How I Came to Live in a Barn: part 3

Welcome to Friday and another edition of "How I Came to Live in a Barn," the series that strives to connect drinking to farming as relevantly as humanly possible.

As a quick preface to this series, from April to December of 2010 I lived in a barn. No electricity, running water, MTA strikes or lollygagging. During that time I worked on a legitimately (though proudly uncertified) organic farm in Southern Kentucky. This series is about the many whims, fascinations and revelations that eventually inspired me to kick the kicks, buy some boots and go farming. Once we catch up to the present, I'll use the occasion to explain what I'm up to now, you know, beyond the blaug. Is this preface going to appear at the beginning of the entire serious? Almost definitely. Ready? Wunderbar.

How I Came to Live in a Barn: The Bertrand Gautherot Edition

Champagne. September of 2008.

After letting me babble at him in French for a few minutes, Bertrand kindly suggested we speak in English. I liked Bertrand Gautherot Immediately. He was genial, friendly, excited and honest. He grabbed a garden fork and we hopped in his van with his dog Chops (pronounced "shops" in French) and headed down the road to see his cows.

Vouette et Sorbée is located in the southern part of Champagne in Buxières sur Arce, not far from the city of Troyes (pronounced "Twa"). Bertrand, the farmer and winemaker, farms 5 hectares of vines, both pinot noir and chardonnay. An hectare is approximately 2.47105381 acre (thereabouts) and the only compost he uses for everything (including his personal garden) comes from these cows. He's emphatic about how important they are to the farm and how they are the best indication for how things are going. Needless to say, as a very involved winemaker, he checks in with them daily.

We stood and talked about biodynamics while the cattle regarded me impassively, then he brought me to his vines. Vouette et Sorbée has been Demeter certified biodynamic since 1998. His neighbors do not farm organically, however. If I remember correctly, they sell most of their grapes to the bigger houses in Reims and Épernay including Veuve and Moet, both well-over an hour's drive. Making that type of farming a lucrative option, one must boost the yields of their vines exponentially through the use of chemical fertilizers and the like, forming a veritable "wall of grape clusters" as Bertrand puts it. It was a bit freakish-looking, even to a neophyte like myself.

I was there in September, so I got to taste a grape from each kind of vineyard; I got to witness the vitality of his vines in comparison to their's while they were still alive; I got touch the leaves and examine the clusters. It was all wonderfully educational to someone simply trying to understand what the hell biodynamics did, and what made them so different. The answer was far more tangible than anticipated. Bertrand ran to his van and brought back the garden fork. He scooped a chunk of soil from his neighbor's vineyards, and set it gently on the ground. Then he took a chunk of his own (below, left) and sat it right next to his neighbor's (below, right).

Unsurprisingly the differences were remarkable. Barely could you call these two things kin. On the one hand you had somewhat oily and flaccid mud, and on the other you had a fluffy, mossy pillow of soil with an earthworm for punctuation. Bertrand's soil smelled sweet and tasted even sweeter, while his neighbor's smelled like nothing at all so I decided not to taste it. In that moment, organic farming completely made sense to me.

We finished off the tour and went to his house where he opened a bottle of "Fidèle" (his 100% pinot noir), and chatted at his table. He said something that I've never forgotten as I was leaving that afternoon. When I wished him luck on his new importation into the US, he said graciously, "Thank you, but I hope that one day I wont have to import my wines to the US. You can make wine there, maybe one day you'll make your own champagne..." then I left. I'm not even sure if I responded.

Later that evening as I was sitting in a garden in Burgundy, drinking my glass of aligoté, I couldn't shake what he'd said. It was both mind-bendingly ludicrous and completely logical. If one is to view wine as a what it is––a necessary, but simple fermented beverage––then we don't need it to come from anywhere in particular: there's plenty of fruit in the United States from which to make "wine." All that's required is fresh fruit and time, which I'm pretty sure we still have here. It wont be champagne, but who's to say it couldn't be comparable. Or even better––better?

I pondered it for a while, feeling the occasional twinge of patriotism, then returned to my book. I was half-way through "The Omnivore's Dilemma" and completely unaware of how it, and a number of other books, would come to shape my future. Bertrand had planted quite a seed, it was about to receive some cultivation.

Alors, á la semaine prochaine, as they say in French––till next week.

