Of Vines & Dolphins

There’s a true story about a dolphin named Ruby that gives me chills every time I remember it. It’s from an out of print book called Mind In the Waters. (Bear with me. I swear this relates to wine.)

A scientist, who was studying dolphins, got to work with Ruby. They developed a friendship, and one day the scientist decided to try to teach Ruby to say her name… as in pronounce it as a human would in English.

He called Ruby to the edge of her pool, and began, using verbal explanations and toy-based motivational techniques, to attempt to get her to imitate the sound of her name.

Once she understood the game, in less than ten minutes Ruby transcended dolphinese and pronounced something that was so close to the human English version of her name that it was eerie.
 

Dawn breaks over Crenshaw Cru.

But then she just as quickly stopped pronouncing her name and would revert back to dophinese. She didn’t seem capable of repeating her name whenever he asked her to. She would say her name, and then go back to repeating other sounds, shaking her head, presumably not understanding the scientist’s intent.

She seemed to be as frustrated by the process as the scientist was. At times she would swim all the way to the other side of the pool and back when he would begin the lesson over. He tried repeatedly to get her to consistently show that she could pronounce “Ruby,” but she eventually stopped and seemed set on speaking dolphinese.

Finally, nearing the end of his time and energy to stay with her, something clicked. The scientist noticed that Ruby was repeating a particular set of sounds in dolphinese, so he tried repeating them back to her. She would repeat them again and he would listen closely and try to more accurately imitate her.

Suddenly, something caught the scientist’s ear, and he realized that what she chittered back to him were the same sounds she’d been repeating since he began his “lesson.”

He was stunned to understand that while she had learned how to say her name hours ago, he was just now learning to say the name that she had given to him.

Amazingly, at the moment of dawning awareness for the scientist, Ruby saw the lights go on in his eyes, and she exploded in frenzy of glee and excitement.

Finally, after hours of training, her student had learned his first word in dolphinese.

It can be humbling to the point of humiliation to admit how highly we have thought of ourselves, and how wrong we were about something. I try to laugh at myself. It’s either that or weep, and laughing seems to give me the energy to get up and try to do better, to listen better, to engage in the process of growth… again.

Growth, I think, is a process of learning how much I have to learn… and unlearn.

For example, as a gardener and farmer, for years I envisioned my relationship with land and plants as one in which I was in charge. I was the Director of Vineyard Operations. Ego > Earth.

I’ve come to realize that with that perspective my viticulture can only be so-so.

That perspective is like giving your 8-year-old the keys to your new Maserati and expecting them to get themselves to and from elementary school. They might actually do it, eventually, but your Maserati won’t be new anymore.

In terms of life on earth, humans are approximately 8-year-olds (no offense intended to 8-year-olds). Grapevines, and most plant life, have been around much much longer than we have. Each plant embodies millions of years of wisdom.

Seen in this perspective, I’ve begun to realize that my role as a gardener and farmer is that of a somewhat illiterate student. Plants are my teachers, and I’m learning to listen to and observe their lessons better. I’m learning to respect the eons of knowledge they animate.

For plants and dolphins, the herculean task of getting us humans to listen and then learn something from them is a task their life depends upon… which may be why they seem to have infinite patience for our dullness.

What’s great about wine is that it gives us humans a reward for listening and learning to be better servants and stewards of the earth. Wine actually tastes better the more literate we become in the language of vines and ecosystems.

Maybe that’s why the vines offer it up. Maybe it’s the carrot they use to motivate their students to want to learn and grow.

As I recall tasting our Crenshaw Cru red wine during bottling recently, and how thrilled I was to discover how good it tasted, I can’t help but imagine the vines waving their shoots in the air, even more excited than me that I had finally begun to hear what they’d been saying to me for years.