Bloodwood Wine Press
This is where the Bloodwood words get squeezed out and fermented.
Even Cabernet Sauvignon, one of the later varieties around here, is at advanced bud swell. By this time in the progress of viticultural events, we have a fairly good idea of the potential for next vintage.
When you are selecting a site for your vineyard, there's a lot to be said for dirt. Not only is it a fairly handy medium in which to stand trellis posts but it can also play a critical role in the quality of your fruit.
It's that unpleasant business where the tucker you eat is broken down by micro-flora resident somewhere below last years hiatus hernia. This reaction releases quite a lot of heat, and copious amounts of gas as well as providing you with the energy needed to catch and cook your next meal.
It may even be the maiden name of the captain of the best team of net ballers you've ever seen clout the canvas. It's a name of some moment and conservative style!
Such a flash establishment will have its usual rally of stainless steel fermenters, the sanitised laboratory with its crisp glassware, and a tightly arranged tasting room, tastelessly clinging to the pseudo-gothic walls of the winery skillion.
What is so different this time round? Why has the proverbial hit the fan across such a wide area of Eastern Australia from NW Queensland to SE New South Wales. As you can see from the graph of our Bloodwood rainfall, we are going through a dry period in what is normally the dress circle of agriculture around Orange. It’s not quite as dire as the millennium drought yet, but the rainfall trends are similarly worrisome.
I mean, there must be thousands of swamps around the world, and we are all witness to the fecundity of the Common Rufus Mounted satellite dish so it was only a matter of time before one of similar specifications found a nesting site over our particular swamp. (Mind you, this mother was a big bird, and reports are that its offspring could be heard all over Australia and half of Asia.)
The dogs are barking at Rosewood Winery. Bill Chambers leaves the cellar door visitor with the distinct impression that he is one of the genuine gentle men of the Australian wine scene. There is a quiet grace about the man which is in no need of promotional airs. The winery itself is a rambling organic assemblage of rusting tin sheds which haven't changed much over the last twenty years. There's been the odd addition of a tasting shed complete with storage areas while the new generation of underfed and undefended feral cats seem to be more paranoid than usual.
Once upon a time there was a swine with strange habits. You see, he really didn't want to be a pig, so all the long day he would peer through the dirty claustrophobic bars of his particular sty, and dream of being a classical ballet dancer, with classical non-cloven hooves and an ever so delicate elegance of gait. And, what's more, he'd practice. Every evening after the last late bucket of swill was splashed into his grubby little trough, he'd surreptitiously tip-toe about his peculiarly smelly sty, perched on his hind trotters imagining, for all the world, that the dung passage sliming dimly in the yellow, incandescent light along the front of his grimy little sty, was a bank of spot lights, and the slats of his ugly, dangerous floor, the firm, strong, clean, safe stage of Madison Square Garden itself.
Traditionally, in Australian terms, the quality of wine has been related to the use of irrigation. If your particular vineyard was irrigated, then your product was known as irrigated, and therefore, inferior. This caused wild fire in the bellies of various wine makers and consumers alike. You couldn't make good wine from irrigated grapes.