by Caro Feely
On the last night of the bottling we held a celebratory barbecue with the de St Viances, the O'Briens, and the Wilsons, our friends that regularly helped with harvest time. We raised a glass to Seán's skill. The beautiful, balanced, deep wines showed the progress made in the health of the vineyard but also in Seán's winemaking confidence. I felt very proud.
Surrounded by great friends who had been part of our journey, with the smell of tomatoes roasting on rosemary branches on the barbecue and the new tasting room in the background, I felt like we were turning a corner. But to do it we had taken a great risk. On the finance front we were far from serene.
Chapter 24
Wine Adventure
For all our careful planning, we were slipping into the red. Our extras here and there had added significantly to our outgoings and we still hadn't been paid a cent of the promised aid. Seán and I pored over spreadsheets and pulled in every outstanding payment from clients. We were still short. Over a few days the pressure mounted to the point where we were snapping at each other and at Sophia and Ellie.
'Just go away!' I shouted at Seán as he slammed the door. Hearing the words and the tone, I wondered who had said it. It wasn't me! But it was; it was me that had lost control, like a scene from a nightmare. This time the girls didn't cry. They stared stony-faced, too shocked for tears.
The bottling costs hit, along with the repayment on the tractor. We had planned for them but, as with most small businesses, nothing was certain and some of the planned income we needed had not materialised. We also expected to have half the aid for the building work by then, but had yet to receive anything.
I took bookings for tours using the first Wine Lodge room that was ready, while the work continued alongside in the living section and the second room. Guests sailed through water cut-offs, noise and cursing workmen on the opposite side of the door and kept their cool despite a heatwave. The views from the lodge appeared to have a calming effect.
The full-day visit we offered wasn't called the 'Wine Adventure' for nothing. With the tiles installed I began to use the new tasting room, complete with large gaps where woodwork needed finishing around the tops of the doors – the dreaded 10 per cent. With no surrounding deck our clients had to venture across the open foundation to reach the toilet, balancing on carefully placed wood like they were playing some bizarre game of 'walk the plank'. After tasting a few wines, the game was even more fun.
Using the new tasting room for a large group for the first time that spring, though, I had an inkling of what a difference it would make to our lives. Setting the tables with white cloths, stylish cutlery and crystal tasting glasses, I felt at home. It fit like a glove.
The large room had huge panoramic windows that looked onto the vineyard and filled it with light. The high ceilings panelled with creamy poplar were lined with the structural copper-coloured Douglas fir beams, creating a wonderful colour contrast. Nested in the highest section above the main glass doors was a porthole window, panelled with strips of wood that made it look like the inside of an oak barrel. The wood and stone, combined with the chalk and hemp insulation on the walls, made for a living, breathing environment. In this new place, explaining our methods and passion for wine and organic, biodynamic farming felt even more natural and instinctive.
After walking the farm as part of the morning tour, my large group settled into the tasting room. I laid out the wine-and-food-pairing lunch and explained the different pairings. The birds were singing; the vines were waving in the breeze in the idyllic vineyard setting below. It was a haven of peace.
Just then Poc Poc, the head chicken, leaped onto the table squawking and bounced up and down the full length of it, knocking glasses flying, stomping onto plates of food and creating total havoc. There were shards of glass, cheeses with great chicken footprints in them; one guest was soaked by a flying wine glass. Chaos reigned. For a moment I was frozen, stunned, then I jumped into action, chased Poc Poc out, closed the doors, asked if everyone was alright and ran to our kitchen to call Seán. He was about to sit down to lunch with our daughters. I slammed the door to make sure none of the other marauding fowl matrons were behind me, gave a fast explanation and finished with, 'That chicken is going in the pot!'
Sophia and Ellie burst into tears. They thought I was really going to kill the chicken.
I calmed them, assuring them I would not kill the chicken, much as I felt like it. Seán and I swung into damage control. We moved all the guests into the garden, charged fresh glasses and quickly reset the table and redid the lunches. Diane, a guest staying in the Wine Cottage, lent clothes to Carolyn, the unlucky guest who was doused. They and their partners arranged to meet up later that week to visit a night market. Connections were made; guests found the whole thing rather funny; the ambiance was heightened by the hilarity of the crazy experience. I had learned my lesson, though, and the doors were kept firmly closed at lunch thereafter; our free-ranging chickens would not have an opportunity to create Chicken Chaos II.
With good TripAdvisor reviews and our growing reputation, we received more and more visitors. My day for
these full-day wine adventures began with room-preparation before the girls left for school. Each person would receive two pocket guides, one on French wine and the other on wine and food pairing, placed with a pencil and a feedback form at each table setting, along with three crystal glasses for easy wine comparison.
After dropping Sophia, Ellie and our neighbours' kids at school, I collected visitors who needed a lift from the station. With guests on site, the vineyard tour would start at 10 a.m. Back up in the tasting room an hour later we became detectives as I took them through how to wine-taste, how to pick up the nuances of a wine and then use those clues to define what the wine was and what it would pair with. A brief introduction to the principles of wine and food pairing was followed by the preparation and serving of the wine-and-food-pairing lunch so they could try it for themselves. Tasting how the more acidic Sincérité white paired better with a more acidic white goat cheese than a creamy Camembert explained the principles better than words ever could.
