Planting a Vineyard Part 13: Back Turn! Forward March!

For fourteen years, I danced Argentine tango. I loved this dance. It fascinated me from the first moment I encountered it, becoming pure infatuation. Over time, this infatuation faded, but my love for tango persisted and matured.

If I were to search for the reason for this mature love, it would be that this dance remained a constant challenge for me. Tango changed not only through my acquired skills, but also because, over time, I perceived the world and its values ​​differently. This meant that every now and then, despite constantly perfecting my tango technique, I would be hit like a cold shower with the conviction that I knew absolutely nothing. I would then fall into depression, sometimes lasting for weeks, until I slowly rose from this state and began to see the meaning of my actions again. And so it goes, Maciej.

I feel the same way about wine now. Although, with a correction, I feel like I will have with wine, because so far I haven’t grown anything, nothing is fermenting. But why do I have this feeling?

I’ve been studying this topic for over two years and have come to the conclusion that, just as with tango, I know absolutely nothing about wine. My particular ignorance, as a layman, would be bearable, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m beginning to suspect that others understand little either. The truth of viticultura, I dare to tentatively postulate, is that everyone who engages in it shapes their own reality, which may or may not be valid elsewhere. As a result, we have a whole cosmos of competing beliefs and faiths, thousands of individually paved Milky Ways. Madness!—someone might say, and they’d be right. But I find myself in this madness. I’ll say more, without this element of the incomprehensible particle, I couldn’t exist; it’s simply how I am. Just like with tango, I see in wine the opportunity to create something to my own measure and in my own way. Sometimes you even have to throw away your newly tailored suit.

For example, that’s what we have with our cultivation methods. A year ago, when we were discussing ideas, we chose conventional farming. It was a rational and sound decision at the time. Now, however, we’ve changed our minds and will produce wine organically. Perhaps it’s because about three months ago we decided not to eat meat—though reality has already challenged our resolve to the point that we still eat it, albeit sporadically. Perhaps another reason was that in the future we’ll be living on a vineyard, and we certainly don’t want it surrounded by chemical herbicides.

Yes, such a resolution has practical consequences—intensified weed control and a greater likelihood of fungal diseases. What was already expected to be unprofitable becomes even more distant. It’s possible that the amount of additional work will simply overwhelm us. Time will tell, and it will either strengthen our decision or mock our recklessness. Only one thing is certain: this will be our own, entirely personal Milky Way.