Chapter 26 Otis Rising #2
Everyone needs someone like that, he thought.
Everyone.
Back in Washington State, Otis drove the farm truck with the Redmtn license plate to the police station in Kennewick and posted bail for Vance Mason. When the kid came walking out into the lobby, he said, “ You sprang me? What for?”
“Can I give you a ride home? I’ll tell you on the way.”
Vance reluctantly climbed in and told Otis that his house was over on the Pasco side.
Otis drove slowly as he spoke. “My mentor died this week. The same day you and I went to jail. It made me do a lot of thinking. I want to apologize for how I’ve treated you.
You don’t deserve it. Not that I condone you shooting at coyotes.
That happens again, we’re going to be right back to having a problem.
But I didn’t give you a chance from the outset.
Maybe you’re right. My wife listens to a lot of Pink Floyd, and there’s that song ‘Us and Them.’ You were a ‘them’ to me. That’s not right.”
“What’s your point?”
“I had an idea. Feel free to tell me to go fuck off, but I was thinking about your situation, losing your brother, inheriting that land. I don’t want to run you off, Vance.
I want to help. Let me help you plant your land.
I could teach you to farm vines. Give you the tools you need to make a living—if you’re tired of painting houses.
I don’t know that I’m much of a role model, but I had a few in my life, and maybe I could be there for you. ”
Otis felt embarrassed and wholly inadequate, but he stood firm.
“Why don’t we start over? We’re neighbors.
Let me help you bring to life what your brother wanted.
Maybe there’s something in that. I don’t know if the wine bug will bite you like it did me, but you could give it a go.
I’d be happy to teach you what I know. It’s a nice way to make a living.
Even that ten acres you have is a great start. ”
It was a long time before Vance said anything. “How much would it cost me to tear down the trees and plant grapes?”
“I’d pay for it.”
“You kidding?”
Otis shook his head, hoping Rebecca would be on board with the plan. Knowing her, she would.
“You did what?” Rebecca asked as she polished glasses in preparation to open the tasting room for the day.
Otis leaned on the other side of the concrete bar. “We don’t have to pay for it. I just thought ... I don’t know, Bec. I see a lost soul in Vance. Maybe instead of going to war with him, perhaps I— we —could make a difference in his life. Give him something to believe in.”
Rebecca held a glass up to the light. Satisfied, she slid it into the rack, then turned to her husband. “I think you’ve found your way, my love.”
“I don’t know about that, but it feels good to get outside of myself. Maybe that’s the secret to this life.”
Her smirk said it all.
“I know, I know. I’m late to the party. You figured this out a long time ago.”
“No, that’s not why I smiled. I have my issues. I spent a lot of years not taking care of myself. That’s equally important. I smiled because I fall in love with you more and more every single day.”
“I’m right there with you, wifey.” He leaned over the bar and planted one on her lips. “How about we go to dinner tonight? Try that new spot by the river?”
“Here I was thinking you’d forgotten about me.”
“Not a chance.”
Otis invited Vance over for Christmas Eve dinner. He wore a pressed shirt tucked into khakis, and he brought a bouquet of flowers. Flecks of paint from the day’s work lingered on his hands. After a few awkward moments, he loosened up and handled all the questions with grace.
Turned out his band was good—at least to the ears of some.
They’d played gigs all over the country.
Otis would have never known. Making it big was indeed Vance’s dream.
“Maybe one day after my mom’s gone, I’ll take a chance.
” Otis had invited her for Christmas as well, but Vance said she didn’t leave her nursing home anymore.
Her condition was too extreme. She didn’t even know who Vance was.
Halfway through the dinner, Otis said, “Vance, we’d like to hire you, if you’d be interested. We need some help around the cellar. Be a good way for you to cut your teeth, get ready for your own vines.”
He grabbed hold of his beard. “Really?”
“Otis doesn’t joke when it comes to wine.”
“Oh, that’s not true.”
“I’d be honored,” Vance said, allowing a rare grin.
In May, Otis’s team planted two thousand vines on Vance’s property, mostly syrah and cabernet, with a smattering of chenin blanc for fun. Vance was out there the entire time, getting his hands dirty, and when they finished, Otis and Vance went down to the taco truck in Benton City.
