I am fishing. My waders are submerged in the strong current. I hear gun shot pinging beer cans in the dusk. Iis illegal to fish and iphone (thanks to a flashlight attached like a garter to my head) but that's the kind of girl I am, an anarchist at heart. Throwing my line out, waiting for a tug, I came across a piece of commentary on an NPR airing about biodynamics, which I haven't heard yet. Travis Roy's story M. Chidaine is the master of chenin from nearby Montlouis, but his Vouvray is stunning. Jupiter standing in the moonlight. It is clover at zero summer. Salty, honey, green almonds. Chalk on the high palate. This is the kind of beauty, if you've not had enough therapy you stupidly run from. Who said you can't fish and drink? Full and sensual, lemony peach with a high intensity discussion wrapped up in wet wool and a nice dusting of chalk, what a stunner. And a keeper. I'd lay this down in a flash. Francois is quoted as saying, 'Wine is born from the vine, not from artificial skills of re-creation in the winery. It is sufficient to start modestly by working the soil.' The salmon are singing. But I'm not sure that they'll be biting.