Can you guess what I've been reading about lately? Yup, vineyards. Post-straight edge, I vowed not to become a drunken sot like so many frat brothers and hipsters I saw around the various campuses that I attended for my post-high school education.
Wine was the thinking man's drink, in my eyes (even Thunderbird, a fortified wine favored by the down and out, is based on classic wines such as port, sherry, marsala, and madeira). Unfortunately, I don't have the palate for true oenophilic snobbishness, but I do like to drink wine.
And, as so many other wine enthusiasts, I dream of owning my own vineyard. Tending the vines, the fall vendange followed by a winter of racking and bottling and then, a few years hence, opening the bottle and tasting the sweet nectar created with my own hands.
Of course the dream is Northern California, or the south of France, or Italy, Chile maybe, but the reality? Probably southwest Michigan, which has actually developed a nice little wine trail of its own. It's proximate to Chicago, so that works from a family perspective as well.
And just think about all the cool winemaking gear I'll have to get...