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

RUSSIAN CHERRY WINE

Richard’s father, Professor Wallace Baldinger, told Rich about his Russian friend named Kobilkin. When Kobilkin learned that Rich had made beer, he offered to teach him 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, Rich invited me to join him.

At that time Rich was a student at Stanford. Rich looked at classified ads for barrels. He found one, in the a San Francisco paper, which advertised the last oak barrel from an old family winery. He called the number in the ad and learned where we could go to see the barrel. I had expected to find the barrel in a commercial establishment but instead, when we located the address it was a residence. 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 welcomed us in and inquired about our interest and our intended use of the barrel if we were to buy it. I think he wished to be assured that his heirloom barrel would be used in a worthy endeavor. When we explained that we intended to make cherry wine from an old Russian recipe. He seemed pleased. He told us that the barrel had sentimental value. It was the last barrel from his family’s winery which had been in the family for generations. The winery had closed a decade earlier. His family had held on to this last barrel as a keepsake in tribute to his ancestors who started and operated the winery for several generations. He then led us to the basement to see the barrel. It had been used to make wine. And although it was dusty, it was still in good condition. We bought it and assured the old man that we would take good care of it.

We made arrangements to ship it to my house in Eugene, Oregon, where it was to stay for several months until Kobilkin’s cherries were ripe.

Mid-summer arrived. Kobilkin contacted Rich’s father to tell him that the cherries were ripe. Rich and I were invited to Kobilkin’s farmhouse on the East-facing 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 smile and twinkle in his eyes. 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 Calvary soldier for the Czar. When revolution enveloped Russia, and 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 could obtain passage out of Russia. With an expression of remorse he described how, on this difficult journey, he and his comrades would occasionally pass through villages. On several of these occasions, the local farmers would attack them. He said it was a tragedy. These peasants, wielding axes and pitchforks, were no match for trained soldiers on hoses and armed with swords. Once out of Russia, Kobilkin made his way to the United States and the lush Willamette Valley. It was here, where he eventually bought this house and 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 said “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 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 complemented him on his cherry wine. Rich and I took empty boxes out to the old orchard and, using Kobilkins 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 yeast through the bunghole of the 50-gallon oak barrel.

Through late Summer, Fall, and Winter that barrel of wine bubbled in my basement. When Rich returned from Stanford for spring break, we bottled the wine. The resulting wine was as good as Kobilkin had promised. It turned out to be a 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 to drink. 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.