Tony Coturri Talks About Biodynamics

Why listen to me, when you can listen to Tony Coturri? I love these videos and this man makes some of my favorite tipple in all the land. Also, is it ironic that most of the videos you can find on biodynamics are about wine and Rudolf Steiner was a teetotaller? Anyway, enjoy these - Tony Coturri is definitely a good source for information as well as inspiration (foreshadowing?).

Biodynamically Flavored Books

Yesterday, in observance of Valentine's day, I booked myself a flight to New York for Natural Wine Week and I'm now taking dance-card reservations, happy hour reservations, coffee reservations and dinner reservations that preferably need no reservations because homeboy (moi) is poooooooor-or. So hit me on the hip and we'll drink something funky.

In continuation of our biodynamically-themed week, I came across some books worth sharing. When I was first introduced to biodynamics I immediately tried to read some Rudolf Steiner but was rendered completely and utterly confused. Steiner makes for a fascinating read, and I've just recently been able to truly enjoy the lectures, but a preface to the philosophies is extremely helpful. I've still got a lot to learn about the subject, but these are the books that got me started.


Monty Waldin's "Biodynamic Wines" (pictured)
Monty has accomplished a wonderfully approachable read here, kicked-off by a mesmerizing introduction. The meat of the first half thoroughly outlines both the philosophies and preparations involved in biodynamics. The latter half of the book is dedicated to biodynamic winemakers across the world, and makes for invaluable reference material. I highly recommend this book for anybody even remotely curious in the practices.


Nicolas Joly's "What is Biodynamic Wines?"
Anyone familiar with Joly, knows he is decidedly dedicated to the philosophies of Steiner, and it helps to make his writing entertaining, engaging and exciting. Joly is among the more well-known proponents for biodynamics in winemaking and makes a very special set of wines in the Savennières region of the Loire Valley. This book is a bit more esoteric than Monty's but nonetheless an instant classic, covering a wider range of the spiritual aspects behind biodynamics. Also, the stuff about crystallization is pretty rad.

Gunther Hauk's "Toward Saving the Honeybee"
Without a doubt, one of my favorite books I read last year. It's depressingly short, however. I think I could happily read about Gunther Hauk's take on the world everyday and be happy. The book is technically about beekeeping, but limiting it to that would be incorrect and a mistake: this book is somehow about everything. Gunther does a superb job of demonstrating the personality behind biodynamics without being fancy, placating, or pretentious. He's just a delightful and honest dude. This is a book for everyone, curious about biodynamics or not. If beekeeping further interests you, there exists a book written by Steiner about the subject, which I've yet to read.

Also, pick up the Stella Natura Calendar. There are always some interesting articles by people like Jeff Poppen and Gunther Hauk, and then the calendar itself is fascinating, akin to the Farmer's Almanac, with a list of the best times to plant, to prune, etc.

That's where I started, and I'm admittedly still a newb to the subject, but the beauty of these practices is that the literature is so dense, there's always something new to learn from Steiner or his followers.

Biodynamic Preperations

I reckon I should probably at least touch on the subject of biodynamics going into Friday's post, yes? I don't want my blog to become so esoteric that it will lose that HBO-like, suspenseful, edge-of-your-seat feel I've been creating. It feels like that, right? Just let me know if it gets too... Soprano's-ish.

There are a lot of things that go into biodynamics, but I'm not going to go nuts here: knowing the basic principles, or the theories behind them––which I admit is a hard thing to pin down––is a good start. Historically, the man credited with the creation of biodynamics is a man by the name of Rudolf Steiner (also known for his work in Theosophy and Anthroposphy). In the 1920's he gave a series of lectures which formed the foundation of the agricultural practice we call biodynamics. He was considered by some to be a "seer" and he believed in a very special relationship between the cosmos and life on earth. He saw the effects of the moon and the constellations as more than just gravity, but forces; he saw the earth as a living organism; and he saw the earth as in need of healing and humans to be the stewards of it. The lectures can be hard to read, but if you ever get a chance to hear someone talk about the subject, go. Leave behind any pretense though, understanding biodynamics takes an open mind.

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Bugtussle 2010

One warm April evening, Eric and I were reflecting on the day near the upper garden, as we were want to do at the end of most days. Soon we would be planting it with our main-season tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, etc., and he suggested we spread some barrel compost, a biodynamic preparation developed by Maria Thun.

