Saving Our Skins

by Caro Feely

  There were six categories in the 'best of' awards and we had entered for two. The first one passed with nothing doing. When the final category for the night, Sustainable Wine Tourism Practices, was announced I felt excitement and butterflies in my stomach.

  The third place was announced and it wasn't us; then second place. I was deeply disappointed, certain we couldn't be the winner. I had hoped to be a finalist, thinking this was why we had been asked for wine samples. There was a barrel roll but I was barely listening.

  The red envelope was handed to the presenter; she opened it, looked out at the crowd and called our name.

  Nat mouthed congratulations and I leapt to my feet, tears pricking my eyes, not expecting the emotion that the award unleashed. I climbed the steps onto the red-carpet podium, my heart hammering with excitement and adrenalin pumping through me. Keeping the tears at bay long enough to make a credible speech, I accepted the trophy. I hadn't realised just how much recognition of our work would mean to me.

  Pitted against the top of the top estates, including certified organic grands crus classés with pockets so deep anything was possible, we had the gold. I called Seán, wishing he was with me. We were tiny, but our passion and conviction had won the judges over. They had evaluated the written submissions but had also booked a visit under cover to make their assessment. Looking back over the visitors we had had during the window in which the judges had made their assessments, we were sure that it was Seán who had taken the visit.

  Seán didn't like doing visits; he was shy and reclusive, avoiding crowds at all costs. Seán's ultimate nightmare was a cocktail party or networking event, whereas I had been known as the 'queen of networking' by my old colleagues in Dublin. The award proved he could handle visits well, more than well. The cherry on the cake was that he had hosted it in French.

  Sharing our wines with the glittering crowd at the reception afterwards, I wished I had a microphone to record the compliments for Seán. We had worked like crazy and taken risks but, as Goethe had predicted, the universe was working with us.

  After six years of nagging, our local bakery produced their first organic baguette that October. It quickly became a staple of the range and represented a small triumph for me. Meanwhile, my stress-busting cherry dark-chocolate treat that had partnered me through the first years had gone missing. I looked in every supermarket but the 'touche de sérénité' had disappeared. It was a blessing, though, since it wasn't certified organic and my shopping ethic meant I would have had to stop buying it anyway.

  And then, in my birthday presents, I found a delicately wrapped packet of handmade organic black chocolate encrusted with cherries. Seán had dried cherries from our garden back in May and then coated them in divine darkness. They were beyond delicious and touched my heart. The thought, planning, time and skill that went into it showed his love more powerfully than anything.

  Two weeks later Luke, a down-to-earth Canadian, arrived to help for a few weeks. Strong and fit, with dark curly hair and beard and a happy smile that made you want to smile with him, he was just what we needed. He was a friend of a friend; a twenty-something with a sense of humour, no fear of hard work and a deeply ecological ethos. With him and Ian Wilson, our friend from Pécharmant, we prepared to press the reds. Now that we saved our grape skins for Naomi, the job had become significantly more labour-intensive and we needed extra hands.

  After a morning of pressing we loaded the wagon with skins and made our way to Miaudoux, Gérard's farm where we dried the marc. With spades and muscles we dug the grape skins from the trailer and moved them to the drying trays. About three hours later, Thierry arrived to check how things were going. We introduced him to Luke and they struck an instant rapport.

  'So how's it going, Luke?' said Thierry. 'Can't wait to see the back end of this trailer? Seen enough grapes to last you a lifetime in one afternoon?'

  We all laughed.

  'I'm loving it,' said Luke picking a skin out of his hair.

  'You are special, then,' said Thierry. 'Looking for a job next year?'

  'Hey, ce sont nous les premiers!' We get first dibs! said Seán.

  Luke was such a keen worker and got on so well with Thierry that when Thierry arrived back with a load as we left, he stayed on to help.

  Sitting on the wagon behind the tractor as Seán drove us back to Terroir Feely, I reflected on the previous three years. Thierry had been invaluable in advancing our opportunity with Naomi. Her grape skin purchases had provided a new revenue stream that had saved our skins at a critical moment. We still didn't know if the aid money was certain. Although we had been paid half, if we didn't meet the final accessibility test, or if our effluent system did not meet the requirements, we would have to return it.

  We still had to find a way to cope with the extra demands of our growing tourism business, the new Wine Lodge and the tasting room that was busier each year with the rising reputation of our wines. But it was a good problem to have and we had reached a level that meant we didn't have to worry about how we would pay the social charges each month or buy a pair of shoes when the girls outgrew the ones they were in.

  Through a few lucky breaks and a lot of hard work we had turned our barely viable vineyard into a successful organic and biodynamic farm where we could share our ethos. We have decades of ideas for permaculture, biodynamics, beautification and eco-friendly living, and I feel compelled to tell people about the implications of chemical farming. Often I feel that the world is in a deep sleep, unaware or unwilling to face the dangers of pesticides, herbicides and systemic fungicides until the level of cancer or one of the other diseases they cause becomes like the plague of the Middle Ages; or until the impact of air pollution becomes so bad that we can't breathe. Each time someone walks away from our farm changed, with a new perspective on these important issues, it fills me with hope. Like the renaissance of our farm, it gives me renewed energy.

