On Rosé - Or, Seasons, and Change

Spring's looking summer square in the sparkling eyes, and liking what she sees. The days are getting longer. The nights are, finally, getting warmer (I, unlike grapevines, have an unabashed love for a warm night; something about moonlight on bare skin strikes me as irresistible). Everything seems just a touch fiercer. Rosé becomes an almost-daily habit.

Rosé. Vin Gris. Pink wine. We've enjoyed some very tasty examples recently (Arnot-Roberts – Touriga Nacional, Bedrock – mostly Mourvèdre, Robert Sinskey Vineyards – Pinot Noir). We at the j.brix project now have two vintages under cork ('10 & '11) of our own Grenache-based pink, Uncontainable, and are finding both of them eminently drinkable and delightful in their own ways. We'd love to share them with you. 

Get thee to the cellar ... we'll open up the Uncontainable

These are the days where harvest seems frighteningly close and forgettably distant, all in the span of a thought. For those with a penchant for procrastination, these are indeed the briefest of halcyon moments ("Plenty of time! Nothing but time! And sunshine!"); and yet they can't be completely believed, because it isn't really true. There isn't, in fact, plenty of time. Summer will come with its hugely important and strangely distant self and it will go, and it will be time to make the wine again, and you will do your very best, because you must. And your first wine, your introduction to the span of months in which darkness comes quickly and sleep is not a priority and logistics are everything, will be a pink one; the kind those who understand will love, and the others will dismiss.

You will drink this wine in the new springtime, and in the summer. You will share it with those who know what it is to be bound to the seasons in a rhythm, a circle with unbreakable beginnings and endings. In these moments; in the sometimes-heartbreaking times of beginning and end that arise within them, you will understand: There is more. More. 

Embrace it. Wrap it in the perfect circle only your arms can create and place it in a jewel box in your mind, for it is fleeting. 

And it is beautiful.