Just past high summer out here in Wine Country, most of us people our lives with friendly visitors from afar and use their arrival as catalysts to disinter fine bottles. I offered one up last week to Aunt Agnes, who seemed to relish the opportunity. It was an old Cabernet from the Estate that I had tucked into the floorboards back in 2000. Agnes paused, recalled the year as a special one for her (she had visited Washington DC during the famous recount), and went off to dig a bag of walnuts from her overnight bag. She handed them over in a kind of hospitality swap. I went to the pantry and came back with glasses, some cheese, a cork puller, but no amount of rummaging produced a nutcracker. I excused myself and went to find a good ball peen.
Agnes made a more robust choice; she bolted to the front sidewalk where her little size 8’s cracked the jollies out of those walnuts. “Almost finished,” she said when I found her on all fours picking up the last of the nutmeats. Overhead, a raven circled and came to rest in the Pistache tree, then another ruffled onto the fence. Feeling a chill, I suggested we hustle back in for that glass of wine before Hitchcock showed up.
As she settled into her chair in the front room, Agnes readied herself for storytelling and wine drinking. We were game. The wine was good and had mellowed enough to work great with the walnuts and some Gorgonzola. She relayed
that George Washington started losing his teeth about age 27 because he cracked open walnut shells with them. Good lord! He must have been ravenous or fevered. Agnes had toured Mt. Vernon when our 2000 Cabernet had still been berries on the vine and learned an exhaustive supply of facts that held us past our usual party time. Besides, we were headed to the Bastille Day Party at the Estate the next day while Agnes was headed onto the City. I rose to say good night.
“You know, there was more than one Bastille Key,” she murmured, stopping us in our nightshirts. We settled slowly back onto the sofa. She told us with continuing authority that the Marquis de Layfayette sent one key to Washington via Thomas Paine back in 1790, and brought another with him when he visited the United States on a return trip. This second key, he donated to the Masonic Chapter in Alexandria, famous for its ties to General Washington. The second key was enormous, weighing over five pounds. I pictured the door that must have been opened by a five pounder and the room behind it – my mind started arranging a perfect wine cellar, one that Dennis Searles, one of our wine club members would surely appreciate.
The next morning, I took Auntie to the bus station in Santa Rosa. While we waited for bus arrival, I got the dirt on one more Bastille key – ready for one more? It seems the world famous Madame Tussaud collected an elaborate wrought iron one with a crucifix cut out of the end. Madame had been an art tutor at Versailles and on the 15th, a day after the famous “storming”, she hustled over to the old fortress before it was torn down and snatched herself a keepsake. She was later arrested, but nailed a reprieve by agreeing to make death masks of aristocrats who had their heads lopped 
off. A few years later, she relocated to London where she founded the wax works exhibition that still carries her name.
Thanks, Agnes, and a pleasant Good Bye… this is just the kind of info that puts me in the mood to start drinking before 9:00 A. M. Bastille Day Party – here I come. We really had a great, festive celebration this year at the Estate and the crowd was revelry-centric. Our day was filled with fine food prepared by Chloe with an elegant French touch, a magician, sparkling décor and flying banners and flags. In keeping with the emotion of the day, there were also a number of speeches – the last one a bit of a warm ramble. But with sentiment, sincerity, and inspiration, the wines never tasted better including the 2000 Cabernet Sauvignon. Even Madame Tussaud would have agreed. Certainly Aunt Agnes would. And believe me when I tell you, every Bastille Day I’ve enjoyed both in France and here at Michel-Schlumberger has been better than the one just before – well maybe not that first one back in July, 1789. Right, Dennis? à votre santé.
