Everyone loves wine for different reasons, and everyone has a unique relationship to it.
Show me a culture that doesn’t celebrate the good things in this short life by gathering together to eat and drink, and I’ll show you the on-off switches hidden behind their ears.
The connection that wine makes between our hearts is not ours to control. Rather, we are compelled by something tangled inside wine, our ancient relationship to it, and the farming life that was our not-so-distant collective past.
At the end of each summer, we repeat actions that have been carried out ever since we can remember, actions that still carry the seed of their original purpose: to take care of ourselves, our families, and those whom we are bound to by circumstance and serendipity.
Starting last week, people all over the Northern Hemisphere are rising before dawn and returning to the fields to harvest the rewards of a season’s worth of work among the vines. This year’s vintage is being forged as we speak. While most of us, including yours truly, are as distant from that harvest as we are to the steers that supplied the nice rib eye we seared last night. The bottles we have shoved above the refrigerator, under the stairs, or in the 2000 bottle walk-in cooling unit are part of a story that began before us, and which will continue as long as there is some small patch of ground that can support a vine.
So when that bottle appears from nowhere to be opened by unfamiliar hands, and when strangers come bearing gifts of early vintages, it is worth remembering how lucky we are to have discovered this thing we love called wine.
2010-12-22 20:37 编辑：kuaileyingyu