Christmas Eve at dusk, above cold Seneca Lake waters, I walk across Barrow Vineyard to a cedar tree with my husband. When we established Barrow Vineyard, we left this tree to grow amongst the Riesling vines in row 17 as a symbol. Here, as is our ritual, we drink a toast to our ancestors by lifting a glass, filled with our own Barrow Vineyard Riesling, and hang a wooden toy on a cedar bough to blow in the wind. It’s dark when we leave and all is quiet except for the muffled sound of our heavy winter boots making tracks in the snow.
Reverence for continuity is inherent in the very act of establishing a vineyard. Every harvest is an homage to all that has gone before and all that will follow. As a winegrower, my passion is to forge an intimate connection to the vineyard, to reveal its hidden poetry. On Christmas Eve, Kim and I rejoice as we toast to the many and varied vintages that will come from vines planted on a steep hillside above Seneca Lake – from our own Barrow Vineyard - long after we are gone.