  We clattered into the courtyard of Terroir Feely and Ian and I jumped off the wagon to wash the tools. As we worked we chatted about this and that. I found that when I talked to Ian even about mundane things I discovered things about myself. He was like a guru.

  With the tools cleaned, we found Seán starting a vine-wood fire for our barbecue planned for that evening. His new barbecue apparatus was an old oil barrel welded onto steel legs complete with shelves where he needed them and enough space to burn entire vine trunks and cook for large groups of friends and family. Ad's welding training was coming in handy in all sorts of ways. We had discovered the joys of barbecuing on vines years before, on that fateful visit to France when the seed of our dream was sown; it brought a delicious fruity touch. Seán had placed the barbecue barrel far from the new tasting room and lodge, because, beautiful as they were, they were now a work zone for us.

  The two new buildings were working out even better than we had planned. We had more visitors than ever and, with the additional footfall from the publication of Grape Expectations, direct sales were flying. It was great, but now, at the end of the season, we felt relieved that peace lay ahead; I was looking forward to the calm of winter.

  Seán left Ian to watch over the fire in the company of a large glass of wine and took a shower while I set off to collect the girls from school on foot. When the weather was good we avoided the car, turning to walking or cycling instead. After the day of digging grapes I needed to stretch out. As we walked back along the road from Saussignac to our farm I felt wonder at the beauty around me and at my lovely daughters. No matter how many times I walked that serpentine road it filled me with joy; it was the same but different, colours changing with the seasons, with the weather. Now that I regularly walked it with Sophia and Ellie it meant even more to me. We would share stories about the day, pick a dandelion from the roadside, run with Dora, laugh at a wisecrack from Ellie or her friend Alane. It was bliss. Instead of a harassed rush up in the car to jostle with the other parents for a parking space, I could enjoy the fresh air and the company of my daughters.
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br />   With the girls home, I showered then went to join Ian. The seating area around the barbecue was a mishmash of chairs, a beer crate turned over, a broken bench waiting to be fixed and two old plastic sunloungers from the Wine Cottage that had broken in a storm and been replaced with smarter FSC-approved wooden loungers. Seán cracked a bottle of Feely méthode traditionelle and poured for us. We clinked glasses and toasted the day's work.

  Now that the red vats were drained and the skins were dried, the work in the winery would drop off. Seán would move on to vineyard maintenance, spraying the biodynamic 500 preparation on the vineyard before it got too cold, and preparing for pruning. Nature's cycle, with its comforting rhythm that governed our lives, would start again.

  Ian's wife Brigit and daughter Chiara arrived as Thierry dropped Luke back to us. I ran inside for more glasses and home-made elderflower cordial with sparkling water for the girls. With the sparkle added it became their special treat in tall plastic wine glasses, as good as our real champagne. Seán poured some more méthode traditionelle and Thierry took the smallest, saying he needed to get home. We toasted the vintage, taking in the gorgeous autumn evening and company of friends.

  After chatting for a while Thierry knocked back what was left in his glass, said his goodbyes, looked meaningfully at Seán and said 'Luke, remember to call me about that job offer for next year!' He cracked up and took off, leaving us laughing in his wake.

  The duck breast was nearing perfection on the barbecue so Seán threw two great handfuls of rosemary into the fire. The herb's essential oils rose up in flames, searing the meat; Seán was our master chef and duck was his speciality. After piling our plates with home-grown courgettes, potatoes, tomatoes and the succulent duck, we tucked in. Murmurs of appreciation echoed around the new barbecue nook set on the white limestone laid by Mr Jegu outside the new hangar that Seán and Ad had completed a few weeks before, another phase of the ongoing renovations. Seán was becoming sustainability personified, growing most of our food and all of our drink. Our neglected relationship had weathered the stresses of a frosted vintage and a significant building project, boding well for the future. With nurturing, I knew we would get it back to full health, bring back the zing.

  While I cleared up, Seán finished off the construction of a bonfire he had made between the hangar and his new potager. Brigit and Ian moved the makeshift chairs closer and Seán set the bonfire alight as the cool night closed in. Luke fetched my guitar from inside and struck up a Neil Young tune. He was good. We all listened,

  soaking in the sound and the starry night, warmed by the fire. Sophia and Ellie were transfixed.

  But not for long: they hadn't forgotten that there were marshmallows to be cooked. Luke took a break from the guitar to partake in the soft pink treats and I sat down gingerly on the broken bench next to Ian.

  'So how's it going, Caro?' he asked as Sophia passed him a toasted marshmallow. 'Have you found Zen?'

  I roared with laughter. I was hyper; Seán was Zen. It was going to take me a while longer to find it but I was getting closer. I didn't wake up with a racing heart panicking about our future like I had done in the early years. I had found that picking berries at dawn was definitely better than any argument. Moments like that, and this one around the bonfire, brought me a deep sense of peace. I looked over at Seán and we exchanged a conspiratorial glance. I had an inkling that, like sharing what we had learnt about agriculture, finding Zen would be part of our next adventure.