Out of a little box he pulled a slightly measured handful of dirt and put it into a five gallon bucket full of water. Now, this garden measures about an acre. Five gallons of water, I asked, are supposed to fertilize this whole acre? He explained that biodynamics isn't about substance, it's about forces. It's about intention. Then we stirred the water/compost mix with our arms for twenty minutes (though people will go for upwards of an hour), 30 seconds in one direction, creating a vortex, then stopping the water and going the other way, creating chaos. The Vortex brings the forces in. The chaos helps oxygenate and enliven the preparation. When twenty minutes had elapsed we grabbed a couple handfuls of rye grass, our own buckets and went out into the garden, dipping our rye switches into the water and gently slinging the mixture into the air. The reason you do this at night is because nighttime is when the earth is "breathing in," pulling moisture towards itself (dew) and we utilize this natural rhythm to "impregnate" the dew with our compost preparation.

Eric laughed and added, "Anything you can do to make your neighbors think you're crazy is probably good, too."

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Hopefully this story illustrates the idea that there is definitely something different about biodynamic agriculture than, say, conventional, or even just organic. And I'll be dammed if those tomatoes weren't amazing and if those peppers and eggplants didn't produce well into November. Literally. Extraordinary vitality. Not to mention how relaxing it was to stir and apply the compost. I have no idea if what Steiner preached is correct, but I have nothing to refute how effective these practices are, or how enjoyable they are to practice.

More later.

How I Came to Live in a Barn: part 2

Welcome to Friday and another edition of "How I Came to Live in a Barn," the series that strives to connect drinking to farming as relevantly as humanly possible.

As a quick preface to this series, from April to December of 2010 I lived in a barn. No electricity, running water, twitter or bagels. During that time I worked on a legitimately (though proudly uncertified) organic farm in Southern Kentucky. This series is about the many whims, fascinations and revelations that eventually inspired me to drop everything and go farming. Once we catch up to the present, I'll use the occasion to explain what I'm up to now––beyond the blaug. Is this preface going to appear at the beginning of the entire series? Almost definitely. Ready? Wunderbar.

Part 2: Natural Wines

In last week's post I gave a shout-out to September Wines, the shop I helped manage for nearly 4 years. Their selection is made up of small-production, organic, biodynamic, and sustainably produced wines and it's where I was introduced to the subject of this week's posting: natural wines. Isn't all wine natural? Well, the most concise answer is... sorta. A lot can be done to remove wine from its natural state. In the same way that root beer was originally made from the fermented roots of Sassafras; the vast majority of wine these days is made more like Barq's than actual root beer. Make root beer someday, it's a very different monster, with health and medicinal qualities I doubt A&W strives to exploit. 

So defining natural wine is simply defining wine itself. Wine, in its essence, is fermented grape juice. It's the combination of grape sugars being consumed by yeast, the byproduct of which is alcoholic fermentation. Under the right circumstances, this results in the fermented beverage we call wine. Famed fermentation enthusiast Sandor Katz once said that fermentation is simply choosing what we want to happen to something. All living things will either rot or ferment––from our perspective, become either compost or preserved nutrients––we're just choosing their destiny. Natural wines are as close to that natural process as possible, without excessive filtration, use of industrial yeasts, sulfides or chemicals. This applies to both growing and vinification. Back then however, I had no idea what natural wines were, or why they tasted better than other wines, I just appreciated that they did.

I had booked a trip to France for the upcoming fall and a friend at Domaine Select had suggested I visit their new champagne producer. He was biodynamic, "right up my alley," he said, and made the appointment.

No wines taste quite like natural wines, and I was rendered endlessly curious because of it. When the opportunity arose to visit one of these biodynamic producers, I leapt at it, hoping to get to the bottom of what made these wines tick. That autumn I met a dude who offered me a more tangible understanding of biodynamics, and a better understanding of how sensitive of an agricultural product wine is. Unexpectedly, like my first experiences with natural wine, this compounded my curiosity infinitely. Next week, we'll tell the story of Bertrand Gautherot's many effects on my world, and how he helped perpetuate my growing love-affair with natural wines; a love-affair that started innocently enough, until one day I found myself living in a barn, more sober than I'd ever been. Ironically, all thanks to wine.

Happy Friday!