Contadino: a person who works on, and lives off, the land and the fruits of its production.
Although, we fall far short of a true contadino’s self-sufficiency, I’ve long been inspired by the idea of partnering with the land to produce some of the foundational staples for our table (and we hope yours as well). For that reason, the tandem harvests of wine grapes and olives that play out in a whirlwind succession stir a gratifying connection to an agrarian tradition that is both rustic and noble. They also create a trove of immediate and enduring memories that are physical and mental (as bottles of wine and olive oil each can be considered historical records of the sun’s energy and the growing season that produced them).
At this moment, the image of our recent grape growing campaign that looms most prominently is the impression of how balanced it seemed, i.e. ‘just right’ in its inclusion of all weather elements, with none present in the extreme. How that plays out over time remains much to be seen, but hopes are high for something special to emerge.
Conversely, the olive harvest tells its story much more decisively straight away. We were encouraged all summer by how copiously fruited our trees were, and even if it wasn’t our largest harvest yet, it’s solidly in second place. This season’s harvest itself took place over four weekend days straddling October’s end, and November’s beginning. A combination of exuberant volunteers and steady farm hands carefully captured our tree’s yield under perfect skies (sandwiched between freshening early rains).
Beyond that, the immediate gratification that comes from taking a bin of beautiful, mostly verdant olives to the mill at the end of a picking day and obtaining their brilliant emerald oil, an hour or two later, is a study in contrasts. With grapes and olives both, a long growing season and matrix of farming responsibilities is entailed. The immediacy of pleasure, though, that our olive efforts yield is like the incomparable giddiness that a long cycling down hill imparts after the grind of a protracted upward ascent (spoken from my own cycling passion).
Certainly the sensory delights that great Tuscan inspired olive oil can impart do last longer than even the longest downhills, but there is something extraordinary and truly evanescent to the thrill that freshly pressed oils have to offer. Their chlorophyll-laden elixir (think artichokes, green apples, sweet freshly mown hay) is, I think, one of the year’s great sensory and sensual treats. It is also, even under the most perfect of conditions, essentially fleeting, rarely defining the immediate experience of an oil for more than a few months. Stored responsibly and unopened (similar to how one guards the well being of fine wine), they can be delicious for two or more years, but their aromas and tastes are then marked by other sensory notes as they evolve; a lush but light unctuousness, softer fruit impressions, more length on the palate that gracefully supplants the tannic bite of their youth.
The ‘maker’ side of my self (rooted no doubt in my lifelong artist’s quest) is certainly animated by the immersive engagement that winegrowing and olive oil production entails. It’s no exaggeration to share that the twenty-two year history of ‘collaboration’ with our Estate site to nurture these fruits of our labor is second only to the gratifying delights of parenting (and ‘grandparenting’). What a pleasure it is to be part of this process, one whose annual outcomes we hope mirror the joys of their creation in your own experience of them at your table.
⎯ Stephen Singer
Contadino: a person who works on, and lives off, the land and the fruits of its production.
