Chrissy Cooper “got it” instantly when I pitched her on the concept of parking my Airstream trailer on her family’s estate in Amador County for what would be my first stop on the Vintage Highway.

But beyond merely allowing me to plug into water and electricity for four days, the extended Cooper clan embraced the idea and welcomed me to the ranch, even inviting me to a “friends and family” party at Cooper Vineyards the Friday evening of my stay. More than 100 people—tasting room employees, volunteers, full-time staff and folks from nearby ranches, wineries and vineyards—were expected to attend.

I couldn’t have been made to feel more welcome. . .most of the time, anyway. Poor Richard’s Almanack is right on the money: “Fish and visitors smell in three days.”

Though I’ve toured and tasted at easily 200+ wineries during my eight-years pedaling wine, I have this thirst to know what it is really like to be connected to a winery. My objective is not to participate. . .simply to observe. . .sort of like a fruit fly buzzing around uncorked tasting bottles, but less irritating.

The original Cooper winery, opened in  December, 2004, is a long, lean structure, redeemed architecturally by a wrap-around wooden pergola; a massive, arched door of dark planks bound together with sturdy metal slats; a band of windows that falsely portrays a second storey; and a brilliant red tin roof. The winery stands sentinel above a pond at the end of a long and tightly compacted, decomposed granite drive that loops grandly in a giant circle in front. The hulk of a 1930s-era flatbed truck is a solitary, rusting lawn ornament and frequent prop for tourist photos.

Conceived as a multipurpose structure, the winemaking demands quickly exceeded capacity, and now the building is a dedicated tasting room with ancillary barrel storage. Erected in mid-2008, a much larger, utilitarian winery—a stand-up steel structure—forgoes any pretense of style at the base of a sloping vineyard. The emphasis is squarely on function, not form.

I described my first night in another post, but the best time at Cooper Vineyards was when the tasting room was shut and the staff had gone home. During the evening and early morning hours, I did not have to share the estate’s views, solitude or calmness. . .it was mine and mine alone.

The Cooper tasting room sits inland, dimming the sound of traffic on the narrow yet busy country lane called Shenandoah School Road. It is centered among some of the most prolific vines in all of California. . .planted, meticulously cultivated and personally nurtured by Dick Cooper.

I hung out in the tasting room whenever I could. . .during lulls on Thursday and Friday and when the place was absolutely packed on Saturday. Though I frequently stand on the business side of my own bar, I have a heightened respect for what it takes to do this job. The staffers dutifully roll through a lengthy line up of wines, stoically describing each. It takes the patience of a hospice nurse to pour for visitors of such disparate backgrounds and understandings of wine. Some tasters are here on a serious exploration, but many others are neophytes on the cheap, seeking an inexpensive, one-day escape from Sacramento. On Friday, many were furloughed State workers burning up an unwanted day off.

Robin, one of the most professional tasting room staff I have ever encountered, has been working at Cooper for more than four years. She has an intimate understanding of each wine, and embellishes the pouring with her practiced narrative. She’s crusty but tolerant, an admitted wine geek who enjoys spending time in Napa “recreationally.” She tasted me through the full spectrum of wines on the list, 15 in all. . .five whites, nine reds and two dessert wines.

After two frantic days of racing up and down Shenandoah and Steiner roads to keep appointments with winemakers, I was delighted when my Ellen finally arrived on Friday afternoon. We decided to hang out in the Airstream until our two dinner guests arrived from Volcano, about a half-hour away.

When I invited our friends to come up for dinner at the trailer, I wasn’t aware of the Cooper party on Friday night, but my hosts graciously agreed to have them join the festivities. I was a bit uncomfortable, but my fears were clearly unfounded when people began arriving in droves. This was going to be one big-assed party.

TGIF in Wine Country

Earlier that afternoon, the tasting room had been transformed into a family-style dining room with at least a dozen picnic tables moved in for the event. Blackened, circular charcoal grills were set up on the crush pad, which had been wrapped in heavy plastic, an effective rain and wind barrier. Deep fat fryers contained super-hot oil, soon to sear whole turkeys into crispy delicacies.

While this was clearly a Cooper event, neighbors mobilized to pitch in with food preparation. One grill was dedicated to barbequing oysters (fabulous!); tri-tip was sizzling on another. And crowded everywhere in the smoky, cool evening air, clusters of men and women ate and drank and laughed.

What impressed me most was just about every adult was clearly a working person. These were genuine farmers and ranchers—dressed in worn jeans and faded plaid shirts—joining together in a simple celebration. Children were oblivious, running and chasing and wolfing down food when their parents compelled them to take a break.

This was one huge extended family, with bonds extending far beyond simply being neighbors and friends. These folks are connected by a commonality of purpose and passion; through a link to the land that is engrained only through generations of stewardship and unrelenting toil. The work ethic for many is embedded in their DNA. . .a gift—or perhaps a curse—passed down from pioneer ancestors who tilled the very same Amador soil more than 150 years ago.

We mixed with the crowd, but I felt like a party crasher, so my group slipped back to the trailer for a quiet dinner that I had promised to prepare. Chrissy brought over a bottle a bottle of the 2007 Cooper Barbera Riserva, a 2010 San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition gold medal winner, along with a half-dozen bottles to take for my son, Drew, to taste when I returned to Auburn.

