A couple of days ago the Davis family holiday letter plopped into my mailbox. I’ve come to look forward to this missive because I’m fond of the family, and because Brant, who pens the letter, is a superb writer. Like our esteemed president (the present one, not the future one, in case there was any doubt), Brant is a lawyer, and I’m coming to believe that lawyers master the language in a special way: heart felt, clear, and concise. This year’s Davis family letter left me even more moved than past year’s, because I knew from our email correspondence that Brant (like many of us) has not even begun to recover from the election, and confessed that he’d had a far more difficult time than usual finding messages of optimism with which to pepper his prose. I was inspired by Brant’s efforts, and to that end offer my own “holiday letter.”
In spite of recent political events, I can’t help but look back on 2016 as a good year. 2015 was a year of turmoil and upheaval in my professional life, and I hoped that 2016 would prove more tranquil. It has. In January, I began working for MFW Wine Company, and am extremely fortunate to have landed this position as a New York sales rep. Many new people have come into my life thanks to this job: buyers, importers, winemakers, the list goes in. It’s only been a year, but already I find it hard to conceive of my life without Ernest from Portovino, wine lover and vintage motorcycle enthusiast in Tuscany, Kate Norris and Tom Monroe of Division Winemaking Company in Portland, Jeff Russell, Annika, and Tess Drumheller, my colleagues in sales, and then my customers who make me want to offer the best service I can. To my clients: you all inspire the hell out of me. Thank you for your support.
On Friday we had our holiday party and there was much poignant speechifying. I recalled that a major reason I took the job was that I wanted to learn how to be a schnook, and to learn it not just from Mike Foulk, who I deem one of the best in the trade, but also from Michael Wheeler, a legend in his own right, someone who took an interest in me when I was a junior buyer at Astor back in 2008, someone with an apparently inherent knack for this trade. (He also brought me Riesling from Clemens Busch for the first time, as well as Equipo Navazos Sherry. He’s prescient, that man.)
If 2014 and 2015 were years of travel abroad, 2016 was a year of travel within the United States, a year to get better acquainted with this country, which strikes me as timely given how clearly divided we are as a nation. In the past, the only places I wanted to be outside of New York, were in Europe. That has changed as my knowledge of the United States has broadened, and I begin to fathom what a vast, diverse, and fascinating country we live in. And yes some of my favorite places in the America are in states that voted for Trump, and some of my least favorite places in states that voted for Hillary.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. As usual, a highlight of the year was my trip to France in April and May. I began in Champagne with Transatlantic Bubbles, and a group of fabulous buyers hand selected by Mike Carleton and Jeff Hellman, who are some of the nicest guys in the business. From Champagne, I drove to the Loire Valley, where I spent five days getting to know growers in the MFW portfolio. I circle back often to the my visits with Michel Autran, a remarkable former doctor turned vigneron in Vouvray. There are many things to love about Michel, from his wines to his kind and spiritual demeanor. I shared a fantastic meal with Michel in Tours, where we spoke about many things both professional and personal, something I now consider to be vital, thanks to Scott Frank of Bow and Arrow Wines who first planted the seed of suggestion that a true rapport goes far beyond wine. Michel gave me a bottle of 2013 Les Enfers Tranquilles to take home with me, and I drank it in my family home, in North Carolina. It’s a glorious bottle of wine, and in that moment, sipped on a humid summer night listening to the cicadas, it seemed to give form to the notion of a current, a laser beam of acid and mineral, a narrative tying together past, present, and future.
