The problem as I see it is that we all dream of this. The lush vines sagging under the weight of their fruit, the intimate backyard tastings, the rocky earth, the turquoise sky above a mountain, wind chimes barely making their music, the coolness of the winery, the large-bowled stemware filled to just over 1/3, the smell of the burnt French oak barrels and dusty under-ground caves. And some of us, of stalwart farmer stock, may actually do it. I know many locally and beyond that are living the dream. But for the rest of us mere mortals, there is this.