When a day goes so perfectly, it is hard to find appropriate words to express my gratitude.  When that day is my wedding day, I find myself at a complete loss of words.  In a scene framed by God’s beauty, surrounded by vines, and a vista overlooking a valley that gives life to each grape, I married the most wonderful man.  My passion of wine and the love of my life converged, and the symbolism of the setting deepend the meaning of our vows.  We stood at the top of that hill at Michel-Schlumberger and we might as well have been on the top of the world.

When we arrived at Michel-Schlumberger the previous day, we were greeted by the friendly staff who were a little bit frantic about a power loss.  We had driven by a tree that had fallen on some wires on our way up to the winery that had knocked out most of the power to the Dry Creek valley.  Ah, the tension between the land and technology rested for a while on that day.  Although I said the staff was a little frantic, I say this in a context that is miles away from the frantic disruption that I am used to experiencing in the city.  We all sat outside with a couple of guests and discussed places to eat that night (of which there was no shortage and we could have spent a month here and gained a lot of weight before we had experienced all the food the valley had to offer).

After getting set up in the guest suite, we drove to the town of Healdsburg to eat some ridiculously good food.  I mean, Lobster rolls, calamari, and ceviche so delicious and mouth watering that a west coast girl such as myself was in Heaven.  Then, hoping that the power was restored by the time we were finished indulging ourselves, we rolled back up to the winery in the dark.  And it was dark that greeted us.  No matter.  Sometimes the greatest moments are a result of circumstances beyond our control– this was one of those moments.  By the lights of our cell phones, we searched the winery high and low, through cupboards and drawers, for a flashlight.  Which we found in our bedside tables. With that light, we found some tealights and matches and enjoyed the most romantic evening in our suite.  I believe I had a 2002 Michel-Schlumberger Pinot Noir with rich notes of jubilee cherries, and hints of cinnamon.  I can still almost taste that wine if I close my eyes…

The next morning, after an official tour of the winery, I took off to get my hair done and Brent set about trying to calm his nerves.  One of the ladies from the office came to help me with my dress,  and brought me a Pinot Blanc while I waited for the pastor and photographer to arrive to calm my nerves.  Jim Morris, the Director of Consumer Sales and Marketing, who arranged this whole magical event for us, rang the big old estate bell with gusto to indicate to the groom that his bride was on her way up the hill.

Our ceremony was beyond what I had dreamed or imagined, Jim live tweeted the vows and even a Goodyear blimp suitably flew by!  Our pastor shared sage advice and encouragement with us and we had a communion with, of course, Michel-Schlumberger Pinot Noir.  Communion wine should always be this good.  After the ceremony and the pictures, we went to eat another embarrassingly good meal in Healdsburg at Zin.  We even had our first dance in the town square!  Every Tuesday evening in the Summer, the whole town of Healdsburg gathers in the square to listen to jazz and blues while they dance, drink wine, and eat picnics.  A friendly toothless man offered to take a little video of our first dance.

Again, we rolled our bloated and over-satiated selves back up to the winery.  As tasty as it was, the decadent chocolate fudge sundae might have been a delicious mistake.  We toasted a perfect beginning to a wonderful life together with the superb champagne from Jim and after a deliriously fantastic day, we promptly dozed off in a deep ’schlumber’.

The pictures are amazing, but much like my words, they hardly do the day justice.  Jim and the winery staff were so gracious and wonderful and as we left, I felt a pang of sadness to leave this slice of heaven that they shared with us.  A huge thank you to everyone at Michel-Schlumberger for making our special day even more special than we could have ever imagined, and another thank you to all of our ‘guests’ on Twitter for all of your warm cyber wishes.  Both me and Mr. Winebard are swelling with joy (and good food) from all of the warm memories that we shared!

For more pictures, click here for a slideshow put together by our photographer.

Hear ye and gather ’round as I share with ye a tale of two scallywags who took th’ plunge an’ hitched themselves at th’ Winery o’ the Twisted Oak.

(Must change back to ye olde English, cuz my pirate speak be rusty and the online pirate translators aren’t much help.)

Jeff “El Jefe” Stai made an offer that was hard to refuse when he suggested that we say our vows at his annual Skullz release party,  so we spent an afternoon thrift shopping and assembling our pirate fan fare to have a rehearsal pirate wedding.  After El Jefe kindly allowed us to use his shower after our harrowing motel experience the night before, we bedecked and adorned ourselves in pirate fashion and proceeded to the Cave Loot at Twisted Oak.

The winery is near the town of Murphy on a hill dressed in vines speckled with ripened fruit and crested with a twisty 350 year old Californian blue oak.  Scallywags and Wenches were running amok with excitement to preview the winery’s treasured wines.  Tours were being led through the caves below, where barrels were plundered by thieves (A device used to suck wine samples out of a barrel is called a Wine Thief) and the Twisted Few Wine Club members sampled wines to be released next year.  The cave was suitably dressed with sculls, gold, jewels, and rubber chickens.

