01WHY DID YOU START THIS PLACE?
In 1998 I put Pinot on a ridge so cold the neighbors called us fools before the first trellis wire went up. I wanted acid nobody could fake, and this fog was the only place stingy enough to give it to me straight.
02WHAT DID IT FEEL LIKE TO COME HERE?
You'd arrive without seeing a single vine — just fog, headlights, and a gate at the top of the ridge. Everyone said the same thing walking in: colder than they expected. Most came back anyway, for the fire and the last pour.
03WHAT WENT INTO THE FINAL BOTTLING?
The Last Block — whole clusters off the rows the deer never touched, foot-trodden the old way, one last time.
04WHAT'S THE DAY HERE YOU'LL NEVER FORGET?
April frost, 2011: we ran the wind machines till dawn and still lost the low rows. The high block, the coldest ground on the ridge, came through untouched. That was the year I understood what the cold was for.
05WHAT DO YOU HOPE TO BE REMEMBERED FOR?
Not my name — vines don't care whose it was. I'd like to be remembered for asking the cold ridge the right questions, so whoever farms it next inherits good answers.
