Glass Half Full
Page 1
Praise for Glass Half Full:
'Caro Feely is a force of nature! Her new book Glass Half Full tells the story of her family's adventure to live, love and make healthy, natural wine on their small vineyard in France. Caro draws the reader into her world with its all of its challenges, triumphs and heartaches.'
Mike Veseth, author of Wine Wars and Extreme Wine and editor of The Wine Economist
'A brave and compelling tale about a gnarly life in the vines and the choices we frail humans make in our emotional journeys.'
Alice Feiring, author and journalist
'Honest and touching. Caro Feely gives us the real thing, not only living the dream of making great wine in France but the stress and work required while raising a family and holding a marriage together. And at the same time, she has produced a hugely readable, persuasive and informative book on organic wine-making, and why we need to heal our soil and change the way we farm.'
Martin Walker, bestselling author of Bruno, Chief of Police series
Praise for Saving Our Skins:
'Earnest and winning… sincere and passionate'
Eric Asimov, New York Times Book Review
'Caro Feely has written a careening memoir in Saving Our Skins. So impassioned that it could inspire you to drop all security, move to the backwaters of France, and bet your life, all for the love of making wine.'
Alice Feiring, author and journalist
'Should be required reading for anyone who loves wine! Even a teetotaller will drink up every page of Saving Our Skins, for the fascinating behind-the-scenes of organic farming. Making good wine is truly a labour of love and respect for the earth – often, we learn, at the expense of the wine farmer. Caro takes us along in her grape-stained pocket to experience the picking, the pressing, and the profit questioning: can her family afford to continue making natural wine? We quickly turn the pages, eager to find out – and we can't help but root for Caro et compagnie as they creatively keep on top of things, namely a precious heap of grapes!'
Kristin Espinasse, author of French Essais, Blossoming in Provence and Words in a French Life
'In Saving Our Skins, Caro's courage and determination leaps off every page, redefining what it means to be brave when you're at the mercy of the weather, uncertain cashflow and endless, often puzzling, French bureaucracy. Caro has produced a beautifully written sequel which in turn seduced and terrified me about the prospect of owning an organic vineyard in rural France. I thoroughly enjoyed the urgency of her writing – I needed a rather large glass of wine when I'd finished. Bravo, Caro.'
Samantha Brick, author and journalist
'Caro Feely understands that winemaking is an art, a science and a business. Saving Our Skins entertains and informs as it tells the story of her family's struggle to make a living making organic and biodynamic wine in the south of France. Required reading for wine lovers everywhere and anyone dreaming a vineyard dream.'
Mike Veseth, author of Wine Wars and Extreme Wine and editor of The Wine Economist
Praise for Grape Expectations:
'Captivating reading for anyone with dreams of living in rural France.'
Destination France
'I was moved and delighted by this book, which has vast and useful amounts to say about wine and the passion of wine-making, about France and the great adventure of family life, and above all about the trials and challenges that build a marriage… splendid book.'
Martin Walker, bestselling author of the Bruno, Chief of Police series
'Really liked Caro's book; it's not the usual fall in love with France story, it's warts and all – including horrific accidents! Definitely the best – and most realistic – tome coming from the 'A Year in Provence' genre.'
Joe Duffy, Irish radio personality
'bright, passionate, inspiring, informative and absolutely delicious'
Breadcrumb Reads blog
'Filled with vivid descriptions of delicious wines, great food… a story of passion, dedication, and love'
Bookalicious Travel Addict blog
ALSO BY CARO FEELY
Grape Expectations
Saving Our Skins
Wine: The Essential Guide to Tasting, History, Culture and More
GLASS HALF FULL
Copyright © Caro Feely, 2017
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, nor transmitted, nor translated into a machine language, without the written permission of the publishers.
Caro Feely has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Condition of Sale
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Summersdale Publishers Ltd
46 West Street
Chichester
West Sussex
PO19 1RP
UK
www.summersdale.com
eISBN: 978-1-78685-142-0
Substantial discounts on bulk quantities of Summersdale books are available to corporations, professional associations and other organisations. For details contact general enquiries: telephone: +44 (0) 1243 771107, fax: +44 (0) 1243 786300 or email: enquiries@summersdale.com.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Caro Feely can usually be found juggling vineyard, wine school, accommodation and writing deep in south-west France. She and husband Seán produce wine and much of their own food, with the help of their daughters Sophia and Ellie, on their certified organic farm. No matter what she is juggling, at the end of the day, one hand usually has a glass (half full) of wine in it.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
This is a true story. However, some names and the order of events have been changed for privacy and for the flow of the story. Speech is based on memory and seeks to capture the essence of the moment.
