Our oldest Chardonnay
vines in winter. Dad’s
going to have to take
them out soon. I know.

you know, these vines are really
my friends. when i’m lonely they
talk to me. and when harvest
comes and the warm night air
stands very very still and almost
touches my face, if i close my eyes
and open my mouth, i can taste
the fruit and i can taste the dust
and the pale autumn light. guess
most people think i’m a little
strange—except the girls on my
soccer team. in the summer they
come up here to run and we hang
out on the verandah and play cool
stuff for the pinots and the cabs
—like bach cantatas, L7 or the
smashing pumpkins cranked up
high. of course, most people think
the girls on my team are a little
weird too but when we go to the
northern-cal finals, we’re totally
awesome. no one can touch us
—like, they don’t’ even get close!