BY Richard Harvey
“Most people are on the world, not in it — have no conscious sympathy or relationship to anything about them — undiffused, separate, and rigidly alone like marbles of polished stone, touching but separate. When one is alone at night in the depths of these woods, the stillness is at once awful and sublime.”
-John Muir
“When the farmer comes to town with his wagon broken down
Oh, the farmer is the man that feeds 'em all
If you'll only look an' see, I think you will agree
That the farmer is the man who feeds 'em all”
-Pete Seeger
It seems that despite all of the constant and ubiquitous resources at our disposal for information gathering and communication, we live in a world of disconnection. I can easily know at any time what a celebrity is wearing, what another is promoting or despising. I can tell you the brand of underwear worn by a sports star (ooh-la-la), and a further endless stream of knowledge that provokes curiosity but remains mired in a tar pit of insignificance when it comes to existential questions.
Two of the myriad existential questions that bedevil me are (pertinent of late): where will we find future supplies of good water when snowfall is insufficient and our Rocky Mountain glaciers disappear? And why are many of my favourite wines unavailable? The real and deep fear is that even in wealthy and geographically privileged parts of Canada, continuity of sources of clean water for current and future generations should be very much on our minds. And without rainfall and rivers, how will our local farmers survive?
Despite being rarely thought of in this way, a wine merchant is involved in the agriculture sector of life and commerce. We are simply the merchants, only one step away from the final consumer. Yet we are (like all parts of the food supply chain) subject to the vagaries of weather and what, how much and at what cost we can offer a particular wine will vary with every harvest. We follow weather reports like a diligent farmer because of the future consequences for our trade, and we tremble at the words frost, hail, disease, drought and floods… We are constantly reminded that wine is an agricultural rather than an industrial product. We celebrate that fact like we celebrate life: in full awareness of its fragility.
The recent devastation wrought upon the Okanagan fruit crops is a local reminder of the risks that extend beyond grapes to cherries, apricots, peaches, et al. These soft, delicious, sugar-rich delights are delicate all the way from bud-break, through their gorgeous time of blossoms to the setting and ripening of the fruits. Manifest hazards loom and so far in 2024 (I’ll reference France solely due to the fact that I was there for an extended period this Spring), it has been incredibly hard to be a fruit farmer, grape farmers included.
Many jokes related to climate change have people speculating about Alberta producing a “Côtes de Cochrane” wine in the near future. (A lame joke, though the name has a certain perverse appeal to it). The truth is that climate change does not represent an idyllic, desirable march northwards of more temperate conditions, but is rather a movement towards extreme, violent weather. Despite a warmer climate, the Côtes de Cochrane could be in for a rough ride in the future…
In 2024, the vast majority of French vineyards have been affected by some form of extreme weather. Vines, like many perennial plants, shrubs and trees used to get a holiday over winter due to colder temperatures allowing for a period of dormancy. Now they get only a bit of rest before a very early wake-up call where the optimistic new growth of the plants pushes forth — only to be hit by frost. This shock leads to a severe loss of quantity (but not necessarily quality) even before the vine has flowered — the necessary stage before setting fruit.
Sadly, one disaster can follow another, and in many areas, hail or heavy rain will fall, battering the delicate vine flowers and further reducing the harvest. Yes! Vines, like other fruit-bearing trees and shrubs bear flowers, the predecessors of the fruit. The fragility of crabapple blossoms in a stormy Alberta Spring is apparent to us all. No flowers, no fruit.
In 2024, many French regions have seen the worst outbreak of vine disease in decades, with warm and humid conditions being the perfect situation for the bane of gardeners and farmers everywhere: namely, mildew. Again, this is a reduction in the potential volume of the harvest but now also with a possible deterioration of the quality of the fruit and the wine it will eventually produce.
How could this situation get worse? Well…
There still exists the potential for fruit-damaging hail all the way to harvest, but if the canicule (heatwave) sets in beforehand, heat and drought will further reduce the volume of the crop, and will leave an indelible mark on the flavours and personality of the vintage. I assure you that my intent in writing this piece is not a simple indulgence in doom and gloom. It is intended to remind us all of the risks and dangers endured by farmers to produce nourishment that sustains and enhances our lives.
In the context of wine, whenever we find ourselves unable to maintain a supply of a certain wine on our shelves or have to reappraise a producer’s crop from the latest harvest, it comes as a solid reminder of the vagaries of nature. And nature is changing rapidly and extremely in ways that we should be aware of as they will be part of our foreseeable future. In EVERY way.
Thankfully, wine has always been capable of expressing the place and conditions in which it has been cultivated. Its ability to transcend the state of a fruit into the intriguing, fascinating form of wine and become something so much more than just grapes is miracle enough. Yet we can never forget that wine is the product of plants that are subject to unpredictable weather, and as our climate becomes dangerously extreme, vines and wine will bear the scars of the “thousand natural shocks” offered by our world.
Just like all forms of agriculture, grape-growing brings a livelihood to those who cultivate the vines. We can never forget that vineyards need to be cared for and that this human labour creates livelihoods. We can always hope for more and more lovely harvests, but sadly places important to us like the Okanagan and France will need true farmer grit and resourcefulness to see their way through amplified perils and challenges of our rapidly changing climate. Farming and its risks is a universal and global phenomena: why do we so easily forget its essential nature, its foundational role in our survival?
As this little article started with a bit of a reflection, I would like to leave you to contemplate the words of the poet Dylan Thomas: "This bread I break was once the oat, this wine upon a foreign tree..."