In June, Jason Malumed and I headed to Portland to visit our sister company, PDX, to spend some time with Michael Wheeler, and to get to know the terroirs of Oregon (as well as the strip clubs and marijuana dispensaries). I’d never been to Portland, and had been curious to visit for years. Portland is a civilized place; it’s a nice size (read a hellova lot smaller than New York). The countryside is beautiful; the people are nice. There are urban wineries, made possible by the proximity of the wine regions to the city itself. Some of them have wine bars in them where you can sip a glass while scoping out the winemaking equipment and processes. (How awesome is that?!?) I love the wines we sell from Oregon, which are complex, fairly priced, humble, and most importantly delicious. Thanks to Scott Frank and Chad Stock I have an entirely new view of Sauvignon Blanc, and drank thirstily from a magnum of Union School at our holiday party. Folks who have known me as an old world, cool climate wine snob respond to these changes in my taste with looks that say “who is this imposter and what has she done with my Sophie?” To which I state that I heartily enjoy changing my mind, also that the wine trade would quickly lose its luster if there weren’t new regions to learn about and become smitten by.
As much as I enjoyed touring the wine regions, my most meaningful day in Oregon was spent with a very dear school friend, hiking along the Oregon coast, and stopping to picnic by the ocean. The Pacific is a little hard to get used to for me as an east coaster, like someone behind the checkout counter in the grocery store asking how my day’s going (that doesn’t happen in New York), it’s just different. I’m used to the warm, soft Atlantic along the North Carolina coast, with its large expanses of uncovered, Coors Light sipping, country music listening flesh.
Which brings me to the most significant two weeks of the year, which were spent cleaning my family home in Saxapahaw and rescuing my patrimony. This was something I’d been putting off for years, until it couldn’t be put off any longer, until Flannery offered up a solution, which was to ask for help from my broad network of friends and loved ones. This was some of the most satisfying work I’ve ever done, and each day someone different came by to help, to chat, and to reconnect. These two weeks were life changing in their impact on my personal life and psyche. Even now as I listen through the wall between my room and Susannah’s to the dulcet tones of cheering, whistling, and rubber on hardwood floor that signal the beginning of Carolina basketball season, I find myself proud of my origins, and proud of those 30 acres of woods that are mine.
Yes there was a lot of traveling in 2016, and very little of it in Europe. I’m at over 1k words and haven’t even mentioned Montreal (I went twice this year), or the North Fork, where a group of us toured wine country on bikes. However, I’m going to end my year in review with a long weekend spent in South Dakota in October. Last post, I started to write about this as part of the political diatribe, but stopped because it just didn’t make sense. I went into the heart of a very red state, skinny black jeans, quasi-New York accent and all, prepared to suppress my political views if necessary for the sake of getting along. There are many things I remember fondly about this trip, the image of Prairie Berry Winery along the highway between Rapid City and Custer, Mount Rushmore, a national monument as breath-taking as our new world trade center, touring the back woods on a Four Wheeler, shooting a rifle, two pistols, and a crossbow. But now, in hind site, I most frequently recall a conversation I had about gun control, a conversation that helped to make real all I’d been reading about the beliefs of Americans outside of the urban, liberal bastions.
On a table in the garage, I found an issue of American Hunter. Inside there were pages of propaganda about Hillary Clinton, essentially saying she’s going to take your guns away. Then there were advertisements for Donald Trump, essentially saying he’d support the National Rifle Association, protect your second amendment rights, etc … And so I started a conversation about gun laws; I couldn’t help it. My interlocutor was coming from a South Dakota place (“My neighbors all have guns, therefore I need a gun to protect myself in case one of them comes up my driveway in the middle of the night to take all my shit! Also: I like guns. I shoot deer, a species constantly on the verge of over population, and my family and I eat all the meat we harvest.”). I was coming from a New York place (“If we didn’t have strict gun laws in this incredibly populous place I call home, all it would take is someone having a bad day for there to be fifty people dead on the subway.”) We had a conversation, and each of us learned something.
Like Brant, I don’t have much of a message of optimism at the end of this year. It looks as though we are headed for dark times, and my heart remains broken by the notion of dignity passing from the White House, making room for indignity and hateration. However, I believe that the dialogue must remain open with people who think differently. My New Years resolution, along with becoming fully pescatarian, giving up meat and poultry for good, is to seek out some Trump-ists and talk to them.
Happy holidays, and thanks for reading!