A reflection on a visit to Fog Crest

I have been back in Chicago for almost two weeks now, yet my mind and my soul (and my heart) are still on that warm and sunny hillside in southern Russian River Valley. I’m standing with my family at the head of a row of Chardonnay vines looking out over the valley sprawling before us into the sunny distance. The rows upon rows of vines – just at the point of bud break – roll and undulate in parallel unison with the land. There’s a gentle afternoon breeze whispering softly through the pine trees on the hill behind us that cools the back of my neck. I can smell the warm earth under my feet and the glass of Chardonnay we’re drinking suddenly becomes the perfect summation of where we are. What could be better than the perfect wine at the perfect moment? It is soul soothing and spirit lifting when such a connection is made between the wine lover, the wine and the land where it came from. That, to me any way, is the essence of true terroir – it is a connection, it is a transportation of mind, spirit and soul, and in some cases of body. Everything makes perfect sense. Everything becomes crystal clear and the wine not only tells a story but draws you in and makes you a part of the story to the point where the story becomes yours – yours to continue and to share.