Lake County California
High Elevation Edition
Syrah, Zinfandel, Cabernet Sauvignon, Petite Sirah, Mourvedre & Grenache
For DD
From the bedroom closet, we lifted shoes; one by one we placed them in a box. She was unbelievably strong, set in her task, as she handed me one pair after the other: a pair of well worn black leather slippers, some heavy brown dress shoes.
Boat shoes, and loafers in many leather shades, I ran my hands over them and looked at your smiling face from one of many pictures on the dresser, Charlie’s picture next to you, and Heath’s bridal portrait hangs on the wall. You and your first bride, and me here on Earth with your other bride, Charlie’s first.
Next came the knitted island shoes, two pairs, one obviously favored more by you than the other; she held those out for a moment and hesitated, smiled dreamily, and quietly said how you loved those shoes.
Then she gave me your wool blazers, and suits, each well-made and classically styled; she handed them off to me to hang on the cart we would use to roll them away. I thought of the many times I’d seen you dressed in them, always with a welcoming, happy smile, accompanied by a kiss.
To the next closet, where we gathered your ties: Lobsters, sailboats, Santa Claus, crabs, Easter eggs, whales, Christmas trees, pastel flowers and red hearts. Your life map unfolded with each one – sailor, beach lover, Christian, sense of humor, a life filled with beauty, adventure and love.
All packed up, we rolled the luggage dollie out of the bedroom and into the hallway, opened the door and out into the main hall we went, down to the elevator and into the basement. It was emotional for me, though unspoken. Your things being rolled away to the basement – there they joined the remnants of the lives of others: crystal chandeliers in storage, dresses from eras gone by, sun hats and record players, and suitcases that have been around the world. But it has to be this way.
I miss you in that place, by my grandmother’s side, surrounded by your needlepoint wall hangings and pillows, sunshine on the porch, where you sat the last day I ever spent with you, determined to beat those cancerous brain lesions that rendered you speechless, as you raised your weights over your head and lifted your legs one by one, demonstrating your strength and your resolve to not give up without a fight. But it was out of your hands - six days later you were gone.
It feels to me like you are still there, you, and my grandfather, and Heath, all watching over your fourth companion – as she sits on the sun porch, quietly waving as I drive away.
2007

Here it is. One of those wines you pay more for . . and get less. I was really disappointed. And the bottle was so PRETTY! Just kidding - that is SUCH a girl thing. "I don't know, the label looked nice."
Smelled a little French. Earthy dirt meets dark berry. That's not a bad thing. But the flavor just wasn't there. :( Really, really dry with some dark fruit flavor and oak, but not much of a finish.
I made prosciutto and fontina pinwheels and couldn't wait to try this with them. We once had a Justin Cab that was AWESOME with the pinwheels. For $5 more, we could have had the Justin again and it would have been a nice evening. But I wanted to try something we haven't had before. There really wasn't much change in the flavor with or without the pinwheels. 


I next set my hopes on chocolate fudge brownies I was making. I was sure the wine's taste would improve with dessert. It didn't. Not even after having been exposed to some air time did things change.







2005







Mr. Patterson basically writes that he at first tasted minerality everywhere in every wine, trying hard to understand it. He even attended seminars related to geology and vineyard cross-sections and soil samples. He then checked the science behind it and seems to have succumbed to believing it's mostly "hooey". Some of what he had to say is summarized below:
"Nothing in winedom is more prized than the miracle of minerality. This elusive characteristic, found only in certain wines and discernible only to selected palates, carries a potent symbolic charge: tasting minerality is tasting the living soil that gave birth to grapes.
There's a good chance, of course, that minerality is mostly hooey.
First of all, people have the darndest time agreeing on what 'minerality' is . . . flavor, aroma, a texture?
Then there's the little problem that rocks don't taste or smell at all . . . (yet here he mentions his friends' contradictions) My mineral-centric buddies explained, with some condescension, that wet rocks clearly do have a smell - even a hosed-down sidewalk gives off a scent.
It gets worse. Modern plant biology holds that flavors and aromas are manufactured within the grapes through photosynthesis, not transported up from the ground into the berries.
More likely, according to state-of-the-art research, what gets called minerality is some combination of acidity and sulfur compounds."