both arms to show how large Shingo pears were, but Chloe, who had already seen one herself, shrugged and laughed.
“I have seen one. I ate an imported pear from Korea.”
“Oh, did you?”
The funds Chloe would need to cultivate Shingo pears would easily exceed a million dollars. Since she was spending that much money, she couldn’t very well decide without even tasting one, so she had gone to LA herself with her father and tried Shingo pears imported from Korea.
What she had felt when she saw the Shingo pear then was astonishment. The fruit was far bigger than she’d expected. On top of that, after experiencing how juicy it was and how rich its sweetness was, she declared on the spot to her father that she wanted to inherit the land.
She had grown greedy to cultivate that fruit herself.
Of course, the fact that one large, perfectly ripe Shingo pear cost nearly seven dollars had also played a decisive role in her making that decision.
“Let’s write up the contract right away.”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Since I had confirmed that the saplings were in decent condition, I signaled to Chloe that it was fine to make the deal, and she confidently followed the farm owner into the building. The old building smelled musty, but neither Chloe nor I paid it any mind.
The farm owner brought out the contract and spread it across a small desk. It was a cheap folding desk, with ink stains here and there that showed it had been used for a long time. Chloe signed without hesitation and wrote him a check on the spot. She was still young, but the way her hand moved as she signed the contract and filled out the check was completely unhesitating.
When we left the farm and got back into the car, Chloe carefully placed the contract in the back seat and smiled brightly at me.
“From now on, call me Farmer Chloe.”
“You’re really excited.”
“Of course I am.”
She stepped firmly on the accelerator and set off for Brentwood.
---
Around the time Brian was out driving with Chloe to look for saplings, at White & Co. Wine Trading in LA.
“Heh heh heh...”
Christopher White, who would have looked like a madman to anyone watching, had been going around grinning to himself for the past several days. But the employees did not find their boss’s behavior strange. After all, he had gone all-in on 2,000 cases of wine, and that wine had won double gold. They understood how happy he must be.
The office was bustling. Order forms coming in by fax piled up, and the sales team employees raised their voices as they clung to their phones, coordinating prices and quantities. Helen from logistics was busy all day readjusting air freight and truck schedules.
“Sir, we’ve secured the air freight schedule to JFK Airport. Two hundred cases are going out tonight alone.”
“Good. Check the quantities for Boston and Philadelphia too.”
That alone would have been enough to put him in a good mood, but Christopher was gazing fondly at the latest issue of Wine Enthusiast lying on his desk as if he were in love. On the smooth cover, the clear printed letters greeted him.
[Redwood, Napa Valley’s Dark Horse]
Christopher slowly turned the cover with his finger, and across the photo filling two pages, the scenery of Redwood Winery came into view. He saw bottles of Aeschlon and Sylphid placed on a table under the light, and the face of a young Asian man smiling during an interview.
“This is it... This is exactly it. Buying up all of the Sylphid was a stroke of genius.”
Just then, the phone rang. The voice of Mark, the head of sales, was urgent.
“Sir, orders are flooding in. New York alone wants 200 cases, and Boston has requested an additional 150. D.C. wants 300 cases, saying they’re preparing for banquet season.”
“Mark, what’s our inventory status?”
“We have about 800 cases left in the East Coast warehouse. But at this rate, they’ll all be gone within the week.”
“Send them out in controlled amounts. Don’t ship everything at once. Make them desperate.”
“Understood.”
After hanging up, Christopher opened the magazine again and read a passage from the article aloud.
“Redwood Winery wins double gold simultaneously with its 2004 vintage Aeschlon and Sylphid. For a newly established winery, this is an exceptional achievement. Aeschlon shows remarkable structure and balance despite its short aging period, while Sylphid displays the delicacy and complexity of Russian River Valley Pinot Noir. These wines prove Napa Valley’s new possibilities... It’s a little dry, but not bad.”
From a critic’s standpoint, they would have to write as dryly as possible, but from the standpoint of the president of a wine distribution company, he wanted them to make as much of a fuss as possible. Still, this was good enough. The response was already coming in, wasn’t it?
Around noon, the phone rang again. This time, it was a sommelier friend working in New York.
“Christopher, it’s chaos over here. Customers looking for Sylphid are pouring in. Some shops are already trading it at 150 dollars a bottle. You’re insane. How did you get your hands on something like this?”
Christopher held back his laughter as he answered.
“I’m not insane. I made the right choice. This is only the beginning.”
Wine distribution, by nature, was not a business pursued for a single jackpot. Watching from the side as a winery built its history and developed year by year, growing together with it—that was wine distribution.
And what was most necessary in that process was discernment. Finding and investing in a small winery with clear growth potential. In a way, wine distribution could be seen as managing a winery.
From that perspective, Christopher knew just how great a stroke of luck meeting Redwood Winery could become for him. And then he had poured in the enormous sum of 800,000 dollars and bet everything on Sylphid. This would become the best decision of his life.
“I can’t just sit here.”
He immediately sprang from his seat.
“Where are you going, sir?”
“To Redwood!”
It would take more than six hours by car from LA to Napa Valley, so it would be evening by the time he arrived, but he didn’t care. Just in case, he called Brian and even secured a dinner meeting, then leisurely drove toward Napa Valley.
By the time he reached Napa Valley, it had grown dark, and he entered Brian’s house, located not far from Redwood Farm.
“Welcome.”
At the smell of roast chicken warming the house, Christopher sniffed.
“You seem to have a talent for cooking too.”
I cut off a piece of freshly made roast chicken for Christopher and said,
“I’ve always been more interested in cooking than wine.”
To me, cooking had been a pleasure, and wine had been an academic subject, so food was more familiar. But after my regression, things were starting to change a little. I suppose wine was now becoming a pleasure too.
I took out a bottle of Ridge Vineyards Zinfandel I had picked up when I went to the San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition.
“Since you’re a wine critic, I’d like to serve you an expensive wine, but I’m a bit frugal in that area... Still, this should pair well.”
Christopher had a faint smile on his lips.
“Zinfandel’s characteristic rich fruit aroma, spiciness, and balanced structure go well with meat dishes. You’re young, but you have a deep understanding of pairings too.”
“I just like it. But what brings you all the way here? At this late hour.”
He took a sip of wine with a serious expression, then looked at me with a calm, settled gaze.
“Sylphid, to be released next year. I want to purchase all of it in advance.”
“All 3,000 cases?”
“Yes.”
“The price will be different from this year.”
“What figure do you have in mind?”
It was a wine that had won a double gold medal. There was no reason it had to be cheap.
“I’ll raise it to seventy dollars. Will you still buy it?”
When I immediately raised the price to more than double compared to thirty-three dollars, Christopher was startled. At this level, the retail price would quickly form at around one hundred to one hundred fifty dollars. For all 3,000 cases, that meant a price exceeding 2.5 million dollars.
But as if he had made up his mind, he said,
“Yes, let’s do that. I’ll take the entire quantity at seventy dollars.”
Christopher was certain. This contract would be a win-win for both Redwood and himself.