In memory of Peta-Lynne 'Blossom', our beloved Mum Feely
This is a story about the ebb and flow of life and love, of living and dying, a shout for the earth, for nature, for us and our future
It doesn't matter if the glass is half full or half empty – there is always room for more wine.
Anonymous
CONTENTS
Part 1: Fire and Fruit
Chapter 1: Hail the Destroyer
Chapter 2: Harvest Thrills
Chapter 3: Hunting Black Gold
Chapter 4: Orange Eggs
Part 2: Air and Flowers
Chapter 5: Chance Meetings in the Time of Flowering
Chapter 6: Golden Wedding
Chapter 7: Mothering and Memory
Chapter 8: Take Ten Deep Breaths
Chapter 9: Cancer Up Close
Part 3: Water and Leaves
Chapter 10: Language and Philosophic Challenges
Chapter 11: Powerful Herbs and Dancing Bees
Chapter 12: Blossom and Honey
Chapter 13: Growing Pains
Part 4: Earth and Roots
Chapter 14: Orange Wine and a New Era
Chapter 15: One Yogi and Five Tibetans
Chapter 16: Back to Our Roots
Chapter 17: Seeking Equilibrium
Message from the Author
Acknowledgements
PART 1
FIRE AND FRUIT
Nature… has more votes, a longer memory, and a sterner sense of justice than we do.
Wendell Berry
CHAPTER 1
HAIL THE DESTROYER
Lemon-coloured reflections skittered ac
ross the table as I lifted the glass to my nose to check the aroma. Satisfied, I poured two more tasting samples and handed the glasses to Christophe and Seán. They sniffed, swirled and sniffed again.
'How do you make this wine?' Christophe asked after tasting and aiming an expert jet into the spittoon, the motion coming as naturally to him as it did to us.
'Oh, easy,' said Seán. He laughed and his solid six-foot-two body reverberated. I knew how that laugh felt when I had an arm resting on his shoulders: it rolled through him. I hadn't felt that in a long time. We didn't have time to sit together – or, if we did, it was on opposite sides of our large kitchen table to talk business. Now his laughter spread as we shared the conspiratorial humour of knowing how much work went into making wine.
Seán lifted his head, his face framed by a mane of wavy hair, streaked blond from working in the sun, and by his stubble, worn to mark the start of harvest, displaying a dash of salt and pepper I hadn't noticed before.
'We follow a simple process: harvest, press, cold stabilise, rack, ferment, rack the finished wine into a new vat with the fine lees, mature for six months then into the bottle.'
He ran through the steps; simple, swift words masking how complex and physically demanding the process was. Each step included a myriad of decisions. As the winegrower and winemaker at each point, our senses were taking in information and processing it to make the right decisions. For example, in the first step of the harvest, in making the call about when to harvest, we analysed the grapes for sugar level and acidity but, more importantly, we walked through the vineyard tasting grapes. Our senses took in taste, texture, colour, tannins. We considered each part of the grape individually – skin, pulp and seeds – but also the grape as a whole.
'Simple, like we do with our dry Riesling,' said Christophe.
I smiled knowing their 'simple' was not the average person's 'simple'.
'What do you call this wine?' he asked.
'Sincérité,' said Seán, holding up the bottle, showing the name and logo, an embossed mosaic three-way spiral called a triskell.
'I like the names you have given to the wines,' said Christophe. 'More interesting than putting a varietal on it like we do in Germany.'
'But for wine lovers it's easier if the varietal is clear and on the front,' I said. 'Most people buy wine based on the varietal.'
'It's crazy that there are more than a thousand grape varietals and the majority of wine drinkers only know and buy the top few,' said Seán. 'Bang goes our biodiversity.'
The room was quiet for a moment. Outside, vine-covered hills ran into the distance, filling the expansive windows. Inside, walls of limestone and a ceiling of poplar and oak enclosed the scene, bringing a sense of solidity and calm. But it was harvest time, impossible to feel calm.
After spitting I looked up out of the window again and saw a small thunderhead in the distance. It spread like a charcoalcoloured duvet being shaken over the blue sky then hung still for a few moments before growing and moving closer, its dark grey curves plumping out as if being spread by an unseen giant. I felt a tinge of fear.
'The taste is our terroir,' said Seán, seemingly oblivious to the storm cloud. 'We take what it gives us. I shepherd what nature provides rather than "making" wine. With our natural farming, the wine reflects the limestone that underpins our vineyard; you taste the ancient seabed in the glass. If you lick the roof of your mouth you'll find a hint of salinity, like a sea breeze.'
'Hmm, yes, I see what you mean,' said Christophe.
