It was still quite windy this morning, but since the clouds didn't look very threatening, I decided to take my chances and hit the road. Pushed along by a brisk wind generally out of the South and Southwest, I had a really nice ride up into Mississippi to the old town of Woodville. The road was mostly dry, although often littered with fallen tree branches from Hurricane Rita. One thing I just can't get over around here is the lack of traffic on these wonderful country roads. In the 23 or so miles from here to Woodville I probably didn't see more than 10 cars. Again today I saw a few deer rushing in to the underbrush as I approached. The ride out to Woodville was really nice, and when I turned around I realized why.
The return trip was, for the most part, right into the wind the whole way. At least I was spared the full force thanks to the trees that formed a canopy over much of the road. It was turning into a good workout and so I took a slightly longer way back to Highway 10, logging 50+ miles.
This afternoon we decided to go check out the local winery, Feliciana Cellars, which is within walking distance from here. It's located in a rather pretentious building right on Highway 10 and always looks to be deserted. When we entered there was one other couple there. The Wife and Jim tasted a few wines and bought a couple of bottles.
Then they decided that we should drive about fifteen miles down the road and check out Casa de Sue winery as well. It was already about 4 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon, but, what the hey? Finally spotting the aging road sign, I stabbed the brakes and tugged the Volvo off the highway onto a narrow old road that consisted of small patches of asphalt connecting innumerable potholes. The car's worn-out suspension complained loudly as we made out way yet another five miles into the woods where the asphalt ended and the road turned to gravel. Soon we were wondering if we had taken the wrong road, but finally we came to a little sign and turned onto the long driveway to what was essentially a metal warehouse surrounded by a small vineyard. There was a guy walking out of the place as we drove up and Jim asked if they were open. Amused, the proprietor said that they had actually moved their tasting room to Clinton (about five miles back), that it was closed on Sunday, but that he'd be glad to give us the tour and sell us a few bottles of wine. So he took us through the place, showing us all of the machinery that they use to press the grapes, make the wine, bottle it and label it. We tasted a few of the wines while listening to him complain about the crooked state legislation that essentially makes it impossible for a small wine or beer maker to market his product. (He was right - a couple of big distributors have complete control over the state, which is why there are practically no Louisiana-produced beers or wines on the market.) As a grower, he can sell to individuals, but he cannot wholesale his own product. Anyway, this guy's wine, at least some of it, was much better than what we had tasted at the other place, and at $6 a bottle we bought five. He stuffed the cash into his shirt pocket.
As we were walking out he mentioned a name that The Wife recognized. She told him that she was from Baton Rouge that she had known a family with that name when she was growing up. He asked her what her family name was and then says, "on Harrell's Ferry Road?" It turned out that this guy had dated The Wife's sister. He then proceeded to tell us the story of how she had asked him to take her to her prom and hot he had forgotten about it completely. Their parents called his parents, but it was already too late. He added that he remembered their house because the road turned from asphalt to gravel there. One night he was being chased by the police (he said this like it happened all the time) and when he sped through that spot, the police car slid in the gravel and turned over. He got home and went to bed, only to be awakened by his brother saying, "wake up, the house is surrounded by police. What did you do??" Anyway, here we are out in the middle of nowhere talking with some oddball guy who runs a vineyard in Louisiana and he turns out to know The Wife's family.
Small World.
1 comment:
Your posting on the situation of small individual Louisiana wine and beer makers is a telling commentary on how things have been handled in this state over the many years.
What was left of Rita went right over Shreveport late Saturday afternoon but, outside of 8 hours without power, my place weathered the storm okay. It was like going through a heavy thunderstorm, nothing out of the ordinary.
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