Come to Mama

I figure I may need some proof for those skeptics out there who are want to believe my drunken cow stories, so I went out to document the bovine debauchery firsthand. Below you can see our assistant winemaker, Steve, dumping a wheelbarrow-full of fermented grape skins in the field. What is more noticeable, however, is the clear back-end view of every cow in that field. Normally, any human in their midst is front and center, because they have a deep, deep distrust of our species (can you blame them?). If I as much as tiptoe next to the fence, every single one of them is staring at me in a matter of six seconds. And I only say six because some of them are a bit "slower" than the rest, god bless them. But during wine making season, I could be on fire, screaming like a maniac, and they would still turn their asses to me. 

Below, you can see the actual proof of what I write. That purple mound can be no other than fermented grape skins. There are more cows waiting in the wings, but they have to head-butt these five formidable females out of the way before they can partake in the spoils. And that takes guts, no matter what your species. 

I'm not sure if you can tell, but the dude on the left is the bull. He is the only bull.  The other fifteen cows are heifers. And he is staring right at me. Normally this would be cause to soil one's self, but I had one up on him; I knew he was good and drunk. 

Based on his for-the-moment companion's cavalier tongue language, so did she.  What an opportunist. 

Happy Hour Cows

I've been working in a tasting room for almost a year now in the hope of sneaking my neophyte self onto the wine production side of the fence.

So far, it hasn't worked.

Paso Robles is now in full blown "crush" time, and I'm still making ten bucks an hour pouring wine inside an artificially cooled room without the slightest likeness to the beauty and wildness of the green vines and the soft earth and the big blue sky. Dammit.

Still, it's not all bad. I'm close enough to be able to watch the entire process and ask a crapload of questions (much to our wine maker's chagrin)and the whole thing is pretty cool. Making wine is ridiculously simple on one hand, and incredibly complicated on the other. I won't bore you with the reasons for this, but I will entertain you with a cool little something I saw while I wasn't working on the production side of things.

If you've read any of my previous three posts, you know that I am surrounded by cows and that I've grown accustomed to paying special attention to my bovine neighbors. Well, they have yet ceased to amaze me. Not only do they cry when their young are separated from them, scream when any part of their herd is being driven away to slaughter, and run like hell when I approach them, but they also have an impressive affinity for our very own nectar of the gods. That's right: cows enjoy happy hour as much as the next guy.

In a nutshell, once the grapes are picked, fermented and crushed, the skins are all that's left. These little empty sacks are good for nothin', so we load them into a wheel barrel and deposit them on our neighbor's land. Don't get the wrong impression; this is not litter. This little drop off may just be the best part of their cows' entire lives (and I'm not exaggerating). For the past three months I haven't seen a single cow anywhere near the winery, but for the past five days since we've been dumping our skins, the whole herd is suddenly at our gate. Mamas, papas and babies. And guess what they're all doing? That's right...getting drunk. They practically snort up those skins, which maybe they would do normally, but these aren't just grape skins. These are 100% alcohol-saturated grape skins. These pack a punch. And I believe that these clever cows just may know this. Why else the sudden appearance? Why else the crazed eyes and sudden fearlessness when I approach? I'm telling you, they know. And they love it. If I stay and watch them long enough, they start to stumble around, bump softly into one another or the fence, stare longingly at nothing, and try to make out with cows they otherwise wouldn't. It's the darnedest thing.

And the whole time I'm watching this, I'm trying to place where I've seen this behavior elsewhere. These are lowly, stupid, clueless cows after all, so where in the world would I have seen this drunken frivolity before? Certainly not in my own species.

Certainly not.