While they waited for their orders, Vance said, “I want to thank you, Otis.”
“You already have.”
“I know, but ... no one has ever cut me a break like you. I’ll make you proud, try to grow good grapes.”
“Hey, I’m proud right now. You’ll be a great farmer if you stick with it.”
“I hope so.”
“By the way, I’ve called a meeting. Everyone on the mountain. Would you come?”
“Sure.”
A week later, out front of the Till Vineyards tasting room, Otis stood in front of nearly every winegrower and winemaker on Red Mountain.
They’d come up from the riverside and down from the hill.
Many of them wore jeans and boots, but another set wore fancier clothes, as if they’d walked right out of a boardroom.
“I know we’re all so different,” Otis started, speaking loudly, “but I suspect we’re all here for a reason.
I won’t get too mystical on you, but maybe there is some sort of design.
Maybe it’s our place to lift Red Mountain to new heights.
I’ve tasted a lot of wine from around the world, and what I know is that this little blip of land makes wines something beautiful.
It’s a challenge. By God, it’s a challenge, but isn’t that what growing good fruit is all about? ”
Otis paused, wondering if they really could all come together.
“Look, I’m an outsider, but I’ve been doing this a long time.
Maybe we all want the same things. If that’s the case, would you let me offer you my spin?
Tom and Anne-Marie Hedges have a vision of Red Mountain one day becoming its own AVA.
When I first heard that, I nearly fell from my chair.
I’m convinced it’s exactly the way we must forge ahead. As a collective.”
Otis heard the urgency in his voice. “I hear talk of workers not being paid. That can’t happen.
I see some of our wines out there on shelves with the pricing slashed.
Or retail pricing close to eight dollars.
Lower sometimes. And the labels ... they look like you printed them at home.
Even the choice of glass matters. We don’t want our wines in cheap glass .
.. we don’t want cheap corks. I don’t even want to spray chemicals, but that’s a fight I’ll wage down the line.
These are things we have to talk about. Especially as we work to make Red Mountain its own AVA. ”
He held up a finger, reminded of the first hard lesson he’d learned. “But first, as you know, we must sell Washington State. When I was on the road, someone bloody asked me which side of the Potomac we planted on.”
Trickles of laughter blended with the skepticism in the air.
“How many times has someone said to you, ‘I thought it always rained in Washington State’? Then you have to tell them that’s in Seattle and explain how the Cascades stop the weather from moving our way.
That’s just fine. We’re on virgin land. We are settlers, pioneers .
Along with making the finest wines we can muster, ones that taste only of this place, we must work together to spread the word.
That means we all have to devote marketing dollars to getting out there and pouring the wines.
We can’t wait for drinkers to come here.
We have to go to them. We have to pour our wines down their gullets and show them that we have something extraordinary to offer. ”
He wondered whether he was getting through to anyone.
A few eyes had glazed over. “Some of you might want to tell me to go back to California, but I’m here to ride the wave with you, to become a soldier of our terroir.
I will give everything I have to this land for the rest of my life, and when the time comes, when my body starts to fade, I will let the vines wrap around me and take me back into the earth.
My dying breath will be of this place, of Red Mountain. ”
His heart charged forward. “To some, it’s a small thing.
To me, the land, this land. The vines. What we’re doing.
It matters. It’s the way I shine my light on the world.
I’d like to offer an idea. I’d like everyone to have a voice and a way for us to communicate.
So I propose we create a consortium. Anyone who has a foot in this land can join.
A Red Mountain Round Table, if you like.
No leaders, simply a united voice. We may not always see eye to eye, but we can find our common ground.
We can work together to solve issues both in the fields and in the cellar. We can learn from each other.”
Otis looked at Vance. “We must pave the way for the next generation. It took Burgundy hundreds of years to achieve its status, but it started somewhere. Like this, a collective of people willing to work together, wanting to change the world.”
He searched the crowd for supporters. “What say you? Will you take a seat at the Red Mountain Round Table?”
A silence hovered in the air. Otis wasn’t expecting cheering, but he thought he’d spoken some inspiring words.
“Not even a clap?” he asked.
A few nodded. The hermit Mitch Green raised an arm in solidarity.