Posted by: Catie McIntyre Walker in Wine on
Sep 28, 2009
The scene is classic. We often see it in old black and white movies and even contemporary TV sitcoms, such as "Frasier." The scene takes place in the wine cellar or a den. Men are drinking fine wines, smoking cigars and lounging in 19th century soft leather wing back library chairs. These lovers of the vine are dressed in their finest from their haberdashery and wearing silver taste-vins sashed around their neck. They discuss the qualities of a wine that was perhaps from the cellar of Thomas Jefferson, while the women are in the kitchen sharing a pot of tea and keeping the home fires burning. But, in the 21st century in Walla Walla, Washington, when it comes to wine - - there's a lot of girl power going on, baby!
It's the season of "Crush" in the Walla Walla Valley. Holly Turner has been the winemaker for Three Rivers Winery now for almost a decade. She is focused on overseeing every aspect of the Three Rivers' wine production, from sourcing grapes in the vineyard to the finished product on the bottling line. It is this time of the year when French-born Marie-Eve Gilla, from Forgeron Cellars and her black canine-lab companion, Salsa make their annual treks to the vineyards throughout the Columbia Valley overseeing how verasion is coming along. Marie-Eve crafts complex, yet food friendly wines choosing vineyards for their maturity and flavor. Denise Slattery, one of the trio from Trio Vintner's, "tweets" from a Yakima vineyard to her Twitter followers that the fruit is coming on sooner than she thought due to the whopping heat units.
Posted by: Denise Slattery in Wine on
Sep 21, 2009
Harvest is nearly here, or for some Walla Walla wineries, it's already arrived! We've been preparing for the grape harvest and now, after so many months of planning, coaxing, watering and weeding the grapes will start to come off the vine and into the winery by the ton.
These final weeks (days for some) mean multiple trips by winemakers to the vineyard to check for ripeness. Measuring the level of sugar (brix) with an instrument called a refractometer is one way to go, but tasting is what winemakers truly rely on. We're looking for a complexity of flavors, not just the amount of sugar. It's a very critical time because the condition of the fruit can change quickly, too. Ultimately, it's up to the winemaker to call the shot on harvest. Once the grapes reach the winemakers specified level of ripeness, the fruit is scheduled to pick. It all happens very fast and essentially everyone is on standby. Nature does not keep a date book!
If you are driving through Walla Walla, or around the outskirts of town where a lot of the wineries are located, you may start to notice trucks with flatbeds hauling grape bins. I like to spot these because each winery has their name tagged on the sides of the bins and it's a fun way to keep tabs of who's got fruit in the winery that day. Lots of times it's someone you'll know behind the wheel so a friendly wave is in order. The white grapes come off the vine first of course, followed by early ripening reds and finally the long hanger-oners. This year harvest is a bit sooner for everyone because of the massive heat we had in July and August. The collective heat units stepped up the ripening process quite a bit.
Posted by: Sam McLeod in Wildlife on
Sep 14, 2009
Well, we thought BIG was a Great Pyrenees puppy when we bought him. That's the way he was advertised. That's what the folks said when we picked him up. That's what he looked like for the next month.
At five months of age, BIG's true colors started showing.
Great Pyrenees are fearless in the face of danger-even the puppies. But confronted with a threat-like a skunk nosing around the chicken coop-BIG would cower at the door and bark furiously as if to say," There's something really scary out here and you humans need to come out and deal with it while I hide under your bed."
Great Pyrenees have cotton-like coats that shun dirt. BIG's coat was not cotton-like. Most of the time, he looked a lot like stuffed animal that had been drug though the dirt.
Great Pyrenees patrol fence perimeters all night long. BIG slept on the old sofa out in the barn. Patrolling wasn't his thing.
Now don't get me wrong. BIG is a sweet dog and we do love the BIG coward, but we'd gone for a guard dog and come back with a lap dog. So, Annie went in search of another Great Pyrenees puppy.
Here he is. His name's Bear. At four months he stands at the fence in the middle of the night and growls at unseen intruders. He patrols the fence line constantly. He's a BIG comfort to BIG. And his coat is cotton-like.
Posted by: Skip Pritchard in Fishing on
Sep 07, 2009
It's that time of year! Days are growing noticeably shorter, the angle of daylight has shifted from that of the high summer sun, evenings are cooler, there's the scent of dew on freshly mown grass, and... I've got a knot in my stomach!
I grew up playing football. It was my passion and it paid for undergraduate and graduate degrees. By the time I was a graduate assistant coaching college ball my senses were conditioned to such a degree that the smell of dew on newly mown grass in late August and early September threw my stomach into turmoil. My body dreaded what was to come...two-a-days, blood sweat and tears, and counting the days before it was all over and we could start hitting someone other than our buddies.
I went to school in Gunnison, Colorado, elevation 7,708 feet above sea level. School started almost 5 weeks after we reported to training camp my senior season. Two-a-days lasted a couple of weeks allowing for three weeks of time to fill after practices... time for fishing. And boy did we fish! It was incredible. Evening temperatures were just right. Rivers and streams cooled as the oncoming winter began its annual embrace of the high country. Bugs were hatching. Fish were fresh, thick, and aggressive having lost their lethargy from the" dog days of summer". Aspen and cottonwood leaves began their annual turning providing backdrops and settings that burned their beauty into my memory. That fall a transition began to take place helping me survive the passing of my youth and days spent on the gridiron. The shift from summer to fall began to signify that it is time to hit the water and throw flies in earnest.
