After all, we were calling on people I knew, admittedly from a long time ago, so we weren’t operating in ordinary working the way around the wineries mode as outlined above. Actually, having tried most of the range, there would, under other circumstances, have even been a case for leaving Bloodwood off the list entirely to focus on new territory and different tastes.
No, I’d eventually decided, when we call in there we’re not looking at the usual routine. I was interested in finding out what had brought Steve and Rhonda to this point, which was hardly what you'd have predicted some forty years ago and while I’d probably be able to try the rest of the range if that didn’t happen it wasn’t going to be a problem. After all, there’ll be an order for (at least) a mixed dozen going in before the end of the year, so I can catch up then.
Once we’d sorted out the itinerary I’d called to ensure there’d be someone on the premises on the relevant day, and had been told to call when we were on the road with an ETA, which was duly done once were headed out of Dubbo. I got the feeling at that point we weren’t heading into standard winery territory when the call produced news that Rhonda had customers coming at twelve-thirty, but that we should just wander in when we arrived.
Customers? I thought. Well, then, what are we?
That question was answered after we pulled in to the car park and I wandered in to say Hello. There were people seated around a table inside, and I was greeted warmly and informed Steve was out in the Riesling block, and had left instructions to head in that direction once we’d arrived.
We’d sighted a figure disappearing into what we learned was the Riesling block on the way in, but by the time we’d parked the car, greeted Rhonda, done the introductions bit and received the previously mentioned instructions we found him back in the winery feeding Shiraz grapes into the de-stemmer. Brief introductions followed, and while Madam disappeared in search of subjects to point the camera at I stuck around to watch what was going on.
What followed was a couple of hours will stay with me, though it wasn’t one of those experiences that feature moments of blinding insight. It was a case of incremental connections of things I already sort of knew but hadn’t consciously put together before. Given the nature of the activities, wandering from place to place between deliveries of grapes to the de-stemmer, there’s no continuous narrative to the experience, more a disjointed sequence of episodes and renewed acquaintance.
Forty years leaves a bit of territory to be filled in, and given an aging memory and the circumstances we were operating in the subsequent narrative is rather more structured than the experiences described.
Once the de-stemming action went on lunch break pause as far as the tractor driver was concerned we were back up to the Riesling block, where Steve was picking the fruit from Cabernet vines located in the middle of the block. There was no explanation for this juxtaposition offered, and given the direction the conversation was taking I neglected to ask, and am consequently none the wiser, but a couple of points became clear.
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