Phyllis, Rest In Pieces

A brief Sky Update:
Phyllis, the infamous if short lived Rooster of Sky, has left this unkind world. S/he arrived on the Sky scene a few months ago as a transplanted hen whose keeper could not longer keep her. Shortly after her controversial introduction into the chicken coop, it became apparent that she was actually a he. Over the next few months, Phyllis terrorized the home crew of hens and attempted to perfect her/his highly imperfect crowing. Phyllis would cock-a-doodle-doo to greet us as we tried to sneak into the house after curfew, and developed a reputation for waking the harvest volunteers more frequently throughout the night than Isobel. Despite the inevitably hostile feelings that develop at 4 a.m. when you really just want a little more sleep before getting up to pick grapes all day, Phyllis crowed his/her way into our Sky crew.

Phyllis lived under sentence of Sunday Dinner for the last couple of months. I took up her case and advocated for several stays of execution, but in the end, s/he wound up on the chopping block. The picture above was taken during her brief afternoon of freedom, during which she made a daring escape attempt, flying over the fence and up the hillside. After a mad scramble, Dad dove into the brush and retrieved her, just before she headed up to Random Ridge.

The details of her ultimate demise remain sketchy. Unreliable reports from Lore indicate that despite her tender years, she was very tough and the most remarkable characteristic were her incredibly large cojones. Although she was with us only a short time, I'm sure I will always remember our Sky Rooster when I see pictures of Phyllis Diller (which, thank god, happens very rarely) or when I hear AC/DC's Big Balls.

Harvest 2008!

First weekend of harvest is done! Super hot, tons of people, need more ice, very few tons of grapes.

First in order are the grazies: We had a big crew this year. I think we had 28 for dinner on Saturday night. Many, many, thanks to everyone who came up to pick: the Home Crew (Jesse, Val, Mica, Pomme, Chris, Iso, Lore, Amy, me, Matt); Steve, Mari and Sofie; Band Camp (thanks also for the fireside soundtrack); Team Omaha (all the way from Japan, via Nebraska - Tomoka, Adam, and Alex); and the reliable usual suspects: Nina, Dick & Joanne, and Donny B, who even brought his own crew even this year:Angela, Blake, and very tall Jackson. I think that's most of em. We appreciate everyone's hard work and hard play. It was a full and fun weekend.



We picked all the new zin in just two days and we were even finished picking on Sunday by 11 am. It is amazing how the big crew plows through like a plague of (really helpful) locust. (Is it plough or plow? Everything looks weird right now. I'm locked out of the house waiting in the laundry room and feeling deliriously tired. This is the only reason this posting is timely). After two bad frosts in April, the crop was at an all time low. We picked fewer than four tons of zin, which will likely turn into 250 cases. Yikes. The fruit looked great, though, so hopefully they will be 250 great cases!

This year is notable for the same reason that everything else lately has been notable: it is Isobel's first harvest. So, to celebrate her inaugural harvest, we stuck her in a grape box and stood around gawking. She didn't seem to be much of a fan of it, but we needed some good photos. I mean, we do have priorities around here. Welcome to the family, kid!

Two more weekends to go...

Phoenix

08-08-08 (weird!)

I’m settling in at the bar of Ruth Chris (remarkably and conveniently located in the lobby of my Huntsville, AL hotel) and figured I was long overdue for a post. Plus I am supposed to be writing up my memos from the day’s interviews, and, as they say, procrastination is the um, thing that makes us all do innovation. Or something (not at all) like that.

The past few months have brought “more intensity” (think Lost in Translation). Any excerpt of the recent past must start with highlight of our days: Isobel!

Isobel is the latest additional to the Crew. Upon her miniscule shoulders rests that weight of carrying the Sky stories into the next generation (no pressure, Sweet Iso). Not the transcribing of the stories, necessarily, but the starring and producing of them. So far, she has develop a voracious appetite for all of the divine food and drink that her world has to offer (although I have not tried the milk – nor do I intend to – so I cannot really vouch for her palate).

So Isobel is pretty much perfect. I’m sure that will change, but she must be pretty special to make even a kid-skeptic like me fall under her spell. And throughout the birth and first month, Pomme and Chris have displayed amazing strength and grace. I’m so excited to see where things go from here.

