There can be no doubt this is a wine region. On the way out of Estella this morning I walked past a wine fountain. Even early in the morning, not something to pass up. I thought about filling my camelback but refrained. The fields, which were lined with poppies, were either hay or grape vines of various ages. I saw new fields just being set out with grapes, and fields with vines of all ages. Most stark were the oldest. Set closer together than the newer ones which are laid out for tractor cultivation, those stumps are the very definition of the word “gnarled.” I hope to find someone who can tell me their age as they seem almost Roman. This place is all about time.
T. Hugh Crawford