Wine Lives

After two years of extensive research using the World Wide Web as well as contacts around the world, the antique press was being replaced at Chateau DuPaupeit in Saint-Émilion, in the south of France. Mr. Jaure’s older son Peter emailed the private seller. Within a month, he was on an Air France flight to Paris connecting via SNCF train to Bordeaux. At the station, he was greeted by Jean Pierre who drove him to the Eighteen-century winery in his silver Peugeot 407. He personally made the purchase and handled the shipping arrangements. The traditional French basket press arrived by means of a cargo ship to Mendoza three months later.

Another stunning blue sky welcomes the Mendoza morning. Just one lingering cloud floats away from the sun. Julian begins to empty pool number nine. It is imperative not to use any artificial artifact that will interfere with the natural evolution of the wine. A large-mouth accordion hose is attached to the valve of the pool that contained the fully fermented wine. It runs along the winery’s main floor into a hole where a shiny round steel lid lays on the side. The hose penetrates the opening and descents into the dark cellar on the floor immediately below. When the winemaker gives the green light, the oak barricks on the lower level will begin filling naturally by the force of gravity.

Gravitational fermentation refers to the transferring of wine from one location to another without the use of pumps that would introduce air and other artificial elements to the juice.

The smell of recently created alcohol in the air is intermingling with the captivating grape juice smell that was filling the winery for the past couple of weeks. The scent is now a complex carrousel of aromas.

“Please verify that it’s tight,” instructs Julian to his apprentice. “Confirmed”, responds the short slim young man attentive to every detail. The hose is locked to the valve and the transfer is ready to begin. Julian strides down the stairs to meet the other end of the hose. It curls down from the ceiling’s round opening like a hanging boa into the dim aging room. “I got it!” His voice is barely heard on the main level. The smell of toasted oak lusts for grape juice. He selects the first oak barrick in the cellar and pulls the plastic cork from the middle. He immediately inserts the conduit into the round carved hole. “OK, open it!” Once again shouts the winemaker. “Are you sure?” yells back his assistant on the other end of the hose knowing his master winemaker always requests a second confirmation so no wine is wasted. “Confirmed again!” is heard from the floor below with a slight hint of laughter. At the main floor, the apprentice opens the valve and hears the stream of wine traveling downwards. Julian is waiting below for the surge to arrive with the accordion hose inserted into the oak barrick. He hears the waves… it is almost there… he can feel it coming… “It’s here! It’s here!” he sees the splash inside the barrick which begins filling. Without the use of pumps or any machinery, the wine is naturally flowing sorely by the force of gravity.

“Good morning Michinga!” Says Antonio surprising the loyal wine apprentice. “Good morning Mr. Carrizo, good morning Mr. Jaure”, responds the bony middle age helper quickly raising his head. “Where is Julian?” asks Jacinto Jaure tightening the hose. “He is below, we are filling the barrels”, answers Michinga still calculating the wine level until the pool is empty.

Michinga was the nickname given to this young vagabond who was found at the winery during the remodeling process. He had been sleeping in a corner of the abandoned cellars, which had been inhabited for more than thirty years. The skeletal dark young man walked around with a crooked wooden stick in his hand and a balding old dog by his side. Antonio tried to kick him out several times while managing the winery’s renovation; basically, for his own good since there were heavy machinery constantly digging and moving large cement pieces in order to make the winery a state of the art facility. Michinga kept coming back. Always finding an isolated corner to fold his ragged jacket and lay his head to rest. Antonio was beaten by his compassion and when it came time to feed the workers, he invited the short weakened drifter to join them.

Everyday Michinga would help move the rubble, learned how to mix the epoxy compound to renovate the interior of the cement vats and even became an expert handling the temperature control unit that was being installed.

While Antonio was purchasing the stainless steel caps and floodgates for the winery in his many travels, the now stronger and mended helper was hanging out with the winemaker asking questions like a curious four year old. He won the heart of everybody at the winery. He soon became Jaure Winery’s mascot. It was not long until the loved vagrant began to impress his caretakers by asking intelligent questions and suggesting interesting winemaking techniques. The homeless man sleeping for years in the neglected winery was now offered a job in the newly reconstructed impeccable facility. Michinga never realized his true calling was within the place he called a refuge.

“The pool is empty!” Shouts the esteemed trainee. Antonio and Jacinto walk pass the tasting room in the lower level and pass the archway to the adjacent cellar. Julian still has his hand on the hose feeding another oak barrel. “Julian, how many barricks did you fill with this pool?” inquires the owner knowing how costly each barrick affects his pocket. Each oak barrick costs approximately US$1,100.00 drastically increasing the wine’s final cost. “After filling this one it will be 90 barricks, I started on that one,” points Julian to the barrel at the beginning of the room and he is now standing...
The owner’s h