Emily Johnston Collins writes Emily Johnston Collins is a freelance wine writer for publications like The Somm Journal and The Tasting Panel and is the wine director for a Burmese restaurant and French Bakery called “The Dutchess” in the bucolic California town of Ojai. She is the mother of a 2.5-year-old son and a 2-month-old baby. Emily’s interest in wine stems from her family’s connections to Santa Barbara County wineries dating back to her childhood. Living in France as an adolescent and visiting some of the country’s top wine-producing regions helped solidify her interest. While living in Italy in her 20s, she attended Gualtiero Marchesi’s Alma Scuola Internazionale di Cucina as a wine academy student before returning to California and achieving the Advanced Sommelier accreditation through the Court of Master Sommeliers Americas and twice sitting for the Master Sommelier exam. Her career in wine has spanned from wine production to restaurants and beyond. At home, she is learning about micro-farming in her small orchard of predominantly citrus trees. She has a keen interest in biodynamic and regenerative farming (with no practical experience) and a love for local produce.
Wine through the lens of motherhood
“Let’s just plan to meet next time,” was the unexpected text I got from a close friend days before we were to meet in Santa Barbara wine country. I had missed her latest message about our winetasting itinerary. Eventually, after no response, she revised her plans-- assuming the trip was too much for me and the toddler I was planning to bring.
Though we had kept in touch since college, we usually only saw one another when I flew to Texas for wine exams or when she came winetasting in California. I had postponed retaking the Master Sommelier exam for another year following my pregnancy and I was disheartened to miss her visit to my home wine region and the chance to introduce her to my son. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure we would have fit into her vigorous, child-free travel plans, but I hoped that if we managed, I could regain a sense of my pre-motherhood self.
In becoming a parent, I didn’t expect to feel so disconnected from the future while being caught-up in the present needs of my children. Making plans became a struggle. The ambitions I expected to put on-hold during the early years of parenthood seem to be unravelling without their forward momentum. As I write this now, I am being repeatedly interrupted by my toddler escaping outside or ambling into the kitchen to prepare “hot tea for Mama” by heaping 3 oz of matcha powder onto a teaspoon.
I worried I was also losing my connection to wine. My 15-year wine industry career taught me to tuck away bottles for aging. I kept telling myself I could return to wine in time, like I could retrieve those bottles when they were ready. However, I felt an urgent need to feel close to wine again.
My husband suggested I take a trip to France and Italy to revisit the wine regions of my youth and I took his advice. Despite travelling without my family, I still felt like a bumbling new parent much of the trip. Outside the vineyards of the Jura, I absent-mindedly left the keys inside the rental car while on a hike to a verdant grotto. In Burgundy, I cried over my glass of Saint-Aubin Blanc after a new winemaker acquaintance shared that her name was a tribute to her mother’s lost pregnancies. I thought a lot about getting home to my son.
A turning point came in Chianti where I had arranged to interview Martino Manetti of Montevertine winery about late enologist, Giulio Gambelli. I was moved by the hallowed Sangiovese vines from the moment I entered the vineyard gate. Some uneven spacing showed the scars of an old vineyard that had lost the occasional vine and it felt wild and real. Vibrant yellow scotch broom blooms lit up the borders of the vineyard. “Autoctono,” ‘native,’ Manenti said with a prideful smile when I mentioned it. I sensed that anything born from this land would inherit its beauty.
We toured the dark cellar by the light of Manenti’s cellphone to protect the cool air from electric lighting. As we tasted new vintages in short, squat glasses, Manenti shared heartfelt stories about growing up around Gambelli in the winery. The experience was unglamorous yet unforgettable.
Later that day, I met with my sister and her husband who had planned their trip to Tuscany to coincide with mine. My rigid itinerary had slacked by that evening, so we stumbled upon a quiet restaurant in Radda-in-Chianti offering fashionable presentations of local dishes and spectacularly inexpensive wines. The 2016 Montevertine- the chicest of recent vintages- was among the selections. Sharing the wine with my sister felt like sharing a new side of myself with someone I have known my whole life. My sister was so enchanted by the bottle, she requested it again at a Florentine ristorante a few nights later, after I had left.
The 2016 Montevertine was the last bottle of wine I would enjoy for a long time. I became pregnant with my second son shortly after my return from Europe. While waiting in sobriety for him to arrive, I mulled over the experience and gained some new perspective. I used to think that parents purchased birth-vintage bottles for their children because wine is a good investment. As oenophiles, we wish our parents had set aside a cache of iconic Burgundy and Bordeaux vintages back when those wines were attainable. I now believe that we are inclined to age wine for our children for the same reason we might play our favorite songs for them. Like art, wine and music encapsulate a moment in time-- a moment that we have lived that our children have not. By sharing it, we hope to communicate something of ourselves and bring us closer together. Wine always has a place in the future, but its value comes by virtue of the present.
Credit for the photo belongs to David Peck. Caption: 'My sister with a bottle of Montevertine'.