At that point I would race inside, down a glass of water, grab a bite to eat, share a few high-speed words with Seán then race back out to clear up and serve dessert and coffee before the afternoon tour of the winery and explanation of the winemaking. The day officially finished at 4 p.m., at which point I would return guests to the station if required and start cleaning the debris left from the day. On top of this I shoehorned the orders for wine and vine shares that arrived via the Internet, as well as the general administration and email follow-ups. My parents visited and my dad said, 'You have to slow down, Toots. You can't keep up this pace or you'll be old before your time. Dead before you reach retirement.'
I didn't tell him our Social Services Agency required us to work until we were eighty-three to get our full French pension of a few hundred euros a month, despite taking most of our income since we had arrived. I probably would be dead by then, or at least more than ready to say au revoir. At least he didn't say anything about the 'corridor of crisis', the term he had coined for our house in the early years. Now the girls were a little older, the corridor was less of a crisis.
My mum helped me serve the lunches, do the laundry and clean the gîtes. I wished they lived a little closer than Qualicum Beach, Canada: an ocean and the North American continent away.
Even with the growing success of the business we were not able to meet the project's growing demands without the aid payments. Some of the bills had been due a long time, but we strung them out some more. Monsieur Lambert, our plumbing merchant, was slow to react and for once I was delighted. Eating slabs and slabs of organic black chocolate wasn't easing the stress as much as it used to.
My life was on the edge and I felt like I was going to fall into the abyss. I was going too fast, working all hours and barely keeping it together, and all this at the price of my family life. Seán and I had another fight. I left him making soup for
supper and fled to the barn to prepare orders that needed to ship. On my return I found Seán and the girls sitting at the table, Sophia and Ellie with tears rolling down their cheeks.
'What's wrong?' I asked.
'Tell Mum what you told me. Tell Mum what it feels like, Ellie,' said Seán.
'It feels like you aren't with us anymore. We don't see you. It feels like you don't care about us anymore,' said Ellie, crying harder.
'Oh my poppet, I am so sorry,' I said leaning over to comfort her in an embrace, the tears starting to roll down my cheeks too. 'I do care, oh so much, but I feel like I am racing and still not keeping up.'
'You used to bring us hot chocolate in the morning and now you don't,' said Ellie.
'I know, my darling. I have been too busy trying to juggle all the balls for the new buildings, the gîtes, the wine tours, the wine sales,' I said.
'But we miss you, Mummy,' said Ellie, crying all the more.
'I am so sorry,' I said, my tears flowing freely. 'I miss you too.' I hugged her tight and felt like my heart would break.
In the past I would wake them with hot chocolate every morning, along with tea for Seán. I was up a couple of hours before the rest of the household to respond to emails, orders and booking requests, and to work on my book. Usually I would reach a natural break at the time they woke up. This season, with the hectic days of touring and non-stop guests, I'd never caught up, and there had been no natural break. The email was constantly full; there were not enough hours in the day. Under the intense pressure I had forgotten the small things.
'You used to read to us in bed at night,' said Sophia, who loved reading and she started to cry too.
'I know, my poppet, I am so sorry,' I said wiping more tears away and leaning over Ellie to hand Sophia a tissue.
I went round to the other side of the table to give her a tight hug and saw water welling up in Seán's eyes as he watched the scene. Until then I hadn't realised the serious impact my long hours had had on my family. We were all quiet for a moment, taking in all that had been said and trying to get control of ourselves. I gave Sophia another squeeze and returned to my seat next to Ellie and put my arms around her.
'I promise I will do better. I will bring the hot chocolate like I used to,' I said, more sobs rising up. Ellie had inherited my tendency to lose breath when crying took hold, and now we were both hiccuping and gasping for air.
'It's time for some deep breathing,' said Seán. 'Breathe in, be calm, breathe out.' We followed his routine. A few breaths in, Ellie and I exchanged a glance and burst out laughing, both finding the scene totally ridiculous at the same moment. It felt like a strange prenatal class but it did the trick. With control over my airway, I could at last say what I wanted to say next: 'Why don't we go and read a chapter of The Faraway Tree together now?' Hugging them both like bushbabies, we climbed the stairs and read together. It felt so good. I had forgotten how much fun it was to be with my daughters. I felt deeply sad, a longing as if I had lost something. In a way I had; they would never be the same age again and that time would never be recovered. I felt the tears welling up again as I put the light out. I pushed them back, not wanting to create more distress.
Descending the stairs I felt guilty too. Ellie wasn't nearly as keen a reader as Sophia. It was probably my fault for not reading with them as often as I used to.
I sat back down at the old pine table in the kitchen with Seán.
'I don't know what to do,' I said. 'I feel the weight of the financing of the project, the extra responsibility of our burgeoning tourism business, and the new Wine Lodge on my shoulders, but I have to keep doing all the other things like the admin, the wine sales and marketing, then order preparation.'
