Funny how two of a wine label’s terms most sought-after by consumers, “Reserve” and “Old Vines,” have absolutely no legal standing. One has merely to count the number of cases of a certain winery’s “Proprietor’s Reserve” filling the shelves at Grocery Outlet to wonder whether the “proprietor” needed to have one swinger of a garage sale, or didn’t need to explain to ATF how half-a-million cases were for personal use.
Likewise, “old vines” on a wine label has no legal frame of reference, like 50-year-old humans receiving AARP membership applications in the mail (ahem, nothing to see here; move along). Kathy and I moved to Oakley, CA last year from Washington state: a great wine region, but a relatively young one whose “old vine” label designation could legally mean that the juice was pressed from vines younger than Kirsten Dunst (BTW: happy 28th the other day, Kirsten).
But Cali, and our Oakley ‘hood in particular: maaaan, viticulturaly, we are kickin’ it oooooold skool. A skool inaugurated prior to 1900. As you can tell by Kath’s photos here and in previous posts, these are ghoulish, wizened, gnarly vines that stand up by themselves, burrowing dozens of feet through the sand to find moisture to produce a fraction of the crop of a new vine — all the more to concentrate the flavors in the berries that do form. This is the real juice, from the real source.
And that’s why we couldn’t fathom the sad story behind the acres of old vines choked by weeds in a big vineyard four blocks from the house.
The Green Leaves Church at the end of the block (Marquee: “What’s Missing From ‘CH_ _ CH’? U R”) sits across the street from an unoccupied, but well-tended, little house, which itself borders acres of gnarly untended vines. Kathy wanted to get a photo; sort of a “these are your old vines; these are your old vines neglected” vibe, despite the “No Trespassing” thang. She’d barely snapped a frame when an elderly, well-seasoned voice busted us.
Enter Mabel.
Kath explained our project, and then Mabel would never let us go, us being richer for the experience. That little house on Highway 4? Unoccupied. But it’s not boarded up for demolition, and Mabel was born inside that house 87 years ago.
Mabel Ramos-Canada (both the “Ramos” and the “Canada” accent the second syllable) married at 15 and had six kids by age 22. Her dad bought the acreage for $240 and initially planted it to asparagus, before finally deciding on grapevines. “When my dad farmed it, there wasn’t a weed,” she proudly proclaims. Her mom drove her to school in a Model T.
Her father deeded out an acre to Mabel on which to build her house; that’s where we got accosted. But Mabel’s sister had the rest of the land, including the vineyard, and she recently died of cancer. Sadly, Mabel’s nieces and nephews have no interest in doing anything with the vines, except surrendering them to the weeds, and paying taxes on the land on which they sit. Kath and I weren’t able to ascertain what the vineyards are planted to, or what wineries they were ever leased to, but we did discover that Mabel, at four-score-and-seven years of age, loves to watch WWE Smackdown on television “even though it’s fake.”
Speaking of pioneers, we recently tried a 2006 Zinfandel from “Beastly Old Vines” grown in our ‘hood, and bottled under the “Cardinal Zin” label started, and later sold, by OG Rhone Ranger and certified eccentric Randall Grahm. The ’06 Cardinal Zin showed off a deep, almost Merlot-like plum color; with a muted nose of cranberry bog and dried cherry; nice open mouthfeel of open fruit flavors and blueberry notes in good balance, all on a pretty lengthy finish. Beastly Old Vines, indeed.
But what the kids are doing to Mabel’s sister’s vines is even Beastlier.
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