Smoky Hill Vineyards & Winery Fine Kansas & American Wine Wine Accessories, Gifts and Wine Maker Dinners

A Winery Christmas Story >

On the night before Christmas, all through the Winery,

Not a creature was stirring, but the vines, sans their finery.

The wine glasses stood by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The Winery staff were snuggled warm in their beds

While visions of chambourcin danced in their heads.

There was Jen in her kerchief, and Norm in his cap,

The proprietors had settled their brains for a brief winter nap.

When out on the vineyard there rose such a clatter!

Norm sprang from his bed, to see 'twas the matter.

Away to the window, he flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon shown brightly on the new fallen snow

Giving the vineyard the luster of a bright mid-day glow.

When what to his wondering eyes should appear,

But an old oak barrel turned into a sleigh, taking flight with eight reindeer

Up, up and away!

Guided by the driver, so humble and quick,

Norm could but wonder, could this be St. Nick?

As rapid as starlings descending on summer vines,

He whistled, then toasted, and called to them

One name at a time.

New Seyval! Now Vignoles! Now Chardonnel and Concord!

On Ventura! On St. Vincent, Cab Franc...On Norton!

To the top of the slope, to the top of the hill,

Now dash away, dash away, and not a drop will you spill!

Like vineyard leaves that before the autumn winds fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, they take to the sky.

So up to the barrel cave, the coursers they flew,

The sleigh filled with treasures only the driver knew.

And then in a twinkling, it was heard on the roof,

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

Norm drew in his head, and was turning around,

Down the ladder the driver shimmied, coming down with a bound.

He was dressed, not at all in red fur,

But insulated coveralls, from the cold, the best cure!

Strolling through the wine cave, laden with barrels,

He crept softly as a choir singing cherished Christmas carols.

He inspected as if searching, hunting high and low.

The mysterious fellow found it! Behold!

There it was all alone, looking regal, and wine stained.

A glorious wine cask, the contents un-named.

Just a single stenciled number, in dirty, white paint,

The identifying factor of the contents: wine fit for a Saint!

Not many knew it, but it had been closely guarded,

Found in a corner of the old Winery, in '96, it was started.

Hand carried by six stout to the new place where it rest,

Barrel Eight One Five defines patience the best.

Norm watched in silence as the kind, gentle soul,

Softly tapped open the cask, and filled a glass a third full.

Nose in to inhale the tawny bouquet

The first sip was heaven, with legs that will stay.

With one final swirl, he took a mouthful,

It is perfect! Don't filter! It is ready to go!

As the mysterious guest turned around to depart,

He caught Norm's eye, and with his hand on his heart,

Gave a wink and a smile, then left with a start.

Soon the contents of the barrel will no longer be pondered.

It was a gift, a legacy, that fact no one wondered.

The time fast approaches to share and celebrate a life.

In the spring of aught six, we'll bottle Barrel Eight-One-Five.

--with acknowledgement and appreciation to Clement Clark Moore

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