Monday July 1
The brooding, bruised blue sky that has been hanging heavily over us like a woolly blanket for the last few days, settles this morning into a ceiling of impenetrable sullen grey. Little gusts of wind scuttle like wavelets across the land, bringing the huge relief of dry, cooling air. It almost feels cold! Perhaps the worst is over, we promise ourselves.
A lot of friends have lost a lot of vines to this unrelenting heat. Messages keep coming in: of forest fires, of burned grapes, damaged vines, complete desolation. It’s the beginning of the end a friend tells us — and that before the grapes have even started growing!
Tuesday July 2
Internet, which apparently has also melted, suddenly jumps back to life again today, and WhatsApp explodes into a serious of urgent Pings! News flows in fast from the heat of the frontline:
Ping! Not too bad here, for the time being. Rain forecast for Tuesday night.
Ping! It’s mind-blowing. Syrah and young vines partially grilled to a cinder. This is the beginning of the end (exactly repeating what was said by someone else yesterday).
Ping! Take heart, there can never be another year like this … (though there’s always something)
Ping! Hail is forecast!
Ping! Keep courage!
Ping! We think that spraying of liquid sulphur may have worsened the situation, because once again it’s the organic growers who are worst affected. Did you hear x’s interview (well known French wine writer)? Here we are right in the middle of this hell, and he, who hasn’t even seen or experienced it, doesn’t believe it’s serious!
Ping! We also did a treatment just a few days ago. After last year’s wake-up call, we’ve been right on top of it this year … We’re cutting off all the grapes on the badly affected vines, in the hope of saving at least something. but so many don’t have a single leaf left. I don’t know if they’ll survive at all,
Ping! I think that if you prune the plantation, you might save some of the vines, particularly if you water straight away.
Ping! We’re also cutting off all the grapes on our young vines.
Ping! What a nightmare!
A propos of nothing, though it’s an apt description of Canicule:
Sirius rises late in the dark, liquid sky
On summer nights, star of stars,
Orion’s Dog they call it, brightest Of all,
but an evil portent, bringing heat
And fevers to suffering humanity.
– Homer, the Iliad
Wednesay July 3
Canicule continues. There’s a meeting of the Outsiders at Château Anglès, on the coast in the La Clape appellation. The group is a mixed bunch of nationalities, appellations, vineyards, personalities and ages. What we have in common is that not one of us is originally from the Languedoc: we all chose to come here, to this hot place, to make our wines.
And we’re all really motivated to make the best possible wines in the best possible way.
So it’s great to meet up now and then and exchange news. Vianney, our host, has a brand new toy standing outside, in the shape of sleek and shining prototype self-propelling tractor that one day will be able to do everything all by itself. We all look longingly at it.
I’d expected it to be very, very hot, but the sea breeze wafting in from the strip of blue beyond the band of yellow sand in their middle distance behind the vines, was cooling. You can smell the sea here, such a different terroir from ours. And they too have had no damage to speak of from the Canicule.
Friday July 5
The word Canicule has a very specific definition in France: it is at least three consecutive days and nights of above-average minimum and maximum temperatures and a defined difference in temperature between the two. This Canicule has already gone on way beyond its minimum requirements. This one really is a Canicule Major
The word comes from canis, the Latin for dog. That dog was called Sirius (seirios in Ancient Greek, meaning ‘scorching”) in mythological times, and he can still be found today, the brightest star at the nose-end of the constellation called Canis Major (the Big Dog). When Sirius rises with the sun, you can expect “evil portent bringing heat”: for the ancient Egyptians that translated into the flooding of the Nile, and for the Greeks, it was the beginning of the ‘dog days’ of summer. Which is actually exactly round about now.
According to Virgil, Dionysis, the god of wine, taught Icarius the secrets of winemaking. Icarius offered this potion to some visiting shepherds, who either fell into a drunken stupor or started behaving very oddly. Those who hadn’t taken of the cup thought the others had been poisoned, and promptly killed Icarius, throwing his body down a well. His faithful dog (probably the world’ first vineyard dog, unless Dionysis had one as well) watched this whole scene, and later led Erigone, the daughter, to her father’s watery resting place. She, in grief, went and killed herself too. The dog followed suit, apparently throwing himself down the very same well his patron went down. Zeus, who was watching the drama being played out by mere mortals on the earth below, did the godlike thing and cast them all into the skies, making a constellation which “from his own name and likeness, they have called Canicula”, as Virgil said – though we say Canis Major.
Tuesday 9 July
Soft rain! Oh, gorgeous, glorious soft rain! Falling in cool, separate drops on our parched soil, parched skins, parched souls! Too bad for the Tuesday Talk, Tour and Tutored Tasting visitors, but what a small price to pay for such a moment of absolute, outright, untrammelled joy!
Wednesday 10 July
Humpf! Only 3 mm.
But the 180 points dished out to two of your wines is much more like it, in fact not bad at all! The German wine magazine called Falstaff gives 90 points to Le Limoux 2015 and 90 points to Occitania 2016, which is a nice and much-needed midweek surprise.
Monday 16 July
… and a good start to the week too when the Belgian wine magazine, In Vino Veritas, selects both la Trilogie and Occitania as two of their favourite 18 white wines from the Languedoc! “Some great growers are making great white wines in the Languedoc now” they said (or words to that effect). “Gone are the days when the Languedoc was famous for quantity. Now it’s quality” (ditto).
Wednesday 17 July
One of our favourite importers from the other side of the world comes by for lunch. We did everything we could to make it a visit that would vaux le voyage, including asking the weather to kindly cool down and move out. Which it did. Right up until it thought it was time for them to leave, which it was, and then came back to join us in full force.
And now Metéo France is warning us that the Canicule will be back again next week.
Thursday 18 July
Figures from an impeccable source, OIV, confirm that 2018 was the world’s biggest wine year ever: 292 mHl (up 17% on 2017). Which is funny considering that it was Rives-Blanques smallest wine year ever.
Actually not so funny.
Tuesday 22 July
Too hot for words. This is crazy. More messages from friends of devastation and resulting depression around the region. Sort of hope that the Tuesday Tour-ists will find it too much to go into the vineyard, but no, this is a hardy lot! By the end of the morning, the temperature has really revved up. The fact that it’s as bad, and possibly worse, in Bordeaux doesn’t help us one jot.
Saturday July 27
Wake up to bright sunshine, and then the rain comes, dripping slowly, drop by drop, drip by drip – but then, this is Ireland. And we’re on holiday, drinking up the cool, wet green all around us. WhatsApp starts its manic pings! with news of plummeting temperatures back home and hail throughout the region. We check the forecast. Storms in the Pyrenees, oh dear.
And then this text comes in from our neighbour:
Bonjour à tous
Ici tout se passe bien, il est tombe 35 mm d’eau, la temperature est de 18, pas de grêle, une bonne pluie tranquille sur le domaine. Bonne vacances à tous.
Yes, now we really can get into holiday mode!
To be continued next month /…