Dear leaders of the State of Michigan;
I like independent wineries in Michigan, and I have enjoyed seeing the wine industry develop in the Leelanau and Mission peninsulas over two decades time. In the summer of 1985, I lived for the summer at the base of Old Mission Peninsula, between the bays, and I was trained to serve Michigan wines at my daytime employer, the Grand Traverse Resort.
On a day off, I gathered my girlfriend, my friends, and we drove north on the Peninsula and visited the single pole barn housing the Chateau Grand Traverse winery. At a simple counter in an impromptu tasting room, after being asked for ID, we sampled a few one ounce pours of Riesling and cherry wine, bought a few amber bottles of late harvest Riesling to enjoy at home, and picnicked and frolicked amongst the grapevines, enjoying views of west bay and east bay from Mission peninsula's highest land. And once it was safe to drive, we drove north to land's end to see the lighthouse, where Michigan route 37 ends. In 1985, the Mission Peninsula wine country was a solitary chateau!
Last week, I drove up to Traverse City for a job interview, and made a quick visit to the good old Peninsula. I had read about several wineries on the Peninsula in the Michigan Wine Country magazine, published by Hour Media in my hometown of Royal Oak, and I wanted to see the grand manse of Chateau Chantal, the schoolhouse of Peninsula Wineries, the newly renovated grounds of Brys Estate. Of course, I wanted to see Chateau Grand Traverse again, after seeing those amber bottles of Riesling show up on shelves in Meijers and gain listing on wine lists in upscale restaurants.
I was elated to discover the signs of a thriving, genuine wine country. Chateau Grand Traverse had built a small boutique inn and a second pole barn to house an elegant tasting room with mirrored accents and marble-topped counters, staffed by college students enrolled in wine-related studies.
I had viewed pictures of Chateau Chantal in their brochures, but nothing prepared me for their hilltop vista overlooking the two bays and offering hints of the waters of Torch Lake. Alas, at Chateau Chantal, I saw the grand piano ensconced in a turret room, gleaming in sunlight from a panorama of mullioned windows, but I knew I wouldn't be back for next Thursday's Jazz at Sundown in that magical chamber.
In a genuine wine country, the wines are aged and the aging buildings are stabilized and renovated. The Peninsula Cellars has brought back the shine to the wood floors and pine- framed windows of a historic, one room schoolhouse standing the township offices. Even the slate chalkboards are in great shape, still used to teach lessons, such as "Wine Maketh Glad the Heart of Man".
Wine countries are home to cleverness in architecture and interior decor. The interior of Brys tasting room, opened this spring, has the gravitas of a centuries old cellar, without the musty smell. After pouring one ounce samples of the vineyard's freshman white wines, just old enough to taste, Eric, the tasting room manager, guided me into the aging room and showed off the fresh oak barrels, protecting the vineyard's first vintage of Cabernet Franc, too young to taste. I snapped a picture of the grand, long dining table and the chandelier pendant from the vaulted ceiling, a table fit for serving a King or a Governor and their courtiers.
High cuisine is a signature of a wine country, but while the Mission Peninsula is host to a number of destination restaurants with credentialed chefs in the kitchen, the Mission has yet to reach its potential as a gourmet destination, and has not yet attracted a culinary center, a rival to Copia or Greystone. Perhaps the tasting room of Tabone Vineyards, now under construction, will be licensed for a small, charming restaurant?
Go to any thriving wine country, and you'll see ecologically sensitive, design-aware construction underway. Wine grapes are a welcome addition to Old Mission's offerings of fruit, and as exhausted cherry trees are uprooted to make room for Riesling and Gewurztraminer, landowners have opportunity to apply ecologically sound growing techniques pioneered in the Sonoma and Mendocino vineyards. If fall frosts arrive early, it is no matter to the vinemakers; if life gives you frozen grapes, make Ice-wine, retailing at 60 dollars a bottle.
Pests such as phylloxera are a hazard to a wine country, but a greater hazard to vines is sudden, unwieldy changes in market conditions and legal context. Take for example the vineyards of the state of Iowa, a state to which the Amana Society, not an Amish sect, helped bring vineyard agriculture and wine-making techniques to Iowa in 1854, a year before the founding of Michigan State University for the purpose of teaching agriculture and culture. Amana is a mountain described in the Song of Solomon, and the word Amana is said to mean: "to remain faithful". Amana is said to be an etymological source for the word Amish.
As explained in a recent publication of the Iowa Wine and Beer Promotion Board, the state wine industry is still recovering from prohibition, when acres of grape were uprooted to free acreage for less objectionable crops.
If you want Zinfandel from old vines in Michigan, you have to cultivate winemakers. It is said that the communal lifestyle of the Amana colonies dwindled in the early 1930s, before the repeal of National Prohibition.
It is my understanding that the wine industry is willing to work with Michigan to develop fair and enforceable laws to guide the shipping of wine to homes of adults living in the state and adults living in distant states. My impression of winemakers in Michigan and the wine-making states is one of altruism and social consciousness, just judging from their support of the arts, medical causes, land stewardship and tourism.
Sincerely, Wandering Wilbo
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