When one sleeps surrounded by Chardonnay and Pinot Noir vines the essence of the fruit seems to slip into the subconscious. A final glance at the vineyard outside my room before retiring for the evening, moonlight allowing a view of the young light-green leaves, the cold air and ground working to strengthen the vines. Last night’s temperature fell to around 46. I closed the window and slept, warm under down.

Early morning mist fades away as the sun rises and warms the surroundings. The vines, the leaves, the tendrils – the tops of the trunks low to the ground, perhaps 1 foot or so in height where the green begins – appear fresh, confident even, their color uniform across the parcel. Buds are present, small, tight, promising. (Smudge pots and other weaponry against the dangers of frost abound – it’s late April in Burgundy, and though next week is forecast to bring warmer temperatures, farmers are worried.)

These vines are promise. And our tastings of various vintages this week bring to life the effort and fears and work and dreams that have been deposited into the surrounding vineyards. A 2020 Aligoté lively and fresh, a 2019 Pinot Noir flirtatious and tempting. A premier grand cru that made one’s eyes close with pleasure. That’s the promise.