Let the grapes echo the land

By Doug Frost

The initial impetus for the name reflected the particular circumstances of our winery; I live in Kansas City and the winery is far away in Walla Walla. I wanted to allow the transparency of admitting my distant location but in a winking fashion. My voice is not so much present as it is an echo; I am in KC, the sound originates there but is heard in Walla Walla, albeit diminished.

Our first land purchase is in the SeVein Water Project; we call it Taggart Vineyard (my grandfather’s name, my mom’s maiden name, a family thing, and they’re all from WA State and grew up nearby). But at the bottom of our initial vineyard is a Lower Dry Creek and a long canyon that separates us from Ferguson Vineyard and from Seven Hills Vineyard. If I shout, I get an echo. So there’s that.

Echolands: Let the grapes echo the land

But the name depicts the reality of winemaking. Think of the myth of Echo (from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the origin of so much Greek/Roman mythology); Echo is a spirit given the gift of voice by the gods though she is allowed only to repeat what is said to hear. Even less fortunately, she wants to declare her love for the youth, Narcissus (oops, he’s kind of a narcissist, right?) so bad choices all around. On the other hand, it’s an apt metaphor for winemaking: say only what is said to you. Let the grapes speak, but don’t try to add your own voice. Let the grapes echo the land; let the wine echo the grapes.

And, let’s point out the obvious. We make wines from Walla Walla. The name is an echo. Our t-shirts say it all: Walla Walla walla walla walla walla.

Echolands: Let the grapes echo the land 1