* * *

Next Chapter: In Which The Sky Burns

June 24, 2008 brought us another terrifying fire at Sky. I vividly remember the Cavedale Fire of July 1996. I was working down in Glen Ellen at Susan Brandt-Hawley’s law office when the first word of fire on the hill hit. I remember the sickening pit in your stomach as you wonder how close the flames are to your home – your heart – or how soon they will be how close. We were lucky that time – as we were this time – but it was a traumatic and terrifying experience. I was stranded downtown for a days as the fire threatened Sky and Dad and Maya were up on the hill doing what they could to secure the place. I took Paloma to the Sonoma fair for her birthday and we tried maintain a little normalcy in the midst of the uncertainty and fear about what was happening on the hill.

This time, I felt that same sickening heaviness as Matt and I drove across the Richmond bridge. I knew by then that fire was at Sky, but information about the damage, size, and attempts to fight it was unreliable and constantly changing. As Matt drove, I worked the phone, seeking and disseminating what little information there was to be had.

When we finally drove the Sky gate, I was simultaneously intensely relieved and distraught. Finally to be there, to be able to see what was happening, to be reassured that the fire was out with the damage contained, brought the relief; the scorched blackness covering a portion of the vineyard and extending into the woods brought the anguish.

We were lucky in many ways: through the extraordinary work of many firefighters, starting with Mayacamas Volunteer Firefight Uncle Jerry, first on the scene, the fire was put out quickly (and then Jerry and Jesse walked the perimeter throughout the night to put out any remaining embers and hotspots); no one was seriously hurt; the house and the winery were untouched; the chickens, despite having their coop ablaze several times, lived to crow about; and the tragedy brought out the love and support of many. We are very lucky. I need to keep reminding myself of how fortunate we are because while walking through the burned areas of our home in the hours and days after the fire and dealing with the ongoing consequences of the fire sometimes feels not so fortunate.

Hopefully there will be a phoenix soaring from the ashes. It certainly helps keep things in perspective to be reminded of the cycle of life. Interspersed in the destruction of things are the births and rebirths that bring enough brightness to keep us going through the valleys. And Isobel Valley has certainly been one of the brightest births.

ALRIGHT!! ALL RIGHT!!

Many thanks to the two great crews of this weekend who labeled their booties off! We did 125 cases of 05 zin on Saturday and 136 cases on Sunday and are all set to release the new vintage in the next week or two. For all those loyal die-hard (with a vengeance) volunteers who gave up the lure of carnivale in sf, bbqs, camping and other memorial day attractions, we are super grateful!

Specifically, Thanks and Great Job! to (in no particular order) Paloma, Isobel (in utero), Chris, Jesse, Val(erie), Mica, Amy, Matt, Dick, Joanne, Dave, Nic, Dawn and of course Ellison! If anyone has a picture of Ellison packing cases, send it my way so I can post it. Thats the sort of work ethic we like to see in the next generation.

We got a lot done and even had a good time. What more can you ask for? (Well, maybe some air freshener in the winery or charcoal underwear for one end of the table). On Sunday, after the work was done, the boys were apparently still ready for whatever was next on the agenda. As Pomme frequently says these days, "What ELSE?"


ALRIGHT! ALL RIGHT!

Bittersweet Success

I just heard that yesterday, the South Carolina Supreme Court overturned the homicide conviction of Regina McKnight. This was one of the cases that I worked on when I was at the Drug Policy Alliance and it was the one that has stuck with me as one of the saddest travesties that forces you to keep fighting.

Ms. McKnight suffered a still-birth and when the tox screen showed cocaine in the system of the fetus, South Carolina charged Ms. McKnight with murder. She was convicted and sentenced to 12 years in prison without parole. The South Carolina Supreme Court upheld her conviction, saying, in part, that because Len Bias died from using cocaine once, everyone knew it could be fatal. So a pregnant woman who took cocaine should have known that it could kill the fetus -- despite the fact that there is no scientific evidence showing that cocaine causes stillbirth. In fact, the most current evidence indicated that cocaine's affect on a fetus was about the same as lack of nutrition or poor pre-natal care, and less harmful that smoking cigarettes. See, W. Chavkin, Cocaine and Pregnancy - Time to Look at the Evidence 285 JAMA 1626 (2001).

