There Will Be Toil

Alone on a western, windy hill, sitting bold among the old wheat fields, a small, determined vineyard grows, and an uncultivated life unfolds. The story of The Grande Dalles vineyard and its wine, The Uncultivated Life is our tale as newcomers in rugged wheat country starting from scratch to pound out a dream of farming and wine outside The Dalles, Oregon.

If you’re looking for a wine story with grit, look no farther. The trouble is, at this time it’s hard to tell which has been grittier: the story with all its ups and downs; the emotional toll of sticking with it and our ideas, particularly despite the gobs of naysayers who want to so quickly snuff our flame; or the ground rock in our vineyard.

So far, unlike the landscape that surrounds our vines, the story hasn’t been pretty. Rather, it’s been one of greed and deceit, of betrayal and misfortune, of sacrifice and struggle and NOT what I thought I was signing up for four loooong years back. “It’s not what I signed up for either,” chimes in Scott tersely. Honestly, neither of us expected it to be, well, like this (it’s just that Scott can handle it better).

The naysayers have been as bountiful as our inherited weeds and luckily they haven’t multiplied as quickly. In fact, there have been very few who have 100% believed in us; one key figure we’ll call Old Wise All once did, but after some well-documented turn of events, we’re unclear why (oh, you’ll hear a LOT about Old Wise All and the Wild West that still lives in eastern Oregon). Beginning with the realtor who tried to steer us away from the land we now farm, to the gentleman with whom we make our wine (who we now think is a believer? Tim?), it’s been a deep digging of resolve to keep this dream alive. Maybe it’s just that people don’t like it when you don’t follow their norm—and we don’t—if your ideas don’t match theirs. But really, how many times can one listen to people poo-poo your baby and the dreams you have for her?

Then there’s the dirt. Ground rock blown in a good 100,000 – 10,000 years ago, its minerality and depth are things Scott is thrilled about for our vines. But how this stuff gets into everything when that wind howls! Out in the Columbia Gorge, world-class windsurfing mecca and giant wind-turbine country, the wind often barrels down the basalt corridor and across the sweeping land with the thrust of a jet engine. This dirt can sneak through closed car and camper windows, sifts its way into your shoes and socks (any sweat-covered spot is a true magnet), and makes it impossible to keep anything in our camper—where we stay when we farm—clean. I don’t know how the pioneers dealt with it. I really don’t.

But we’re still here—Scott, my husband, an idealistic and strong-willed free thinker, and me, a lively enough pessimist who has been, can you tell, kicking and screaming just about the whole way. With two vintages in the barrel and our vineyard still standing, we’re now preparing for a new chapter for when we release a wine like ours into a fearful, follow-the-crowd wine industry where wine doctoring happens at every turn as it dashes toward its beloved points and scores. Should be interesting.

Besides the story, we’ll also share with you the day-to-day decisions and ideas behind our vineyard and wine, as well as my own musings as I begin to uncover “the rest of the story” that makes up the panorama of all things wine. That should be interesting too, since I’m one of those kids who would call out “The Emperor has no clothes.” But Scott will keep me in check. He’s my barometer for all things wine (and then some), candid, frank, and certain. I won’t be able to go too overboard.

Winding this post down, here’s how we’ll share our two types of content:

1. The story (feels more like a saga). This is marked by an (S) in the post headline to quickly identify it. Here you’ll find how The Grande Dalles began and all the work that’s gone into it, and of the characters we’ve encountered. There are many parts and people we’d much rather forget, but can’t—they add a certain liveliness, and their ongoing antics adds an intrigue and a “He did what?!” or “Now what?” quality that might otherwise be lacking.
2. What we really think. This is the nitty gritty that guides us in our endeavor, what makes us us. These will NOT have an (S) in their headline.

In closing, in both good and bad frames of mind—the good more and more taking over—I have to remind myself, none of this would be if it weren’t for Scott, with his unwavering drive to be who he is and make the wine he wants to make. For when I step out of the car my heart simply soars as I take in our vineyard and land that surrounds it, the rolling wheat fields, the wide, open sky, Mt. Hood, The Gorge, and The Klickitats all right there, and all the hard work and crap we’ve had to put up with simply dissipates. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because of our young son that I’m more thankful that Scott has neither given in, nor given up (I should tell him this more). Scott is the nail who refuses to be hammered down. One who stays true to his dream and vision at every step, no matter what others say. And for that, dear brothers and sisters, let me tell you, there will be toil.

Welcome to The Uncultivated Life.