It Takes a Village to raise a Winemaker

Morgan had just run over from the winery. He had no wine bottles from which to pour, but big jugs resembling beer growlers. He was sweaty and sunburned, with purple stains under his fingernails and all over his hands. He had “proofs” of his wine labels he’d just pulled from an overnight envelope — they hadn’t even been printed yet. And I really had no idea who he was, so I was a bit suspect.