At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [111]
“Thomas Jefferson brought the first vines to Virginia from France,” Lindsay murmured, and Lori beamed at her.
“Right! It was his dream that Virginia would become one of the foremost wine producers in the world. It could have, too, but got derailed by that little Revolutionary War thing. So anyway,” she went on, “the extension agent said most of our Shiraz vines are still pure, and should produce for another couple of years with proper care. Of course, we need to start grafting and replanting now so that we’ll have mature vines to take the place of the current ones, and we really need to expand the orchard by at least six acres over the next two years. But it’s all there in your folder.”
By now even Cici was gazing at her with rapt attention, too caught up even to ask questions.
“As long as he was here,” Lori went on, “and since he did know something about wineries—his name is Dominic something, by the way, nice fellow, and he said you should give him a call if you had questions—I asked him to look at all that equipment down in the old winery. He said it was state-of-the-art for the time, and all it really needed was to be cleaned and polished and it would be ready to go. It doesn’t even matter that all that stuff is over forty years old. In the wine-making business, old is good. In Italy, some of the finest wineries still crush their grapes by hand—or foot, as the case may be.
“But the best part is,” she continued, “with the winery already set up like it is, and the vines still producing, you can actually use the equipment to secure a small business loan for start-up costs. You’ll have to hire a vigneron to run the place, of course, and laborers for the vineyard, but that won’t be until Year Two. You’ll age and warehouse the wine here, just like the Blackwells did, but there will be bottling, shipping, and marketing costs—but we’re talking Years Three and Four—before you start making a profit. It’s all there in the folder. The main thing you have to worry about right now is restoring the vineyard, caring for the vines, and bringing in some new stock. With luck and good weather, you’ll have everything in place for first harvest by next fall.”
They just stared at her, lips parted, breaths caught on questions they couldn’t quite form, looking like first-year students at a fourth-year lecture. Then Bridget cleared her throat, dropped her gaze to the folder in her lap, and said, “Um, catering. Fine foods?”
“Exactly,” replied Lori with a wide, pleased grin. “That’s exactly what I was talking about. Since you won’t make a profit for three to four years, you’re going to have to look to other sources, just like the Blackwells did. Not all the grapes are good enough for wine—it’s in the folder—so you’ll use those to make your wine jams, Aunt Bridget, just like we talked about. All you need is a commercial kitchen license and clearance from the health department, and with the way you and Ida Mae run this kitchen I don’t think there will be a problem with that.”
Bridget’s eyebrows went up in amazement. “That’s all we need? I thought it would be harder.”
“You can have specialty labels printed up on the Internet for three cents apiece, and your choice of adorable glass jars and lids for under a dollar each. You’ll have to invest in an industrial jar sealer, but even so, if you market directly to the public you’re looking at a profit of six dollars a jar, easy, and it goes up when the jams are part of a gift basket.”
Bridget’s eyes lit up. “Gift baskets?”
“It’s all in the folder.”
Bridget started searching through the folder,