Last year, I went to Tres Suenos Winery, and harvested and stomped grapes. This weekend, I got the bottle of that wine.
They call it Chateau L'Feet. Yes, we stomped a few gallons of grapes in the bottom of a 50 gallon drum. I call it Baby Toes, because of a little boy, who was fine stomping, until he realized that he was IN a 50 gallon drum. And it was taller than he was, and he couldn't see anything but grapes and mommy's knees. He started screaming, so they took him out of the drum. He stomped all the way up the side, still having fun, I think, but just a little scared with claustrophobia in the drum. Who can blame his cute little toes? Not me.
"You aren't gonna drink that, are you?" several people asked. Some of them were grossed out by the thought, as if the fact that my feet, and the feet of many others touched those grapes, and it might taste of feet. Some of them were sounding wistful, as if they would take it and drink it if I didn't want it. The idea is the same. Did I have plans to just let the bottle sit some more, or was I planning to drink it?
I honestly don't know yet. I was planning on drinking it. The BOTTLE is what is important to me. The label has MY NAME on it. This wine was helped by ME, and the bottle was labeled just for ME. The bottle will end up as a centerpiece on a shelf of my bottle collection. I think it would be a dirty shame NOT to drink the wine I helped create. A full bottle of wine is heavy, and the shelf will be heavy enough with all those glass bottles on it.
I pondered God last year, about vines and the vinedresser, and the harvest and how it all was used as a "flannelgram" to teach the church about God's care for His people. This year, I ponder the wine. The waiting. The Becoming.
I wonder how wine was made in Bible times. Didn't they generally squish the grapes by walking in them? Doesn't the age and the fermentation take care of whatever icky stuff was hanging on? Basically, the fact that it is alcohol should kill any germs from any feet in the grapes, right?
When Jesus turned water into wine, I have to believe it was good stuff. The host of the party said it was good, and he wondered why the best stuff was saved for the end of the party. Seems they usually served good stuff to get you happily drunk, and then switched to the cheap stuff, because after you are drunk, you really don't care what you drink, as long as the glasses keep getting filled. Having never been drunk, I have no idea if this is so. I just know what I like, and usually wine isn't it.
The winemakers are a family of God-believing people. They are genuinely nice. They treat their growers with courtesy and respect. They follow the laws of the land, and check the I.D.'s provided by their visitors. They have a fair business, and they make impressive wines, award winning wines. I didn't realize how much I liked sweet wines until I tasted the dry wines they offer. (Ugh. Dry is just too tart for me.) And I didn't ever think I would have a "favorite" wine, knowing how much I detest grape juice in general. Some days, getting through communion on Sunday is tough. And that is one thimble full of Welch's 100% Grape. Usually purple, Concord grape juice. And more often than not, on the verge of being wine (or maybe vinegar is a closer description). Yuck.
Whenever this might happen, I do plan to drink the wine. I might even share a little with Jeff, if he is brave enough to try it. The empty bottle will be my prize. I missed this year, because I checked into it too late. Next year, I plan to do this at least once, maybe twice. I plan to get more bottles of Chateau L'Feet, maybe in RED next time!
This year has been a crazy, tumultuous, lost and even blessed sort of year. All this time, that wine was in a cask, and then in the bottle. Sitting. Waiting. Fermenting. Becoming.
How can it be good if I do not taste it? Consuming the wine seems to be the POINT of it all.
I think this year has been some fire, refining me like gold. This year has not been the calm waiting on God, like the wine. Maybe the coming year will be calm, like the fermentation hold. But then, fermenting is a process, and I bet the chemical transformation is anything but calm. Maybe I HAVE been the wine. I have gone through a transformation, and I will never be the same. A little more tart, a little more rich, a little more depth to my "character". A little fruity note, a little spicy note... some time spent in the cool of the cask, some time squeezed into the smaller space of a bottle.
All the while wondering... Who will find me? Who will taste, and see that the Lord is good? Who will appreciate my more subtle qualities? Will I be the bottle that has had feet in it? (I certainly felt stomped this year!) Has this process cleansed my impurities? Am I sweeter for the time spent, or am I a dry finish?
I don't know all the answers. I know the ONE who holds the answers, and He hasn't really been sharing them with me. I guess I get to do what my Dad always told me to do: Hide and Watch. So, I hide in the shadow of the wings of the Most High, and I watch to see what becomes of me. I am fermenting. I am being enriched by the waiting. I am Becoming a fine wine from the Lord's vineyard.
How SWEET its that?
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