In recent months I've become increasingly aware of a paradoxical element within the way I construct my identity: wine. It encompasses disparate aspects that I both love and loathe.
On one hand, I grew up in wine coutry where a few bottles of the stuff was requisite fare for any social gathering. The wine rack assumed a natural presence in my conception of adult life. Now in New Zealand where the drinking age is lowered to 18, I've been delving into the oenological world and trying to grasp the characteristics of sundry varietals. It's an acquired taste, one that is almost certainly acquired for reasons beyond mere flavour.
Viticulture holds a special place for me in terms of aesthetics as well. I spent my youth being shuttled to and from school or sport, always gazing out the window into the endless rows, eyeing their heavy fruits jealously and marvelling at the stunning color of their broad leaves. Those vines, standing sentry all across the valley,helped to shape my understanding of the land. I'm almost even disappointed when I find myself in a place without acre upon acre of gnarled rootstock climbing the hillside. When I spent two weeks working a permaculture farm on Waiheke Island here in NZ, I was thrilled to find myself surrounded by wineries. I felt comforted in a way I didn't think possible. I kept telling people how at home I felt there, simply because the landscape was reminiscent of Sonoma.
At the moment I'm even considering biodynamic viticulture as a career path. It seems a natural choice, given that I grew up just down the road from an award-winning label who helped pioneer the field. However, considering the matter more objectively, I've come to notice a few details within the general practice of winemaking that clash with my environmentalist and health-nut ethos.
For one thing, vineyards are the enemies of native landscapes. The indigenous oak woodlands of northern California have been largely sidelined by the parallel repititions of vines, being treated almost as intruders in their own land. As the industry has proved more lucractive over the years, greater areas of land have been clear for planting. This issues is especially poignant in the case of the Gravenstein apples of Sebastopol. The ancient, bowed and stooped trees of this cherished heirloom variety are being uprooted because of their insufficient economic performance; to be replaced by none other than Vitis vinifera.
In the process, previous biodiversity is jeopardized as greater exapenses of native habitat are co-opted for commercial purposes. Conservationist that I am, this leaves a somewhat unsavoury taste in my mouth. Which leads me to my next point: that wine as a beverage is fundamentally a poison, alcohol.
As with any alcohol, irresponsible use can lead to the loss of coherence; a fact with has ever kept me off heavy drinking. A few glasses in an evening is harmless enough, it's true. There are even potential health benefits in the polyphenols of red wine (though the grapes themselves would do just as well, if not better). But in general, I'm not terribly keen on intoxicants. As such the notion of joining and industry predicated upon the proliferation of alcohol makes me uneasy. Perhaps moreso because I don't trust the moderation of most people, and tend to envision the destructive effects; or at least the boisterous abuse some may put the beverage to. Yet likely enough the positive social benefits outweigh the carelessness of the few.
It must also be admitted that the operation of a vineyard is an inherently stratified arrangement. The lower classes undertake the brunt of the hard labour, only to taste little of their efforts. Their refined products fetch prices far beyond their means, especially for the seasonal workers. Perhaps this is simply the inarguable logic of the capitalist system, but I see it as the perpetuation of bourgeoise dominance over their oftentimes ethnic labourers. Maybe social justice is a bit beyond my scope, but the spectre of inequality still haunts my vision of the vineyard.
Returning to the positives though, my research into the Slow Food movement has also proven wine to be an undeniable marker of cultural identity in the face of global homogenization. The terroir of a place is distinct and inimitable. I'm fascinated by the alchemy of soil, vine, fruit and fermentation to produce something wholly unique to its time and place. I see that as something worthy of respect, especially when attended to with an artisanal sensitivity. I've elsewhere described my admiration for such examples of individual passion and committment.
In the end, I believe I'll come to embrace wine through my misgivings, and perhaps work to settle the issues I perceive. It is simply too integral to my understanding of the world. And I would like to think that it does hold the potential to heal the psychic wounds of modernity by returning us to the land and creating a product in rhythm with natural processes.
Besides, what's a social gathering without wine anyways?
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