When the present winegrowing movement started, in Oregon there was some trepidation. Could we grow Cabernet? Even the brutish, vibrant, mysterious deep black cabernet. We thought we could but no one knew.
When the black juice began to run between the oak staves of the hand press, I remember Steve standing at the small wine press then taking off his shirt to dunk it in the black juice. He put the shirt on and danced around, not a metered dance; "Yes, Yes, YES" he sang. It is Oregon, it is cabernet. A dance of pure joy, arms and feet flying, defying balance and gravity. Steve wore that shirt for many harvests after that.Steve taught me so much when he would reach arm deep into must, feel the heat and viscosity. "Without science you can feel the vintage in the ferment." Steve felt that joy in every ferment he passed.
Steve was very handsome, women were given to make aggressive advances to him. He didn't think much of it; he thought that was just the way women were.
So much life. I tell people wine is my ART; Steve taught me most of that art. But I couldn't help him to see the joy he brought to those not so gifted. So much to live for.
Unfortunately dark moods swallow such unbridled joy, always. Steve is dead now, swallowed in death. Those of us that knew him wondered if his life would out dance the darkness. Steve won the battle. We were surprised he died of natural causes.
You can grow anything in Oregon!
