Chardonnay and Triscuits

By John Dickinson

You once mentioned that your first date with your wife was (I think) camping along the Tuolumne river. We should probably pass on to the next generation of romantic hopefuls what an effective strategy this is.

Susan and my first date (22 years ago ) included BBQ Chicken, Smoked Oysters, Alouette Garlic spread and Triscuits, and a bottle of Chardonnay – sitting on a rock in the middle of the Merced river just below Bridalveil falls in Yosemite.

A full moon rose over half-dome ( she thinks I planned it that way, but it was just blind luck ) and we later walked over to Yosemite falls in the moonlight and got soaked in the mist. She decided it was THE most romantic date she had ever been on and that I was a keeper.

The fact that we later went back to separate tents to sleep, and that I got up to make sour-dough english muffins (from my own sourdough starter) and cowboy coffee in the very chilly morning cinched the deal.

we were falling in love and
we liked it
bottoms of feet stained
purple
floor splatters mingled into one
beneath toes and
heals and
arches
we began to kiss again no
pulling away for breath
she leaned in and
I was done
a slow sweet pull from all
time amalgamed into
three hour lip face soliloquy of
all things wonderful and
human and
alive in
moment

There we were driving down the narrow little dirt road in the Anderson Valley, tall blackberry vines rising up on both sides of us. The road was not in the best of shape and I was concerned we were even in the right place. We had driven past it on Hwy 128 several times before we finally found the address on the mailbox. She had read about this place, Lazy Creek winery and this was supposed to be it.

Her name was Laverne. It was 1983 and we had been living together for a year now …known each other since 1969 when her twin sister, Lavone introduced us. Back then I was just 18. She was 19 and was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Her sister was tall at 6 foot and she was just an inch or two shorter with long legs, long dark hair and fair light skin. She walked with her shoulders back and her chest and small breasts out and she was beautiful. I was attending Sonoma State University then and she had been going to UC Berkeley …and she was very cool. I had one very large crush on her.

We became friends and I visited her out in Pocket Canyon many times where she lived in a renovated and converted bus parked under the redwoods next to an apple orchard. We would stay up and talk all night and sometimes I would spend the night but our relationship never developed into a sexual one. I was very shy …and she was way to cool. I had her on quite a pedestal.

She moved away from Northern California a year or two later and eventually got her masters degree from Arizona State in Archeology. We stayed in touch and it always made me smile when I found one of her letters in the mail. She would send me poetry …with pictures she had found cut out of magazines to go with the words. I loved getting her letters. She worked in archeology for several years until one day in 1982 she called to tell me that she couldn’t take it anymore …the living in small town motels in the middle of  nowhere. I flew to Tuscon and we packed her things into a U-Haul truck and drove back to Santa Rosa. We moved in together and became lovers …I’m not sure which happened first.

We would frequently return to the southwest where we explored Indian ruins. She was an archeologist had access to sites that most people did not even know about. It was very fun and I came to love the dessert and the southwest.

But here we were now driving down this little dirt road …not sure we were even in the right place. We came to a farmhouse with a barn and some out-buildings …and nothing that would indicate that we had found what we were looking for …no sign that said “Lazy Creek”. I knocked on the door but no one answered and I new this could not be the place. So we headed back out the way we came in when a few hundred yards down the road an old pickup truck came from the other direction. There was no room to pass so we backed all the way back to the farmhouse where I was sure we would have to explain to the man in the truck what we were doing there.

He climbed out of his truck with a smile and introduced himself as Hans Kobler, owner and winemaker of Lazy Creek …invited us to follow him to a building around behind the house where he opened a bottle of red wine and brought out some Gruyere cheese to have with it. We talked and he told us his story …he was Swiss and how he had just won an award for his wine …and how he came to buy the property there in the valley. I will always remember that glass of wine. It was the most interesting delicious wine I had ever tasted. It was a Pinot Noir and it became my favorite. I have been in love with it ever since.

Many years have passed and Laverne and I are still good friends …she is my oldest friend actually. We have both been married and divorced and through other relationships. We still commiserate, talk about our lives and we still occasionally get out to taste some wine together from time to time.

I have my own small vineyard now and have learned to make some of my own Pinot Noir …just enough for a couple of cases so far …and have recently meet someone very special. The other night we shared the very first bottle of my wine and our first kisses together. I will always remember the wine and her first kisses and how special they were to me that day …and how it made me remember the time I fell in love with Pinot Noir.

“I love you as much as I love this red,” she said.

I took that as the greatest compliment.

To be compared to a fine wine,
and all the history that comes before it,
is high praise indeed.

From wine’s discovery to today
it has stirred thoughts, dreams, love and lust.

Given us solace
and accompanied our joyful celebrations.

Man and wine move side-by-side through history.

Yes, I like to think I am a fine wine.

Tart, brash, smooth, spirited…ageless.

Life without wine would be like life without love.

“Pass the bottle,” I said,

“and kiss me.”