We drove the 2.2 miles up the gravel road to the "Winery." We could tell we were getting close as there were grapes. Not lots of grapes. Not enough to say this is a winery, compared to what I see in other places, but the sign out front affirmed it, so we pulled in.
Have you ever seen one of those farms where they park old tractors in a field and leave it...for years...and it just becomes part of the land. And maybe they do the same for a couple of trucks and a bathtub? I'm not saying that exactly describes this place, but it exactly describes this place. Little effort was put into the "curb appeal."
We pulled in and slowly drove down the road between the house and the barn. A dog came out to great us by standing in our way. I stopped. It slowly came to the driver's side so I could pull forward some more.
As I approached the far end of the house, we could see people inside, so we waved. They waved.
As one of them came outside, I rolled down Jonathan's window and greeted the man.
"I saw your sign and we wanted to come check it out," I said. "I noticed you're only open Thursday through Saturday."
"It's close enough to Thursday for me," he replied. "Come on down."
He headed down the road toward the grapes, windmill, and the tasting room, where I've heard you can also get pizza.
I parked the truck, grabbed my camera, and Jonathan and I followed the man into the building down the hill.
He put two glasses on the counter and uncorked a bottle and poured. We drank.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I'm probably as bad at reviewing wines as I am movies. I have seen very few movies I didn't like and I rarely have a bad glass of wine. I'm also bad at reviewing music, as I actually listen to Tiny Tim, Slim Whitman, Yma Sumac, and Neil Diamond...and almost anything else out there.
As we drank, I think I heard Jonathan raise an eyebrow.
"It's sweet," I said, "like a Moscato."
The vintner, Ethan, nodded and pulled another bottle from the cooler.
My review: It was white, sweet, made from grapes, and very rural.
Ethan said the wine was made from grapes grown right outside. By the size of the vineyard, I'm guessing we pretty much drank the yield sitting there.
The next wine was an apple wine. He was going to let us try two different ones, both made from local apples. The first one I forgot which apple it was and the second was a granny something something.
I liked them both. I think Jonathan did the quick "toss it over your shoulder when he's not looking and let the dog lick it up" trick.
"I also have pear wine," Ethan said.
"Now you're talking," I exclaimed, anxious to try pear wine.
Ethan explained that one of them he likes and the other he hates. He wasn't going to tell us which, he would let us figure it out. With a little prying, we were able to get it out of him that the pear wine he hates has nothing to do with the quality of the product, but is solely because while picking the pears, he fell off the ladder and broke his back in three places.
I had to admit to Ethan that I preferred the one he broke his back for. Unfortunately, he made that wine before he got his license, so I couldn't buy a bottle.
Jonathan, Ethan, and I had a great time shooting the breeze, laughing, and learning a lot bout the wine business before it was time to hit the road again. On the way out I bought a bottle of the wine made from his vineyard.
"That was nice of you," Jonathan said, as we headed for the truck.