Seán's description transported me back to a visit years before when a Loire Valley winegrower had sparked our dream to go wine-farming in France. We had planned and saved for almost a decade. After years of searching, we found our vineyard, the one we were looking on to now. It had been in liquidation, a 'fire sale'. We told ourselves it had potential but we had to look beyond the rotten shutters, un-trellised vineyards, rusted fences and mouse infestation. Seán returned from his fact-finding visit and said, 'It looks like the vineyards of the premier grand cru classés we visited in St-Émilion.'
We were idiots without a clue but, after tasting the wines and seeing the views, we were smitten, our rational selves swept away by an unaccountable force, a passion, a deep need to grow and make our own wine. We sold up, left our jobs and put everything into the failing farm. Since that shaky beginning, we had farmed organically and it showed. The Sauvignon Blanc was clean and carried notes of grapefruit, gooseberry and lemon on the cool undertow of limestone.
'We harvested the Sauvignon Blanc this morning,' said Seán.
'What was it like?' said Christophe.
'Smooth,' replied Seán.
They were men of few words.
'It's rare for it to be smooth,' I added. 'Simple; yes. Smooth; no.'
They laughed.
'Every year we're guaranteed some breakdown and the expensive repairs that go with it,' I said. 'We need to re-equip but that will cost a fortune.'
'I know the feeling,' said Christophe, whose family owned a vineyard. 'It's a juggling act.'
I pushed the thought of machinery breakdown out of my mind and opened the La Source red, a classic St-Émilion-style blend of Merlot, Cabernet Franc and Cabernet Sauvignon. As I poured, the room darkened, as if following the change in colour in the wine. We gathered close to the windows, fascinated. The cloud mass grew larger with each second, the initial dark bank expanding like a tidal wave rolling in slow motion across the sky and throwing the room into darkness as if night was falling. The top of the almond tree in front of the tasting room began to thrash, then the lower level cherries and hazelnuts followed. I felt a shiver of dread and saw a similar thought on Seán's face.
The poplars on the driveway began to swirl like mops shaken by angry cleaners. A few large dark circles splatted on the terrace outside. I felt anxiety rising and tried to calm myself. It will be OK – it's only rain. As if hearing my internal voice, the wind upped the ante, thrashing the trees more ferociously and making the vines on the hillside dance like dervishes. With each passing second the drama notched up like a Wagner symphony. The first hailstones clattered on the terrace and I felt a cold bolt of adrenalin.
My attention was drawn to a car pulling in alongside the tasting room. Michael and Lisa, architect and artist from London, were regular guests to the Wine Lodge. I waved from the window, not chancing going out into the violent weather. They waited a few minutes, hoping the storm would ease. It got worse. They threw caution to the wind and raced inside. We kissed hello and I introduced them to Christophe.
'I'd better get you over to the Lodge before it really comes down,' I said, taking the Lodge keys from the counter, delighted to have something to take my mind off the brewing disaster.
'What does this mean for the harvest?' shouted Michael as we stepped into the maelstrom. I could barely hear him above the noise of the storm.
'I don't know. We have to wait and see,' I yelled. 'Be careful you don't slip.'
In the few seconds crossing the uncovered section of timber deck from the tasting room to the Lodge we were soaked. I opened the door and hung on to it with all my strength to stop the wind giving it a life of its own.
'Bonne installation! Happy settling in. I'll be back with a gift bottle of wine when the storm eases. Cross your fingers that it isn't too destructive!' I shouted, laughed hysterically, then forced the door closed behind me, the wind like a magnet, keeping it from closing then throwing it forward, so it took all my power to stop it from slamming.
A pile of hail had gathered at the door of the tasting room. I felt a jolt of panic for our future – something I had felt many times since we had given up relatively secure city jobs for farming in south-west France. I steeled myself, pulled the tasting-room door open and rushed in before I got any wetter.
It felt safer inside the protective capsule of glass, stone and wood, but I felt dizzy with worry. We had only harvested the Sauvignon Blanc, about a tenth of our harvest. The rest was still on the vines a
nd not quite ready. My brain flipped through potential outcomes. The only acceptable one was for the hail to stop.
Hail was more frequent than it had been a decade before. Global warming was creating unstable weather, including more storms, and farmers like us were experiencing it up close. I felt my stomach twist with worry.
Seán was going through the motions of the tasting, trying to ignore the unfolding disaster. The darkest part of the storm was still the other side of Saussignac but it was only a matter of minutes before it hit us full on. There was nothing we could do. Seán commented on this aroma and that tannin, what he had done in the vineyard and in the winery. It was like making small talk while watching a car crash.