WHERE THE MUSE WAITS
Santa Cruz, California. 3:00 am. My phone rang. “Storm’s coming in fast,” a friend said. “Can you help?”
I pulled on jeans, layers of shirts, and work boots. Grabbed a rain jacket on my way out the door. I’d never harvested grapes, but I was prepared for physical work. Little did I suspect the Muse was waiting for me, nor that She would open the door to a world I would spend the next several years exploring.
We drove through the dark, into the heart of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Our car’s axle hit, but did not break, on the pot-holed, two-mile driveway. We pulled up to a geodesic dome, a homemade sort of place, belonging to the vineyard owner. The beam from his powerful Maglight met us, then led us up the mountainside on a steep trail. Up top, disembodied lights danced among the grape vines. We were outfitted with headlamps, clippers, and buckets.
When Mr. Maglite lowered his beam, a shoulder-high tree appeared as though he had conjured it. Red and gold leaves shimmered with dew. Clumps of dark purple peeked from behind the leaves. The branches were trained in a goblet-like crown. “These are the grand dames of my vineyard,” our magician told us. “A hundred years old… no, make that a hundred twenty.” He lifted a grape bunch into the light. “Packed so tight, the grapes can’t dry after a rain. Just a few hours wet, and mildew rots ‘em.” His clippers flashed, releasing the grape bunch. “Just like that. Fast as you can.” As I watched him walk away, a metallic flash glinted from his artificial leg.
Dawn broke, its light muted by the advancing storm clouds. We worked through the morning without stopping. At first it took all my concentration to get up to speed. But when my buckets were full, I took a moment to survey my surroundings. A breeze rippled through the vines. The crimson vineyard shimmered. Redwood trees rimmed the vineyard as though a giant had planted a fence to protect it. I inhaled: the pungent aroma of ripe zinfandel grapes—plum, cherry, black pepper—overlay the resiny scent of redwood.
There were ten of us harvesting in pairs. Three pairs were laughing, joking, and generally having a good time. But two pairs spoke quietly, radiating grief. Snippets of their conversation reached me:
“We didn’t get there in time.”
“Joe’s the sixth one this year.”
“We need to talk to the guys, figure out a better way.”
“His kids are devastated.”
And later:
“Word is, the suicide rate’s just as bad for the guys coming back from the Gulf.”
“Yeah. VFP is reaching out to them.”
Hours later, drenched by the storm but ecstatic to have saved the harvest, we gathered around our host’s potbelly stove. Michael, the owner, pulled corks from bottles of aged zinfandel. He filled our glasses. I wasn’t expecting much. I’d been introduced to zinfandel in my grad school days—jugs of plummy, high alcohol red purchased on a shoe-string budget. But his wine was exquisite. From the first taste, I knew it was the wine for me. My curiosity kicked in.
“Where did zinfandel come from?” I asked.
“No one knows! That’s why it’s called The California Varietal.”
Now I was really curious.
The year was 2001, an exciting time to dive into the story of zinfandel. Historians were digging through records of California’s 19th Century wine industry. Colorful characters, like a Boston sea captain and amateur botanist, a polymath Hungarian aristocrat, and a French vineyardist all played a role in bringing zinfandel to California.
At UC Davis, researchers were studying samples from heritage vineyards across northern California, working to unlock zinfandel’s secrets. From the boot of Italy to the Croatian Coast, a team of academic enologists were tramping through vineyards, searching for zinfandel’s origins.
Zinfandel research was fascinating and fun, but there was another dimension to the story of that mountain vineyard. Over time, I learned the background of the men I’d met that harvest day. They were Vietnam War veterans. Injured in body and spirit, they had come home from war to discover they’d been lied to by their commanding officers, the Secretary of War, and the President. Untreated PTSD had led many of them to take refuge in the mountains. Now they formed links in a nationwide network of vets who would travel any distance to rescue a vet considering suicide. [In the U.S., the suicide rate for veterans still averages 16 a day]. I was deeply moved by their courage, and I knew someday I would bring their voices to the page.
Like a fine wine, the rich layers of an experience develop over time. Twenty years after my phone rang through the predawn darkness, I sat down to capture that harvest morning in my Santa Cruz mystery novel, Mortal Zin.
Diane Schaffer
@dianeschaffer.author
Before writing fiction, in her checkered career, Diane has been a college professor, a Celtic harper, a white-water kayaker and a vineyard worker. She splits her time between Santa Cruz, CA, and Ashland, OR. When she isn’t writing, she’s hiking, studying Spanish, or reading a good book. Zinfandel is still her favorite wine.
MORTAL ZIN
A crusading attorney’s death. Sabotage at a family winery. Secrets buried in California’s past…
When corporate attorney Noli Cooper visits her godparents’ Santa Cruz Mountain winery, she’s hoping for a few quiet days to consider her future. But the future will have to wait. The body of her childhood mentor, a crusading social justice lawyer and local hero, is discovered in a rocky ocean cove. The sheriff is quick to call it suicide. Noli knows he’s wrong. Teaming up with PI Luz Alvarado, Noli dives into a world where nothing is as it seems.
As threats mount and the winery teeters on the brink of ruin, Noli and Luz must navigate a treacherous landscape of greed, revenge, and long-buried secrets. Their investigation weaves through the rich tapestry of California’s vineyard history, the mystery of zinfandel grapes, and the haunting legacy of the Vietnam War. With a murderer on the loose, predatory neighbors circling, and Noli’s godfather framed for murder, the clock is ticking. Can two fearless women from different worlds unravel the truth before it’s too late?
BUY HERE
Category: How To and Tips
Subscribe
If you enjoyed this article, subscribe to receive more just like it.
