Gunslinger is a term in our family. A gunslinger is someone you can count on. A gunslinger is someone you can count on in a tough situation. My Father called my son a gunslinger one day out in the vineyard. (That Story is Below)
I agree with my Father; Cash is a gunslinger.
Cash’s heart is filled with courage. I have seen him, time and time again, show up and do things no one wants to do.
I have seen him transform his body out of sheer will.
He goes to the gym each day for 2 hours.
He goes to work things out with himself.
He goes to push himself.
He does all of this in a world that seeks happiness over satisfaction.
He looks for difficult things to do.
He tries to do things beyond himself.
I can see him being misunderstood by some people.
But not by me.
I see him.
I see right into the center of him.
Cash wants to be counted on.
Cash wants to be the person that others look to.
Cash wants to be the one who is ready when things go wrong.

He is - A gunslinger.

As he ages, I am sure his personal code will be odd to some people.
His Big heart will be misunderstood.
His warmth will be misunderstood as a weakness.

The beauty of my son, along with Petit Verdot, is the act of underestimating it.
No one makes a 100% Petit Verdot.
We do.
We understand the beauty of this grape.
A Grape that must hide its massive flavor in a blend.
This wine and My Son need to be experienced to be believed.

Everyone wants to make a snap judgment.
Cash is a big, good-looking young man.
Strong as an oak.

Some may think of him as a big dumb Jock.
But he isn’t.
Inside of that body beats the heart of a poet.
Inside this bottle is liquid poetry.

Beautiful things don’t need to be explained.
They need to be experienced.

This Wine,
and My Son.

Are Beautiful.

Easy to love.

The Gunslinger. A few years ago Cash and I were out in the Vineyard with my father. It was late in the day - three generations were huddled around a tractor, talking about nothing in particular.

Cash was up in the driver’s seat under the oak being a kid.

My Father took off his hat and placed it on my son.

Cash smiled wore it proudly.

His wild ass hair poked out from underneath his grandfather’s hard cut straw crown.

He squinted his eye hard and made a crooked smile.

My Father said with pride in his voice:

“You look like a Gunslinger”

Yep,

Cash responded,

I’m a Gunslinger.

it’s not every day your grandpa makes you feel like Billy the kid. Shit like that shapes who you are.

Don’t aim with your eye son,

aim with your heart,

You will never miss.

—

This wine was sold out before we picked it.

I figured I would park a memory on it that I never want to forget.