You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

RUSSIAN CHERRY WINE

Professor Walace Baldinger, mentioned to his Russian friend, Kobilkin, that his son, Richard, had made beer. Upon learning this, Kobilkin offered to teach Rich how to make cherry wine, and he would provide the cherries. Rich and I had made beer together in high school. So, upon learning of this opportunity, although Rich was a student at Stanford at the time, he invited me to join him the following summer to meet the old Russian and to make a batch of cherry wine.

I agreed. So Rich searched classified ads for barrels. He found an ad in the San Francisco Chronicle for “the last oak barrel from a historic family winery”. He called the phone number in the ad and learned where we could go to see the barrel. I happened to be in San Francisco at the time and joined Rich to check out this family heirloom barrel. I had expected that we would find it in a commercial establishment, but instead, when we located the address, it was a residence near Golden Gate Park. We knocked on the door, wondering if the person answering our knock would know anything about a wine barrel. An elderly gentleman opened the door. We asked if this was the right place to see an oak barrel. He seemed delighted with our interest and welcomed us in. He was curious about our intended use of the barrel. He wished to be assured that his heirloom barrel would be used in a worthy endeavor. When we explained that we planned to make cherry wine from an old Russian recipe. He seemed pleased. He told us that the barrel had sentimental value. His family had held on to it as a keepsake and tribute to his ancestors, who started and operated the winery for several generations. He then led us to his basement to see the barrel. It was a 50-gallon, oak wine barrel. Despite being dusty, it appeared to be in good condition. We bought it for $50 and assured the old man that we would take good care of it. We made arrangements to have it picked up from his house and shipped to my mother’s house in Eugene.

The following summer, I soaked the barrel with water, swelling the slats to ensure that it was water-tight in anticipation of Kobilkin’s call telling us that the cherries were ripe. He invited us to come to his home on the slopes of Spencer’s Butte. We found his house, a modest two-story structure, with an archway of Wisteria leading to the entry. Kobilkin greeted us at his door. Meeting him was a very memorable experience. He was an old man. He did not move quickly, but he had a warm, bright-eyed smile. Through a heavy accent, he welcomed us into his home and led us to his den, which overlooked an ancient cherry orchard. After affirming our interest in making wine, without saying where he was going, Kobilkin stood up and walked out of the room. We were left sitting there looking through his den windows, at the old twisted trees which bore a less than enthusiastic crop of cherries. He soon returned with two bottles of his cherry wine, crackers, and a jar of Russian caviar. As we enjoyed his hospitality, he told us how he had come to be in Eugene.

He had been a Cossack Cavalry soldier for the Czar. Then revolution enveloped Russia. When the Czar and his family were murdered, Kobilkin and a group from his regiment escaped by riding eastward across Russia to the Pacific coast, where they hoped to obtain passage out of Russia. With an expression of remorse, he told us about this difficult journey. He and his comrades would pass through villages. On several occasions, the local farmers attacked them. He said it was a tragedy. These peasants, wielding pick axes and pitchforks, were no match for trained soldiers on horses. Looking down, he quietly said, “All we wanted was to pass through their village.”

Once out of Russia, Kobilkin made his way to the United States and the Willamette Valley, where he eventually bought this house and planted this cherry orchard. He poetically explained how he and his orchard were reaching the end of their lives. After a very enjoyable hour of hearing Kobilkin’s stories, he announced, “And now I will tell you my family’s secret recipe for cherry wine, but first, you must promise never to tell anyone.” We agreed. He then proceeded to lovingly describe the ingredients and process to make his family’s version of Russian cherry wine.

After our delightful visit with Kobilkin, we thanked him for his caviar and complimented him on his cherry wine. Rich and I took empty boxes out to the old orchard and, using Kobilkin’s ladders, we picked sufficient volume of cherries to fill our fifty-gallon oak barrel. On the way home, we bought oranges and other ingredients called for in his recipe. We funneled several large boxes of cherries, cut up oranges, sugar, and wine yeast through the bunghole of the barrel. We then bunged it with a tube to jar of water to prevent oxygen from entering the barrel and ruining the wine.

For six months, that barrel of wine bubbled in my basement. When Rich returned from Stanford for Winter break, we bottled the wine. The resulting wine was as good as Kobilkin had promised. It turned was deep red and slightly sweet, with a citrus-cherry flavor. We divided the production, leaving some for Kobilkin. I was left with 18-gallon jugs of wine. Eighteen gallons of sweet wine is a lot. It was several years before I had consumed, or given away, the last jug of the last batch of Kobilkin family’s Russian Cherry Wine.