The air smells of sunbaked earth and ripe grapes as Mary stands at the edge of the sprawling vineyard, her hand resting on the old wooden fence, her heart heavy. She's thirty-eight now, and every one of those years has been spent here, in Napa Valley, where the grapes grow thick and sweet, and the wine runs through the land like a story passed down for generations.
It was here on this plot of land that her Grandpa Jim planted the first vines during the California wine boom of the late 19th century, and her father nurtured them through the turbulent years of Prohibition and the Great Depression. For the past decade, it has been her turn to carry the legacy forward during a time when the post-World War 2 economy brought prosperity and challenges to small vineyard owners like her. But this year is different. The soil doesn't feel as it used to, nor the smells that once brought her so much ease and comfort.
Mary exhales slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she watches the workers move through the rows, carefully inspecting the clusters. Her hands have the same calluses as theirs, and though the vineyard has grown over the years, becoming a respected name in wine, she still works alongside them, just as her father had. Often the term "family" is overused in business, yet this group has felt like one. Enough so to even bring up an unsettling conversation: the idea of selling.
The 1950s had brought change to Napa Valley. And now in the new decade, eager developers looking to transform the land into high-end properties or capitalize on the booming wine industry have started circling the valley, offering more money than Mary ever imagined. Her brothers, scattered across the country in careers far from the land, think it's the right time. "You don't have to do this forever," they say.
But they don't understand what the vineyard means, not like she does.
The vineyard had barely survived Prohibition, and Mary still remembers watching her father pacing around the home at night, unable to sleep with worry. Then there were her father's stories from the time, too. He had scraped by, converting part of the vineyard to grow other crops or selling grapes for medicinal and sacramental wine—loopholes in the law that helped keep the family afloat. But just as Prohibition ended in 1933, the Great Depression had already taken its toll. The economic collapse left little room for celebration, as the worst year of the Depression was just unfolding. Her father had hoped the repeal of Prohibition would bring relief, but the vineyards were battered by years of financial strain.