Ms. McKnight is still in prison. The State gets to keep here there while they decide to appeal the decision or retry her again. She has served 8 years so far. So while I am so relieved and happy that the South Carolina Supreme Court overturned her conviction -- finally -- I am still so angry at how long she was been there and at the crimes of wrongfully imprisoning people that the States perpetrate with impunity.

Please read the article about the case: http://www.charlotte.com/205/story/620738.html. Ms. McKnight's case played a critical role in how I perceive the justice system and partly why I finally got off my ass and went to law school.

Karmic Retribution

I'm generally a fairly humble and modest sort of soul. I try to keep a healthy sense of self worth without approaching the bloated egos of my childhood rivals (my brother, "Super G," or my cousin, "The Man"). Yet sometimes, the evidence is unsurmountable. Sometimes, the universe just shouts at you and lets you know that you play a more significant role in the cosmos than you had previously thought. Or at least, it does me. And lately, I've received a Howler!

In what form, you may ask, did this Howler arrive? Now by owl or even post. It came in the form of some sort of terrible karmic retribution, where all the stars aligned to torment me.

(at the wedding, before Ttam and Alyks went to the bar)

I just was in Chicago for the weekend for Betta's wedding. Perhaps the rumors of the trip have already circulated (reports of riling up Canadians at 4 am at the bar, or Matt making the Iraq war veteran bridesmaid cry at 5 am at the bar), but the more important story is that of the karmic retribution. What is the best part of Chicago? The hot dogs, of course! and on the top of that list is Hot Doug's, source of the fantastic tee that I have been seen sporting (There are no finer words in the English language than "encased meat", my friend). And I have a bit of a history with Hot Doug (and no, I am most certainly not talking about Gardner). After hearing legendary tales of the duck fat fries, which are available only on Fridays, and the hot dog with foie gras served to protest the tyrannical ban on foie gras, I had no agenda other than going to Hot Doug's on my first visit to Chicago a couple of years ago. As I was about to get on the airplane, I hopped on the website only to find that Hot Dougs was CLOSED FOR THE ENTIRE WEEK in February that I was going to be in Chicago. Words cannot express my dismay. They close for one week a year and it just happened to be the one miserable week in February that I would be there. Well, I recovered, eventually, from that blow. [Is it inappropriate to use that particular metaphor when discussing hot dogs?]. Although I failed to realize it at the time, this was just one more dig of the universe punishing me for some yet incomprehensible transgression. The next trip to Chicago, over a year later, proved to be an aberration in the karmic scoreboard. I must have redeemed myself, if only momentarily. A friend picked me up at the airport and drove directly to Hot Dougs, where we proceeded to polish off 3 hot dogs and some (regular, non duck fatted) fries. The experience transcended all expectation so I bought the tee shirt to commemorate. Almost sucess! And then, after nearly another year had gone by, I found myself in Chicago a couple of weeks ago. And it was a Friday. I was feeling good. I was feeling great, actually! I couldn't wait to finally fulfill my date with destiny (by which, I mean duck fat fries). I was sneaking in a few chapters of my HP7 re-read and asked Matt to look up the address so we could head our for our fix. All of a sudden, I hear this great cackle of laughter, as if Matt finally got the cartoons in the New Yorker -- all of them, all at once. I waited impatiently while he recovered from the laughter to find out what was so funny. Yes, it is as you would expect from this long-winded build up: Hot Doug's was closed. AGAIN. FOR THE ENTIRE TIME I WAS IN CHICAGO. EVEN THOUGH IT WAS MARCH THIS TIME, AND NOT THAT WEEK IN FEBRUARY. ARGGGG.

So what else am I left to understand, other than that the entire cosmos rearranged the vacation schedule of Hot Doug's in an effort to foil me, yet again. It made me realize two things:1. that I, perhaps, am more than just an Extra in this grand production of life; and 2. perhaps I better start behaving myself a little better if I ever expect to get my hands on some piping hot duck fat fries from Hot Dougs (or oysters at Hog Island, or strawberries from the Watmaugh stand, etc. etc.). Just as soon as I can out how I soo offended the cosmos, I will try to straighten up and fly right.

