Why a Jane Austin approach to my friend, Marty Taucher’s new wine, Avennia? Perhaps it’s because I’ve been reading novel after novel of Austen’s lately, and when thinking of writing a post about Marty’s wine, began thinking in this prose. Bizarre, but that’s what reading does to us. So to you, dear Marty, a little ditty.
Dawn broke on this small Oregon town; overcast, with the familiar scent of pine, damp leaves, and the comforting aroma of firewood burning from the already lit fireplaces. The young man walked through the chill air, hoping to reach school by the first bell. He was well-known here and loved; not a boy of ego, but rather of fine sensibilities, an amiable countenance, and an interest in the field of photography and the Camera Obscura. His upbringing lacked the polished schools of the elite, but as is fitting for small towns of this era, many prodigious minds were produced. Cradled by friends, family and community, Marty Taucher had the true good fortune and felicity to grow up in a place such as this.
The years passed, and after graduating the small school, Mr. Taucher found his way to Seattle, Washington, where he opened an office as a printer of technical material. Shopkeepers were drawn to his services, and it was soon clear to all that this gentleman was, indeed, a most gifted man. A large company, Microsoft, found his work exceptional, and befitting one as talented, offered him a place of employment within their offices. An offer of stock was proposed to Mr. Taucher as part of the negotiations, and he heartily accepted.
Over the years an adoring wife and family followed, and eventually found Mr. Taucher in a position of retirement, having given long hours and dedication to the firm Microsoft. But to what avail? The comforts of retirement evident; a preponderance of commen sense would suggest that we seek an avocation of sorts, a passion to keep one’s mind clear and agile. But what passion would give approbation to the mind, or the always yearning soul?
The streets of Seattle were alive with lunch hour workers scampering to avail themselves of each minute. Mr. Taucher navigated his way through the passers-by, not allowing the warm sun on his shoulders, or the aroma of clam chowder from his favorite restuarant to hinder his progress. As he mounted the stairs to his third floor office, and glancing at the old clock above the stairwell, he was relieved to see he had a few minutes to compose himself before the package arrived. Pouring claret into a crystal wine glass; a set lovingly carried aboard a ship from England as a gift from his wife, he reflected on how he got here. He gazed out the window overlooking the pier, and gave a silent toast to the city that had been so good to him. He was pondering these things, when a knock, a somewhat urgent report, broke the thread of his musings.
Opening the door, Mr. Taucher found the courier with the package in question before him. Paying for the delivery, with extra coins to the young man who was noticeably out of breath, he retreated to his desk to open what he had been anxiously awaiting these past several weeks. With alacrity, the box was opened and the contents displayed before him. On the desk, a bottle of deep green shone brilliantly under the lamp, it’s white label proclaiming in clean, austere lines the word, Avennia.
Wine, the beguiling elixer that fascinates; it implores us to take leave of our hurried pace, succumb to an amiable evening of discussion, sooth the temperment of distress, and bring joy to the palate. Mr. Taucher’s years of personal wine study and appreciation, had given way to something more concrete; an occupation of the heart.
Congratulations, with best wishes from all!! Cheers!