  What Can You Do to Ensure a Healthy Future?

  Every ecological gesture makes a difference: not using the car and taking the bike instead; choosing organic (ideally black) chocolate over the big-brand bar.

  Give yourself a big pat on the back each time you:

  • Buy certified organic produce, from food to cotton, or grow something organic. Even in an apartment an organic window box of herbs can offer joy. Demand organic everything everywhere, from your coffee shop and restaurant to your supermarket. This is the most important step to save our water, the bees and ourselves. I feel so good when I buy organic. I know deep in my heart that it is really doing good; not just for me and my body but for the producer, the land and our water supply.

  • Bike or walk instead of driving a short distance, or use public transport instead of your car for the longer ones. Find a way to work exercise into your commute: good for you, your pocket and the planet. Since we started walking or riding bikes to school together, Sophia, Ellie and I are not only fitter but we have fun doing it.

  • Say no to packaging that is unnecessary. Choose glass and paper over plastic. By not buying overpackaged products we stop them being produced.

  • Make a plan to change your environment in every possible way, from reducing the heat control a few degrees in winter to improving your insulation and installing solar or other energy-efficient solutions.

  • Try cooking from scratch. Simple food made from good ingredients tastes better and is healthier than complicated food from bad ingredients, and can be just as quick. 'More chopping, less shopping.' It seems like work but when you get into the groove of making it part of your day, a chance to unwind and enjoy listening to music or chatting and working together, it becomes a precious moment rather than a chore.

  • Stay in touch with nature. A walk or run in a park or forest, taking a moment to look around at the incredible beauty of plants, trees and sky, even in the rain, is like a tonic. It reminds us that the world is worth protecting. A moment outside in the fresh air brings perspective like nothing else.

  To feel the urge to take action we need to understand why it is imperative to do so. A few books and films I recommend on this quest are:

  • Organic Manifesto: How Organic Food Can Heal Our Planet, Feed the World, and Keep Us Safe by Maria Rodale

  • Food, Inc., the documentary film and the book

  • Fast Food Nation, the book by Eric Schlosser

  • The documentary films Food Matters and Hungry for Change

  • Vanishing of the Bees, another documentary film (a French documentary equivalent if you can understand French is Le mystère de la disparition des abeilles)

  Join me on Facebook (Terroir Feely) and Twitter (@carofeely) for updated recommendations.

  Each of us can make change happen. Together we become an ever more powerful force. We don't have to wait for government to legislate change. The death of farmers like Yannick Chenet and the rampant increase in cancer, especially among children, must not go unheeded; they must instead serve to raise the alarm.

  I invite you to join our mailing list at www.feelywines.com; like us on Facebook (Terroir Feely); email me at caro@feelywines.com; visit us for a tour (www.frenchwineadventures.com); or come and stay with us (www.luxurydordognegites.com).

  We look forward to connecting online and to seeing you in the Dordogne. Thanks for joining us on our journey!

  À bientôt et merci, Caro

  Acknowledgements

  Writing a memoir is a wonderful journey, a way to relive the original voyage. I am deeply grateful to clients, friends and supporters that have been part of our vineyard adventure, both on these pages and beyond. Thank you also to the readers of Grape Expectations, especially those who took the time to write to me and to put reviews on their favourite book website. Their compliments offered enormous motivation to write the sequel. Thanks to inspirational winegrower friends like Clément and Francine Klur and Thierry and Isabelle Daulhiac, and to the winegrowers we visited in France and internationally, for sharing their wisdom so freely.

  Special thanks to our wonderful friends Ad and Lijda van Sorgen, Pierre and Laurence de St Viance, Ian and Brigit Wilson, Dave and Amanda Moore, aka Mr Greedy and Mrs Picky, the Naked Vignerons, all of whom were part of the adventure and have encouraged and helped us so much along the way.

  Thank you to helping hands and lucky breaks offered by Helen and Derek Melser, Spring Webb, Simon Golding, Chandra Clarke, Jordan Forsyth, Luke Moyer, Ulrika, Laura Bolt and Ni
all Martin.

  To Thomas de Conti and Sébastian Bouché for their beautiful buildings and contribution to this book, merci! My deep gratitude also goes to Naomi Whittel for her part in the story and in our adventure.

  A big thank you to the team at Summersdale and especially to Jen Barclay; those pressured last-minute suggestions by a skilled editor make all the difference. Thank you to Ray Hamilton for the thorough final edit with a few good laughs included. Thanks to Anna Martin, my in-house Summersdale editor, and to Lucy Davey for the beautiful cover design. Thanks to Nicky Douglas and Dean Chant for their marketing work.

  Thanks to Greg Joly, chairman of the Goodlife Center Publishing Committee and chairman of the board of the Goodlife Center, to Warren and the Goodlife Center for the use of the Nearings' quote. The Nearings' books provided great inspiration to us when we first thought of leaving the city to create a more self-sufficient life.