Corks

I collect corks.

I credit (blame) Bully Hill Vineyards of New York for getting me started. Every cork has a message on it. In the mid-70's, I began collecting their "Wine Without..." series.


They commemorate the battle between Coca-a-Cola and Bully Hill's proprietor, Walter Taylor. After Coke bought the Taylor family winery, he started his own little business, with the happy herd of goats on Bully Hill.

Walter put his name on the first vintage's labels (in smallish print). Coke sued him for using the Taylor name. Coke won.

He was forced to recall all those bottles, and black-out his last name. This soon became his smartass trademark.


The wine is rather sweet, but the "without" messages were a little bitter. It was nice to see a new series appear. They conveyed a sense of peace and reconciliation (especially after a bottle or two).


Ever since I was old enough to drink without help from nipples, I joined in my family's tradition of toasting the New Year with champagne. Mom and Dad didn't let me get loaded (until a bit later), but that was OK. I could still participate in another tradition: champagne cork target shooting.

We'd set up six Dixie cups in a pyramid on a high shelf, and shoot at them with the corks of the bubbly we opened. There were no rules, no prizes, no "official" shooting line. It was so rare that anyone hit them, there seemed no point!

I brought the tradition to my own family, and around 1990 I started labeling and saving these corks.


It wasn't much of a stretch to commemorate other special occasions this way: birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, new houses, new jobs, new bedroom furniture (?) . . .

(The old stuff was quite nasty.)

My collection grew. Some corks had beauty irrespective of the moment, like this one from some mead (honey wine) . . .


. . . or these that had crystals growing on them.




Once, the corks themselves became a part of a party, instead of just momentos of it.

We were celebrating the delivery of a few cases from Bully Hill. I filled a giant brandy snifter with corks, and challenged my guests to guess how many it contained. They wrote thier guesses on corks. (Nice additions to my collection!)

The winner was . . .


Nice guess Mary!
(There were 212. All she won was a lousy tee-shirt - but much admiration.)

More important than the corks are the people who share the moment when they are freed. It doesn't matter if it's two-buck Chuck, or mega-buck Moét & Chandon. It's not about getting drunk or filling a box with souvenirs. It's about sharing and friendship and love.


It's funny, I think, how we are given rules and guidelines for enjoying a bottle of wine . . . “Best served with braised meats” . . . “Enjoy with your favorite ripe cheese” . . . For me, it's best served with whatever snack I can find that isn't embarrassingly stale. And it's always most enjoyable as . . .

Blue Ridge Mountains - October 2008

Last year, I toured a little of the Blue Ridge Parkway during a business trip. It was beautiful. I decided to make a vacation of driving its entire length, hoping to see some nice fall colors. I was a little early for the colors, but it was a very pretty drive.

It's a fer piece to the south end of the Parkway in North Carolina. It was especially fer because I went straight south, un-cutting the hypotenuse, and without the interstates, all the way to Georgia - through corn, cotton and kudzu...



..and through Superman's home town, Metropolis, Illinois.


I moseyed my way over to Atlanta, to see my sweet 'sister' Jain and family, through Kentucky and Tennessee.




This is near the ancient center of the Cherokee nation. It was like their Washington D.C.


(The lower reflection is from the top of my car)

I entered the kudzu zone. A local man told me that someone is farming the stuff for export to Japan. They think it makes an attractive and tasty garnish.


The highest point in Georgia is Brasstown Bald. The views were amazingly symmetrical that day.





From Atlanta, Jain and I took a day trip to Toccoa Falls and Helen's Octoberfest.


Mica floats in the water and lines the shores at the Falls.


Sweet Jain


In 1977, a dam broke and destroyed the little Christian college town that contains Toccoa Falls. It wiped out this bridge too.


Oktoberfest in Helen


Contented and contentious country cows by a gazebo grazing green grass



I entered the Parkway's southern end. The mountain views seemed more accessible and spectacular here.










Sometimes the road went through the mountains, instead of over or around.





There are many dozens of overviews along the Parkway. Some have exhibits and pretty little trails for walking. They are a nice break from the twisty road.




The mountain views became more impressive again toward the Parkway's northern end in Virginia...



...and I finally saw some fall colors.



I didn't drive all of the Parkway. About 20 miles were closed because of rockfalls. One detour led me on a 3 hour tour through mountain roads with endless turns and climbs and dives. Lodging on the Parkway is expensive and always booked. You have to find an exit to a nearby town and hope to find something that doesn't smell like cigars and hunting dogs.

I finished it in 4 days, but I had to hurry too much. Many beautiful looping trails tempted me (1/2 to 4 hours walk). I criss-crossed the great 2175-mile Appalachian trail over and over. Now there's a hike!

(Blue Ridge Mountains - October 2008)

Congordito

I read Condorito comics to practice my Spanish and have some laughs. He's like a Chilean version of Donald Duck, except he also smokes, drinks, chases women; and of course, he only speaks Chilean Spanish. I shopped the cover of his 1st edition (1955) as a joke to share with friends (way) down south. I put a lot of hours into this thing, so I thought I might as well share it with some more northerly Americans too.



Some of the gags might need a little explanation . . . Gordito means “rather fat” or “little fat guy” . . . LAN is the Chilean national airlines . . . The tree on the tee is an araucaria. It's on a lot of Chilean tourist goods . . . and . . . My camera was snatched on my last visit!

Here's the original cover...