(Did someone just say Cosmo? I'll take one, if you're offering...)

Mmm...dinner

Wiggles totally has the right idea. Eating meat is totally cool (and damn delicious!) as long as you go for fresh, free range, sustainable meat that has lead a good life (up until the terrifying last few moments being chased around by an over-fed dog whose favorite meal is excrement) and is not full of toxins, antibiotics, and botox.

I can't stand my meat with botox. Really, if I want a shot of botulism, I'll go visit my favorite botox injecting local nurse.

Anyway, I diverge. What I'm really ranting about is vegetarians. Who needs them? Give it to us, RAW, AND WIGGLING! The succulent, juicy first bite of a bloody rare rouge burger is a joy not to be denied. There is so much misery, heart break, and uphill battles that we face everyday, why deprive the body of the pure dopamine and seratonin shots to the brain with the irresistible taste of perfectly braised duck leg? Accompanied by sublime potatoes, fried in duck fat?


Which brings me to another point. Duck fat -- is there anything it can't do? Really? I mean, really? Yeah, I didn't think so.

So...quick fussing with the mundane demands of your job and put all that cranial power to the important question of the day: What's for dinner?

Joan Wilder? The Joan Wilder?

In 1984, when Romancing the Stone came out, I was seven years old. We would go up to Jesse and Jeremy's house and all watch this movie over and over again. This movie, along with Calvin and Hobbes and Superfudge, are among the most influential pieces of mass media from my childhood.

Given that, it was so absolutely fantastic to be transported to the mudslides and wild jungle of Joan Wilder's Columbia a couple of weeks ago. Ok, so really, it was a hike along the Na Pali coast in Kauai, but it looked and felt like the scenes from the movie. Life very rarely imitates the movies so its thrilling when it actually happens.


I'd like to say that the trip was full of dangerous adventure, villains in hot pursuit, high speed chases, drama, scantily clad women, raging waterfalls to be forged, wild pigs and chickens roaming through the village, and biting witty dialogue, but the speed limit on the one State road around the Island never tops 50, so the chases were certainly not high speed.


The rest of it, however, lived up to the expectations. The dialogue was perhaps not as witty as one might hope (it was a family trip, after all), but certainly was less corny than something scripted in the 80s. The chickens roaming through the hills are apparently so inbred that their internal clocks malfunction and the roosters crowed at all hours of the day and night. The drama was perhaps less romantic and life threatening (it was a family trip, after all), but the women certainly were scantily clad. I kept looking around for Danny diVito.

And the Kauai trip surpassed a Columbian jungle adventure in quite a few respects: no snakes, no crocs, and many many more mai tais. (Oh man, there was one mai tai that was sooo good.) Sadly, we returned [well, I could stop the sentence right there, actually] with a few sunburns, mosquito bites, and drunken tales, but no emerald. We'll have to try again next time.

Trumer!

The most exciting news of all:


We love Trumer!

Excuses, Excuses

I'm a slacker. What can I say? I did try to spend the evening catching up with the posts and putting down all the hilarious, heart-warming, self-deprecating, insightful, light-hearted, sardonic, and mundane posts that are floating through my head. Instead, I spent the evening putting pictures on my computer and online. Some can be seen here. And all I got to posting was this lame excuse for not posting!

In my defense, it is a busy season. We had twos T-days to contend with:

Followed shortly by Christmas:
With a whirl wind tour of the lovely Texas cities of Houston, Waco, Crawford, and Hearne in between. Talk about a frightening line up.

Well, we've come out the other end of the holidays relatively unscathed. Well, most of us have. Val was turned into a bit of a Nancy in the chaos of the pre-Christmas bachelor party:

And Dad followed up Val's bout of puking with one of his own the next night. He was like a bulimic Santa Clause trying to shed a few pounds in order to fit down our narrow chimney pipes. Or maybe he was just anxiety ridden that he wasn't going to make the "nice" list this year.
Anyway, there's more news to follow... and someday i may even get to it.