Sharing this story made me realize this was a trip of a lifetime with our boys and it ended up turning into a wine. by Chad
We’re heading through the farm when the boys spot Bingo. “Dad — there’s Bingo, can he come with us?” He’s already running toward the truck like he knew. That’s how it starts. Three boys, one dog, empty grape bins on the trailer, and 5.5 hours of highway between us and a vineyard full of Cabernet that won’t wait.
It’s the Sunday before Labor Day 2025. We just had our first Farm to Table Dinner the night before — it was a fantastic event. Carston, Jackson and Owen loaded up to pick grapes on the Columbia River, about 40 minutes east of Hood River. Before we head out, Jeana helps us pack and has all the boys bought in to tenting it.
We pull into V75 about 11pm. The stars out here are something else — no town close enough to wash them out. The vineyard sits in the bitter hills right above the Columbia, almost like you’re down amongst the cliffs, Oregon on the other side. Lewis and Clark floated through here. There’s about 70 acres planted to grapes, part of what used to be a multi-thousand-acre cattle ranch, dreamed up by WA wine legend the late Allen Shoup. He knows what he’s doing. The wines prove it.
But let me back up — because this harvest almost didn’t happen on time.
Late August, José and I start texting back and forth. “Hey José, how are the sugars looking?” He texts back — “we’re taking our first sample this week.” Then: “Hey Chad — sugars are 21.2 and 21.8 and pH 3.29.” That’s code for: oh shit, let’s pick. Jeana gave the green light.
We’re headed for a Provence style. Bright and crisp. Higher sugars and lower pH means higher alcohol — less crispness. We need to move. But José can’t get a crew together on short notice. It starts to feel a little gut wrenching. Then José gets creative — “Hey, I’ve got some high school kids who can help us.” I reply: “Oh sweet — I’ll bring our three boys. They’re good pickers.” It’s on. Labor Day Monday. I ask José not to let the grapes ripen any more.
We load up the gray farm pickup, grab clothes, water, sleeping pads and tents. True dad style — I didn’t throw in any snacks. “Ah, we’ll grab stuff on the way.” Bingo jumps in, we snag dog food from the sheep condo, hook the trailer, load the empty bins, snap a quick pic, and off we go.
5.5 hours of straight driving. Music on, lots of scenery, lots of talk about farming. We rolled into Sunnyside as it was getting dark — I’d lived there for about half a year in 2001 working for Ste. Michelle, so I had stories. But I also realized this was our last decent town. We gassed up at a place I once literally bought burritos on credit. The boys thought that was funny. Then they asked “What does it mean to buy a burrito on credit?” The burrito gas station turned out to not be an appealing food option. So we headed to our only other option: Burger King.
I have to admit — we don’t eat much fast food as a family. This was the boys’ and my first trip to Burger King together. We needed dinner AND breakfast. We parked a loaded trailer in the dark, walked into a spot that didn’t feel ultra safe, and navigated the menu. “Hey boys — I think the chicken nuggets and fries might be the safest option.” Four orders. Done. For breakfast — they had these things called cinniminis. We all love cinnamon rolls, so we grabbed those for morning.
Back on the road. Horse Heaven Hills. Everyone asleep. Sleepy and ready for bed, we pull into V75 around 11pm.
As we pull into the yard there’s about an acre and a half of gravel — spots for RVs, one of the owners’ tiny home, room for equipment. We unload the bins with an easy shove off the trailer. Then we have a decision to make. Our plan was tents. It’s close to 11:30 and the flatbed trailer is looking awfully nice. “Boys — tents, or sleeping pads on the trailer?” “Let’s sleep on the trailer under the stars, Dad.”
As we’re crawling in, Jackson gets dive bombed by a bat. Bingo’s in the pickup. Owen’s next to me, the two boys on the outside. We’re asleep within minutes.
At some point Bingo wouldn’t stop whining, so we let him come sleep with us. Not long after, the coyotes started yipping. Sounded like they were all around us. Owen and I were the only ones who heard them — Carston and Jackson didn’t budge. “Dad, I’m scared!” said Owen. It’s a sound that’s both cool and predatory.
Night went quick. We were up before 5:30, headlamps on, driving down into the vineyard to our rows of Cabernet Rosé. “Hey boys, we’ve got cinniminis to eat.” They were excited for the pick in this glorious place. Sorry Burger King — the cinniminis were a total strike out.
The tractor with our bins soon arrived and harvest was on. The boys got to meet José and Farmer Gene and a bunch of the crew. We all jumped right in — about 2 tons, should only take a few hours. It’s a gorgeous morning as the sun comes up. Everyone’s hands clipping and dropping clusters into lugs, lugs into the bin on the back of the tractor. Tight fit next to the tractor in the row — being safe matters.
The boys didn’t skip a beat. Until Gene came down the row warning about rattlesnakes. Eyes got as big as saucer plates — even in the dark. And we kept picking.
A quick side note — the story wouldn’t be complete without Bingo’s escape. We’d left him in the truck, windows down. No way he could escape. About an hour into picking we look over and there’s Bingo. We were impressed he found us. The boys thought it was so cool.
As we neared the end, we met who would become our new Farm Bureau insurance agent. And we realized — the “crew” José had pulled together was mostly his kids, their friends, and his wife. Two families literally came together on a holiday to bring in a crop.
I looked around at the end of that row and thought about the dad I didn’t have growing up, and these three boys I get to raise, who showed up and didn’t skip a beat. That’s not something you manufacture. You just try to put yourself in situations where it can happen. It wouldn’t have been possible without José and Gene giving up their holiday.
Gene and José insisted on feeding us burgers at the pump house before we left. The boys’ eyes lit up again. Who could turn down a mid-morning Labor Day burger — especially after the cinniminis let us down. The burgers hit the spot.
We made the 5.5 hour drive back and pulled into the crush pad. Jeana had everything ready to go — press open, literally waiting to receive these beautiful Cabernet grapes. As the press started doing its job and the juice started flowing into the tank, Jeana ran the numbers. Turns out our picking timing couldn’t have been any later. We nailed it. A really exciting finish — watching everything flow into the cellar, Jeana at the controls, the boys running on no sleep and still standing.
I think this story is why I’m so damn excited to be part of Washington wine.
PS — The 2025 V75 Cab Rosé is in the bottle and ready for you.