'I know. But we have to remember family is the priority.'
'But what can I do? I am working all possible hours and not coping,' I said.
'Maybe we need to hire someone part-time.'
'We aren't in a financial position for that and you seem to be forgetting the horror stories we have heard.'
Seán was right. We had close friends who had lost more money on one bad hiring than we had made in six years. Employment law in France was heavily weighted in favour of the employee. We had also heard that the bureaucracy alone could drive you mad; that the employer had to fill out nine different forms every month for each employee. We were too frightened of the bureaucracy and the risk to seriously consider it.
'You have to start saying no to tour requests,' said Seán. 'You have to prioritise.'
'But it brings in good revenue and I really enjoy it,' I said.
'I know you do. You can still do it. You just have to choose the right ones to do. Maybe you should say no to working on Sunday,' said Seán. I was about to reply when Seán put his hand up to stop me. 'All I know is that those two little girls need you. I can only do so much for them. They need their mother.'
With those words he started off a fresh flood of tears. I felt like I was pulled in every direction, but I had to put the priority on my family. Seemingly small things like hot chocolate in the morning and goûter, the afternoon snack when they got home, and reading together at night were necessary. I needed to call a halt before I drowned and took them with me. The following night I had a nightmare: Dora was attacked by a fox. I saw her thrown into the air. Her spine appeared to be broken but, in the weird dream conditions, I wasn't sure if she was OK or not. I had to get to Saint-Émilion to meet clients. I didn't have contact numbers so I couldn't call to tell them I was delayed and had to go. Not knowing exactly what was happening to Dora I left, taking our only car, so Seán had no vehicle to take Dora to the vet. When I got home Seán and the two girls just shook their heads at me. Dora had died.
I woke up feeling horrible. In the 5.30 a.m. darkness I made my way downstairs, feeling intensely responsible for what happened. It was so real I almost couldn't believe Dora was lying safely in her bed. She looked up at me with her beautiful trusting eyes, brown honeycombed with gold, snuggled down and went back to sleep. It was a message. Family was more important than work.
I was about to push myself into working another full weekend for clients that would provide a large chunk of money towards the never-ending drain of the new buildings, when Seán told me to stop. I had not had a day off or a Sunday with my family in months. I was so focused on keeping the bank balance out of the red I was not taking into account the effect it was having. I had lost my sense of balance. I took Seán's advice and when the clients asked to change a key part of the programme I had proposed I took it as an opportunity to bow out of the booking before it went any further. Fortunately they hadn't confirmed with a deposit yet. I withdrew as delicately as possible and resolved to start saying no to Sunday bookings.
A new kind of tourism was becoming fashionable – using a GPS (Global Positioning System) to find a place where a box of 'treasure' was hidden. Once they found the box, the finder would exchange that 'treasure' for another 'treasure'. This could be as simple as a key ring or a corkscrew. The most famous website for it was called 'Geocaching'.
Spring and Simon had seen it working well in New Zealand. It was a good way to bring tourists to our farm and could generate sales at the chateau door. They had set up a GPS 'treasure box' on the farm and we had sold two six-packs to happy hunters the autumn they were with us. This summer the visitors to the GPS box had changed, though: they came, found and left. They did not take the time to look at the farm or to taste the wines. Our beloved chickens were entering their fifth season, very old for chickens. The matriarch Poc Poc had aged significantly in the previous two months and her days of sowing chaos in the tasting room were over. She would settle in a sunny spot on cool days or in a shady spot on hot days and have a little nap, like an old lady on a bench in the village. One day a group of GPS treasure-hunters parked their minibus in our car park as I served the Saussignac dessert wine with some Roquefort. They went off to search, returned having found the box and exchanged the treasure, got into their car an
d took off. Unbeknown to everyone, our pet and egg-layer Poc Poc was by then napping in the shade of a wheel. It hit her and she took off clucking. After a few paces she fell in a heap, mortally wounded and Blanchette, her friend, rushed up and jumped on her in a final embrace. I saw the catastrophe unfold from the window of the tasting-room kitchen, screamed and ran outside crying. I hadn't realised quite how much I cared for her until that moment.
The bus stopped and heads looked back. They were aware of what they had done but did not return to apologise. I was more horrified by their irresponsibility in driving away than by the act itself. I knew it had been a mistake, horrible as it was.
Drawn outside by the commotion, Sophia and Ellie saw the pile of rumpled feathers splattered with blood and burst into tears. I herded them inside, yelling for Seán. He sprinted from the hangar.
With a group of guests, my show had to go on so I tried to get a grip. I had just witnessed our pet go from living out her last days pecking happily to lifeless in one swift press of an accelerator. I felt like going inside and howling with Sophia and Ellie but I cleaned off my tears to serve dessert and coffee and give a controlled explanation of what made Saussignac dessert wines unique. After saying farewell to my guests I walked purposefully down to the tree where the 'treasure' was hidden, removed the box then removed the entry from the GPS treasure website. Alongside prioritising my family, we had to limit what we did to bring clients to the chateau door. After that experience I decided this was one to strike off the list.
