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I peeked in on the Chardonnay again today. The ferment is pretty much completed. When I pulled the bung and put my ear to the hole I heard that lovely fizzing song – one of my very favorite sounds in vintage. There’s also a deep slow resonating bass reverberation that rises out of the barrel. It’s a sound of strength and endurance and is one of the most heartening vibrations I know.

The working winery is a noisy place resounding with the music of organized chaos. I find a harmony in the cacophony of the focused energies of the crush. The chug of the pump sounds the heartbeat as it sends the gorgeous liquids splashing through the hoses, the blood vessels, of the winery. Everywhere at once comes the sound of vintage – the ubiquitous forklift driving, backing, humming; the sorting table vibrating, the precious juice swishing from the depths of the press into the catch-pan, the dulled splash of the pumpover, the whoosh of water sprayed in the endless course of cleaning, the deep bass of the power washer kicking in its subwoofer authoritative refrain.

And then all of a sudden the activity shifts, the noise level drops out and the sound and feel of the outside moves in. The birds are yakking it up in the Marri blossoms and there’s the slightest chill in the air. And summer is just a memory singing in the wine.

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