Life Married to a Wine Maker:

Ah, harvest season. That magical time of year when the air is filled with the tantalizing aroma of fermenting grapes and every waking hour feels like a race against time. For us winemakers and our ever-patient partners, it’s a season of unfiltered chaos. And if you’re married to a winemaker, you’ll understand that even the smallest vineyard mishap can become an epic tale of its own.

So, let me set the scene: It’s late September 2022, and Kimberly, the talented and brilliant, wine maker at Resistance Wine Company, is deep into harvest season. This means lots of early morning wakeups and late nights processing, aka, exhaustion. Our house, bless it, has become an overflow space for all things vinous. The kitchen is now a lab, the garage full of bins and tie down cables, and our bedroom? Well, it’s the unlikely epicenter of a vinous disaster.

It's 2:14 AM, and I’m in the middle of a particularly vivid dream about being chased by an evil wine bottle that looks strangely like Mr. Reddington. Suddenly, there’s a loud bang that shakes the foundations of our home. Instantly, I’m up, adrenaline pumping, ready to confront whatever threat has dared to invade our nocturnal tranquility.

Fumbling for the light switch, I’m prepared to face down the likes of an intruder, a rogue raccoon, or—heaven forbid—a wine thief (dad joke, sorry!). But what do I find when the lights flicker on?

A scene of utter pandemonium. Kimberly’s test tubes, the very same ones she had carefully placed on her nightstand so that she remembers them in them in the morning, full of fermenting juice, have spontaneously combusted. Yes, you heard that right. Fermentation, in its most unhinged form, has decided to stage a rebellion in our bedroom.

Grape juice, having apparently tired of its confined glass prison, has erupted with the force of a small volcanic eruption. There’s a dent in the ceiling that could only be described as “artistic,” courtesy of the explosive fermentation. The once-pristine ceiling now boasts a grape-splattered fresco that could make Michelangelo rethink his career choices or I might be able to sell a copy on ebay…

Kimberly, ever the picture of composure, eventually stirs from her slumber to find me standing in our grape-streaked bedroom, eyes wide as saucers, trying to process the fact that our quiet night has been hijacked by an oenological disaster. She blinks, looks around at the chaos, and then bursts into laughter.

“Well,” she says, wiping grape juice from her face, “I guess we’re going to need to repaint the ceiling.” Really, she means me…

And that, my friends, is what it’s like being married to a winemaker. Amidst the chaos, the clinking glasses, and the occasional explosive fermentation, it’s a life filled with laughter, unexpected adventures, and an ever-growing appreciation for the artistry of wine.

Cheers to harvest season, and may your nights be filled with less explosive surprises and more tranquil tastings.