I chopped onions, sliced vegetables and prepared some nice pieces of salmon with capers to go on the grill. Everything got the same treatment: a little extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper, then wrapped in aluminum foil and tossed over the flame. Simple to make and very, very tasty. I served the meal on paper plates, but real cutlery and Riedel stems added a bit of civility to the evening.

Despite the fact that rain forced us to stay in the trailer, my first stab at entertaining in the Airstream was more fun than I imagined. Perhaps the close quarters made the evening more intimate, but I think anyone who has sampled the trailer life appreciates the value of escaping the daily grind without having to sacrifice the basic comforts of home.

Rookie Airstream Mistakes

I still have much to learn about how to operate my Airstream. When I set up on Friday, I attached the Cooper’s water hose to my trailer, and turned it on, unleashing a gushing spray for at least two point underneath. I shut it off quickly, but I didn’t have a clue about the problem, so I went the entire stay without water—not a huge deal because I had 24/7 access to the restroom and kitchen of the tasting room. (On my next trip, it was revealed to me that you need to attach a device to the hose to reduce the incoming water pressure.)

Another learning experience: When I got up Saturday morning, I turned some lights on and set about making coffee, only to find the electrical circuit was dead. I tried to turn on the radio, but it was dead, too. Then it dawned on me—the trailer lights are powered through the onboard 12-volt battery when not connected to the commercial grid. So, I dug out the Airstream manual and located the fuse panel, only to discover that all of the fuses were intact.

Now I’m thinking we have a huge problem of some sort with the inverter. . .until I just happen to look out the back window and see my power cord coiled up neatly. Evidently, someone needed the outdoor electrical outlet during the party Friday night, and unplugged the trailer. Duh. . .the rule about checking the computer power cord first also applies to trailers.

Leaving isn’t all that simple. First, you must make sure everything inside the trailer is secured, especially glassware and breakable items. I stowed the portable stereo and coffee maker in their original boxes, packed up all of my clothing, computer, books and “stuff”. Then all doors were locked in place, along with the folding table and refrigerator with ingenious clips that keep everything snugged down.

Outside, there is a substantial checklist to go through. . .unplug and stow electrical cords (along with water and sanitary lines if I was hooked up at a camp site), remove and store wheel chocks, stow the folding step, raise stabilizer jacks and then do a walk around to ensure everything is cool.

Hooking up the truck can be challenging for two rookies like Ellen and me. But we got ‘er done: ball on the hitch and all chains, breakaway cable and the power link between the truck and trailer in place. After testing the trailer lights and turn signals, we were ready to go.

Saying “Good-bye” Takes Time

The last order of business was to go over to Dick Cooper’s house and thank him for his hospitality during our stay. He lives in a modest house about a quarter of a mile away from the tasting room. His home is surrounded by all manner of farm equipment. . .an amazing array of vintages in varying operable conditions. . .an eclectic collection of rusting hulks amidst almost new machinery. It is clear that nothing is thrown away; you never know when you can salvage a part or trade for something you really need.

Dick was outside, talking to an old friend who had stopped by but was just about to leave. We thanked him, and he seemed to be as happy that we made the visit as we were. In fact, he wouldn’t let us go.

“I never got to really spend any time with Gary, and I’d like to take you for a tour of the vineyards,” he said. “Have you got 45 minutes?”

Of course we did, though my notebook and camera were packed in the trailer, a real shame because this was to be one of the highlights of the trip. We piled into Dick’s aging Jeep, Ellen in the back seat along with Blondie, a very friendly yellow ranch dog.

I’m not exactly sure how old Dick is, but I’d guess he is at least 70, and he reminds me of my own grandfather, Glen Shaw, who died when I was just eight. Dick, who barely survived a serious surgery three years ago, is a hefty man, with a round face and perpetual smile, a telltale barometer of his outlook on life.

Dick has an intimacy with his vineyards that seems to extend to individual vines. He speaks with the authority of a U.C. Davis professor when he explains trellising systems for supporting vines, or grafting new varieties or soil drainage.

When he tells why he ripped out a walnut orchard to plant vines, you sense he made the change reluctantly but with the conviction of a farmer who understands full well the business implications. He points out a neighboring tract of land he would love to acquire, then shows us a grove of trees he hopes to convert into a park. And, oh yeah, he wants to build a bridge to connect two parcels separated by an impassable ravine. Why? Because he’d like to offer tours of the property, to show visitors the whole place.

Flat on his back in the hospital, suspended between life and the very real potential for leaving this world, Dick said he passed the time making plans in his head. He is far from finishing his beloved ranch, and it seems clear that he wakes up every day on a new mission.

Right now he is building a portable chicken coop for his girlfriend, Jennifer. He salvaged a rolling frame and designed a nesting place that can be shuttled around on the property.  It is designed to protect the chickens from the hungry, nocturnal predators that roam the ranch. I tell him he has to have at least $3,000 in the project, and he smiles and lets me know I’m in the ballpark. How many organic eggs will it take to break even I wonder?

Everywhere there are projects in play, a ton of work ahead. More money to be spent. More deals to do. Trading is an effective currency. . .moving boulders in exchange for a piece of machinery; firewood for tree cutting. You have to be creative to survive financially in this game.

And all the time, even as we tour the property, Dick is planning. Replant here; build a fire pit there. . .the work is what will keep him alive. It makes me think about my own business, my own plans, what is the best use of my time right now?

It makes me wonder where the Vintage Highway will take me next.