For many people living in California’s Napa Valley, including me, the word ‘evacuate’ is no longer just a word. It’s a fear; a gnawing in the pit of your stomach. Come August in the valley, even as the vines have taken on that beautiful, pregnant-with-fruit look, those of us who live here start to bite our nails. Akind of climate PTSD descends over the collective mood.
It’s wildfire season – a term I’d barely ever heard, never mind used, just a decade ago.
I suppose that every wine lover thinks about the weather more than most other people. But
