On recognition, shared joy, and the long patience of making wine
- madhavi padala
- Jan 17
- 2 min read
Updated: Jan 18
When the News Arrives, and the Vines Are Asleep
I woke early in my home in the San Francisco Bay Area, before the house fully stirred. My husband was already awake. He came to me with the news, simply, almost casually and for a moment I didn’t respond. I stayed still, letting the words land. Then I smiled. I thought of the vineyard. I thought of the people. And I carried that shared moment quietly into the morning feeling a deep sense of rightness. The recognition brought real happiness. The satisfaction that comes from care meeting its moment.
This year, several Adi Wines were recognized at the San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition, one of the most widely participated wine competitions in the United States:
Radha Pinot Gris 2024 — Gold Medal
Adi Cabernet Sauvignon 2023 — Gold Medal
Catur de Rouge (Red Blend) 2023 — Gold Medal
Noor Rosé 2024 — Silver Medal
The vineyard, meanwhile, did not know.
At Bhoomanchi Vineyards, the vines are in dormancy now, resting, leafless, conserving energy beneath the soil. Winter has done its work. Nothing is growing. Nothing is announcing itself. The vines are waiting patiently for spring, unaware that their fruit, months ago, was tasted, considered, and celebrated far away.
Wine is never the work of one person. It carries the intention and effort of many: winemakers who listen closely during fermentation, cellar hands who return day after day, vineyard labor that tends each vine through heat and harvest, managers who hold the long view, and teams whose work often remains unseen so the wine may speak clearly when it finally reaches the glass.
Judging, at its best, is another form of listening. Wines leave the vineyard and cellar and meet palates shaped by different regions, histories, and expectations.
Wine teaches us this gently. That joy and restraint can coexist.
Back at the vineyard, at this moment the vines remain dormant. Barrels do not change their pace. The work does not suddenly hurry forward. And yet, something subtle shifts, not in the land, but in the heart. A renewed confidence. A reminder that patience, practiced over time, can indeed be felt beyond the place where it begins.The vines are asleep.The people remain at work. And today, the joy joins us quietly in that work.







Comments