Transformations

Sarah: born 1830, died 1855

I sit outside on a lovely stone patio in the Shenandoah Valley sipping a glass of nearly-black ruby wine near the gravestone of a young woman named Sarah Girtrude Lynn, the long ago owner of this expansive property who was buried here in 1855.  I sit amid one of the most beautiful vineyards in Virginia on the most idyllic of days in April, just myself and lovely Sarah – or so I feel – sipping the special Locksley Reserve Norton wine, made from the native Norton grape which this vineyard, Chrysalis, has made its mission to reclaim and rehabilitate as Virginia’s own state wine.  Of 70 acres of vines at Chrysalis, 40 are dedicated to the Norton grape.

The Norton grape has a long history, at least long in the sense of winemaking in America.  Of the 25 or so grape varieties native to North America, only the Norton has been able to produce a good dry table wine (there are plenty of sweet table wines in America).  And the original Norton vine was actually propagated by a Dr. Daniel Norton in Richmond, VA around 1830 (he'd been working on it for at least 10 years) from the seed of a grape that is genetically related.  Norton thrives in America when given a chance, in all soils and climes, and has been disease resistant ever since.

The native Norton grape

However, for whatever reasons or mishaps or misunderstandings, the grape was doubted, unappreciated, and outwardly rejected for many years – in spite of having been deemed “The Best Wine of All Nations” at the Vienna World’s Fair in 1873.  The rejection of this grape and the preference for European varietals is detailed in the book, The Wild Vine, subtitled "A Forgotten Grape and the Untold Story of American Wine."  Having read the book and sipped the wine and been made a convert, I am on pilgrimage to see the wild vine with so much history and to sit in the place where its resurrection is all around me.

Winemakers, I’ve discovered in my forays to only some of the 220 wineries in Virginia, either discount the Norton grape, or are passionate about it.  It is like a gem to some, buried and lost and found again. The Norton grape is called earthy, musty, deep, and confusing.  It is the kind of grape that is deceiving in its forwardness early on – and easy to reject because it is so loud and hard to understand – but, given time, it becomes rich and profound and moderated and textured.  It is like the prodigal son who goes wayward only to return decades later a changed man.  It is a confusing wine, but given time (6 to 8 years in the bottle, even more, they say), it is transformed.   

Grapevines in early spring

I cannot help but contemplate the short life of Sarah as I sip my wine made on this land once belonging to her.  Born in the same year that Dr. Norton’s grape was named after him, she was orphaned at age 15.  She was to inherit the beauty and richness of this spot in the Shenandoah Valley, but not the wealth of longevity to enjoy it.  She died at age 25 from consumption.  The land was divided among distant relatives in the decade prior to the Civil War, and eventually lost to all family members in subsequent years.  Sarah could not have known that her simple grave marker would be found while the land was being cleared and excavated to make the patio for a vineyard in the distant year of 2000 – (I learned all of this about Sarah while my host in the tasting room poured sample after sample of very good wines) – she could not have known that there’d be a shrine set up for her in the most trafficked spot on one of the most trafficked vineyard in the state – could not have known on her deathbed at age 25 that people 150 years hence would toast her young, unfinished spirit.    

 Toast . . . 

I simply sit here – and that is what wine is for, I think – to be in the present state – all pieces in one place – Sarah’s land, Dr. Norton’s grape, a winemaker’s vision, the shadows of the toasts of many that have come before – transformation complete.