Posted in Essay

Ancient Wine

 old wine


So I guess that a 3700 year-old wine cellar was found in the ruins of a palace in Israel.  The cellar held reds and whites.  Possibly vintage Cabernet Sauvignon and your usual rare one-of-a-kind Pinot Grigio.  Did you know that sauvignon is a French word that means ‘wild’? Some say the grape used for sauvignon originated in ancient Rome.  Who’s to say some wise sommelier in the day didn’t journey with his product across deserts and vast inland dirt roads landing in Canaan. Oh sure they say the winemaking took place in Canaan, but how do they know?  Chemical analysis of the ingredients has to be done first.  They will be so surprised when it is found that the wine was made in Missouri.  We do have great wines here.  The trouble I guess would have been shipping in 1600 BCE.

Regardless, the ancient winemaker in the story and all that took part in the process have long since disappeared.  But they left wine!  Or at least the residue, enough to allow discovery of the wine’s blends of honey, mint, cedar, and cinnamon along with evidence of tree resin.  Sounds like it was pretty good.

There is a process to making wine.  One that I only know from books and winery tours.  But I do know that it is a very intricate and involved process.  One misstep and the wine you make will most definitely not taste like the wine you want.

I can venture to say that I am really glad life is not like that.  I have made a lot of ‘missteps’ in my life, some small some pretty colossal.  Glad that at the end of the process someway I didn’t have to chuck it all and start over again, like I would for a fine bottle of Shiraz.  That would get tiresome let alone pretty weird.  But like the winemaker, at some point there won’t be a trace of me, maybe I will be a small speck in some distant future lineage of my family’s ancestry.  But that’s probably all.

So, I hope that in some small undefinable way I will leave some trace that I was here.  Probably not at all as cool as that of jars of wine.  But maybe that distant relative of mine from years hence will have a wicked sense of humor or a touch of stubbornness that can be said to come from me.  Maybe those wormy apples that fall from our apple tree we planted several years ago will provide some kind of rich earthy dirt for years and years to come.  I just hope the ‘wine’ that I leave will be good enough, just good enough, that’s all.