Reading · photography with feeling

The late Bob Koth (1935-2021), who had the vision and audacity to plant over 55 grapes of German and Austrian origin at his Mokelumne riverside home.

I'm leaving the table
I'm out of the game
I don't know the people
In your picture frame…
—Leonard Cohen, Leaving the Table

Lately, like Mr. Cohen did a lot in his last 10 to 20 years, I’ve been thinking about growing old.

My thoughts: It is time for changes. I’d like to enjoy doing as much as I can, while I can. At least while I’m reasonably healthy and cognizant of it.

I am, after all, turning 70 this coming August. It’s not just the inevitability of it all, or the thought that many people don’t even reach that number. The average lifespan of an American male, evidently, is 75.8 years. For Pete’s sake, does that mean I have just 5.8 years to go?

Third generation Lodi grower Leonard Manassero harvesting his old vine Grenache (head trained, own-rooted vines planted in 1938).

It doesn’t work that way, of course. We all know plenty of people who do just fine well into their 80s or 90s. In “Blue Zones” (Ikaria, Greece; Loma Linda, California; Sardinia, Italy; Okinawa, Japan; and Nicoya, Costa Rica), many into their 100s. Still, it gives you pause for thought.

For many people, that means traveling wherever you can. That’s just not as important to me, because I’ve already done what I consider to be a considerable amount of traveling in my life. I’m grateful for the many places I’ve already seen, even if there are, theoretically, an endless number of new destinations to experience.

Old gnarly vine next to water faucet in the Mokelumne River-Lodi AVA.

For me, though, the priority will be family. For the past 16 years I’ve been living in Lodi, all by my lonesome. It’s been a great experience, living the life I’ve dreamed about since I was old enough to drink (at 18)—immersed in the world of vineyards, grapes, wines and industry—and giving rise to a would-be fourth career as a photographer. There’s just been so much to memorialize with my battery of Canons! Grapevines have been my friends, but now I think it’s time to break out of this fortress of vinous solitude and be with the ones I love most.

Randy Caparoso Photography

Earlier in my life I was fortunate enough to live the dream life of a parent: Opening up a book and reading to each of our four kids⏤all now fantastic adults, more successful than I ever was⏤certain things, over and over again. One passage was from Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland: A silly, nonsensical rhyme called “You Are Old, Father William.”

The author/photographer, entering an older, craggier, considerably grayer stage in life., ready to walk around on his head.

Now, of course, it’s not so silly, because I am, I guess, officially “old” (but far from dead!).

The Father William verses give me an opportunity to show off a few more of my favorite photographs of 1) old vines, and 2) the heroic people who tend to those vines. People who have earned the craggy lines on their faces a lot more honestly than me, a career sommelier, restaurateur and now writer/photographer who sits at his laptop most of the day.

Typically long, twisting spurs of own-rooted, ancient vine Zinfandel; Marian’s Vineyard, planted in Mokelumne River-Lodi’s loamy sand in 1901.

I hope to grow even older, and in as crafty and wily a fashion, as Lewis Carroll’s Father William.

One of John Tenniel’s classic illustrations done for "Lewis Carroll’s” “Your Are Old, Father William.”

Without further ado, here goes...

“You are old, father William,” the young man said,
“And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”

One-man pruning team, handling entire blocks of old vines on the west side of Mokelumne River-Lodi.

“In my youth,” father William replied to his son,
”I feared it would injure the brain;
But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.”

Old vine Zinfandel during *véraison* on a blindingly bright, hot July day.

Thanks for reading “photography with feeling!”This post is public so feel free to share it.

Vineyard foreman contemplating Sultana grapes planted in a Mokelumne River-Lodi vineyard originally planted in 1889.

“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
Pray, what is the reason for that?”

Old Filipino field worker facing the tall order of pruning these tangled trellised vines all by himself on a damp, icy winter morning.

“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
”I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—
Allow me to sell you a couple.”

Hollowed out, lichen crusted trunk of ancient vine (over 100 years old) Carignan growing in the sandy soils of Mokelumne River-Lodi.

“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—
Pray, how did you manage to do it?”

Leland Noma, second generation Mokelumne River-Lodi grower in his field of own-rooted, gobelet trained, old vine Zinfnadel

“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.”

Discarded Zinfandel cluster in Rous Vineyard, planted on the east side of Mokelumne River-Lodi in 1909.

“You are old,” said the youth; one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—
What made you so awfully clever?”

Petite Sirah harvest in Clements HIlls-Lodi’s Viñedos Aurora Vineyard.

“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”
Said his father; “don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”

Old people, old vines

Comments