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Okanagan Wine Art - by Will Enns Posts

The Wine Maker’s Secret

Connoisseurs know my homemade wine isn’t the best, but there are those who don’t know better, and drink it anyway. In fact, some folks think I can make wine out of anything at all.

The other day my buddy, Slim Shambles, shambled up as I was working on my lawn tractor. He headed straight for a loosely covered pail on my workbench.

‘Too cheap to throw out that rotting fruit?’ he snooped, obviously hoping for a taste of my brew.

Haute Couture… Okanagan… ?

What could I possibly know about glamor, you ask?

Not much, but in my corner is Rachel, of Atelier Jensen, makers of bespoke women’s clothing in The Windy City.  Rachel’s authority on couture is irrefutable.

I can hear the muscle-shirts from the back of the peanut gallery. “Hey, your Blog is supposed to be about Wine and Art in the Okanagan. We’re not interested in magnificent women or gorgeous clothing. We don’t even care for wine. What we want is beer! We want beer!

If that’s you, press the ‘Flush Me’ button at the bottom.

A keen observer might point out that in my school years, I scarcely knew what girls were, much less how a fellow of my ilk should behave, should his arm ever be graced by some stunning enchantress.

Just so. Ipso facto. Mais oui.

Our sojourn in Italy

September, 2010
You may know we were heading off to Italy.

The flight was to write home about, which is why I am writing home about it. Air France was amazing. They served champagne to everyone who wanted it, and breakfast at 3 in the morning. I can only imagine first class would make me want to write twice.

On the 9 hour leg, I got stuck next to this guy (let me get a breath of air here…) This was a fella with body odor so thick you could spoon it. Every few minutes he would lift his arm to wipe sweat off his forehead with his forearm. Lord, have mercy. Lord… have mercy.

hilltown in Tuscany
In the heart of Tuscany

Here we are, in the heart of Tuscany.

Driving in Italy has its challenges. There are roundabouts everywhere. That’s why real estate in Tuscany is so expensive. The government has expropriated all the farmland to grow more roundabouts. But we came prepared. We brought a GPS. That thing never gets lost. Got off the track at one point, and we begged Garmin to find our way out of the maze. So Garmin pointed us down this goat track which, predictably, was the width of a goat. We made it down there only to discover

The Innkeeper’s Christmas

by Rick Cogbill and Will Enns

            I don’t know why, but sometimes Dolly treats me like a small child.  

 ‘Buck Pincher, will you stop poking the presents?’ my wife Dolly scolded.

‘You can’t find out what you’re getting till tomorrow morning. Why don’t you pour us some eggnog to sip while we watch the Grinch steal Christmas!’

As I lingered, she added, ‘One more sleep and you’ll see what St. Nick has for you! And you have to promise that you won’t get up before dawn again.’

Later, as I drifted of to be with the the sandman, I thought it would be nice if on this Christmas Eve, there would not be a midnight check-in to spoil my beauty rest.

        Suddenly, a shrill screech set my nerve endings vibrating like tuning forks.

Scratch and Sniff – the Art of the Wine Cellar

Not long ago, my wife Dolly said, “when are you going to clean up this bomb blast you call a shop?”

“What do you mean,” I said, warping an eyeball out from behind a skelter of sticks, where I was sorting wood shavings according to texture and color. “Every stick in here has a special purpose, and one day I will

know what that is.”

“Today is that day,


and I’ll tell you what that purpose is,” Dolly said.

“It’s all about the Okanagan Wine Art. You’re famous for it. You’re so famous, even I have heard of you.”

The Quintessential Redneck
The Quintessential Redneck

So says my new Blog Boss, who heard of me when I called her for help. She goes on to say, “get busy! Blog about your art, talk about the Okanagan, say something about wine.”

I resisted for years because ‘Blog’ isn’t an actual word so much as a guttural muttering, similar to the sound a redneck makes by cupping a hand under his armpit and pumping the arm up and down. That’s why so many rednecks tear their sleeves off – so they can get at their armpits. Blog. It turns out this pathetic sound actually denotes a Commentary. In my case, it’s to be an Okanagan Wine Art commentary.

The conversation with my wife went like this: “Dolly, I need food.”

“So go sell some art while I boil you a potato.”

I whined, “I’m trying, but the buyers are all texting and facebooking and wine touring and being everywhere except in our Art Gallery! Some of them are even bl***ing.”

“You need to seize their attention – so hire an attention-seizing expert!”