The crowd was jovial and festive and my dear scurvy swab (who, as you know, knows only a little about wine) volunteered himself to lead a tour through the caves.  He had followed a few tours already and was confident that he had grasped the important notes to share with the crew. I was so proud of him, that I followed along and poured the tastings as he fielded questions with the sage suggestion to ask Jeff when they return to the crush pad.

We sampled:

• Sir Ron Yay (What it sounds like.  A tasty blend of Syrah and Viognier)
• Torcido (a twisted little Grenacha)
• Petite Sirah (and the only thing little about it is the name)
• Parcel 17 (a killer wine, but a smaller yield this year.  Snatch this one up fast.)
• The Spaniard (Brix Chix says it all)

As the afternoon sun beat us down, er, beat down on us, the time for the crew of looters to witness our vows drew near.  We gathered around the crush pad and the Captain El Jefe sharpened his sword, I had another glass of wine, and Brent ate another chicken wing.  We spoke our vows as follows:

“I,  Captain Brent, take thee, Karen to be me wench.  To supply ye with chests of treasure and to protect ye from hostile boardings.  Through rough seas and calm, through shipwrecks and scurvy.  To listen to ye as ye babble on about interwebs and empty bottles of wine.  And on the nights of revelry [as that night turned out to be], when yer account of sobriety has been overdrawn, I shall come forth and carry thee home [oh, so true...].  YARR.”

To which I replied with:

” I, Maid Karen, take thee, Brent to be me scurvy swab.  To bring thee thy sword and tend to ye after battle.  Through fierce battles and calm, through bar fights and keel-haulings.  To listen to ye as ye babble on about the Mariners and empty bottles of ale.  And on the nights of revelry, when yer account of sobriety is becoming overdrawn, I’ll ensure thy goblet is flowing with run, grog, and swish.  YARR.”

With that, we exchanged eye patches.

Brent, Me, and El Jefe

I would have loved to share a video of these sacred vows, but the camera failed.  Not once, or twice, but three attempts to film this scene of romantic bliss failed.  We do have pictures and fond memories of the intimate moment we shared at Twisted Oak.  El Jefe’s bounteous hospitality derserves many cheers and endless wishes that his cask may never be empty.

The night of revelry continued with friends (Thea and Liza) at the Murphy’s Bar with bottles of wine and Karaoke.  It carried through a cemetary that fascinated me with memories American cinematic folklore all the way to El Jefe’s house where we drank from his cellar until my, er, account of sobriety went bankrupt.

A huge thank you to El Jefe for his generosity in hosting us at his winery and house.  And gracias for the rubber chicken “El Polo Loco” who enjoyed his travels with us throughout Sonoma and Napa.

[Wine is] a living thing. I like to think about what was going on the year the grapes were growing; how the sun was shining; if it rained. I like to think about all the people who tended and picked the grapes. And if it’s an old wine, how many of them must be dead by now. I like how wine continues to evolve, like if I opened a bottle of wine today it would taste different than if I’d opened it on any other day, because a bottle of wine is actually alive. And it’s constantly evolving and gaining complexity. That is, until it peaks, like your ‘61. And then it begins its steady, inevitable decline.  – Sideways

There are two elements of wine that cause my imagination to run wild with romanticism (aside from the imbibing part): the barrels and the vines.  Today, the vines became so very alive to me as I studied them from several vantage points.  On our way to Sonoma/Santa Rosa for the Wine Bloggers’ Conference, Kathleen Rake and I feasted our eyes on the fields and fields of vines from our plane.  They were neatly combed into perfect lines covering the countryside in patches and on the hills the vines wound  in soothing patterns like a green zen garden.  Each field was as unique as a fingerprint.  As we drew closer to landing, I could see some fields were younger and the infant vines were spread further apart, reminding me of hair transplants.

Once we had landed and the rogue cab driver drove us along past the vineyards, Kathleen leaned over and asked me if I could hear them calling out to me.  If they could call out, I would hope that they would shout directions to our driver who took us to two wrong hotels before we had to Google directions for him.  But while he gave us the scenic route, my mind wandered some more as we passed by vines who stood like a chorus line, dressed in luscious green leaves with their arms wrapped around each other as if they were about to can-can.  There were other vines pruned so neatly like soldiers with their crew cuts standing at attention, and some appeared more unkempt with their arms flailing expressively as though they had already indulged too much in their own juice.

California vines are so much like celebrities, and their wine is the music or performance.  Over dinner, we discussed the art of wine and how some are like canned music that is easy enough for listening to that it appeals to many without actually being great music, and others are more experimental and crafted in their appeal to an experienced appreciative audience.  Larry Chandler challenged my understanding of terroir to be more than just the earth in which the wine arose, to encompass the influence of all factors that make a wine unique (perhaps using ‘terroir’ for lack of a better word) but the conversations kept returning to the experience– the story and the relationship, to the wine.

The art of appreciating wine starts with understanding yourself and what you love and don’t love, and then adding a story.  Consider the last time you had a wine experience that stirred your senses: Where were you? Of what did it remind you?  How did the wine come alive?  From the hands that tend the soil to the hand that raises the glass, we breathe life into and from every wine we encounter.