The year was 1820. “Brother Juan, I have had the strangest dream,” said Brother Diego, still groggy from sleep. Scattering corn for the chickens in the mission courtyard, Brother Juan looked over and raised one eyebrow, a silent prompt for Brother Diego to tell more.

“I was here in California, but it was very different,” he explained. “Most people spoke English instead of Spanish, and rode about in gleaming horseless carriages. Before me on a table were three bottles of wine. I can just recall what the each label said: Stuart Cellars.

“The first bottle said 2002 Tatria, and when I sniffed at it, my nostrils were filled with the most marvelous spicy plum, sweet black cherry, and tobacco aromas. This wine tasted just as splendid, with accents of clove and smoke.

“I eagerly took up the second bottle, marked 2004 Sangiovese. The fragrances! The flavors! Strawberry jam, sour cherry, black currant! Cinnamon, cloves, cranberry, cocoa! I felt as if my very tongue had been kissed by God, but not in a gross way.

“After such raptures, I scarcely believed the third bottle could be as wonderful. But the 2005 Viognier exuded exquisite aromas of mango, pineapple, apricot, and orange. The taste was so soft and sweet, so fruity, so floral. Ah, I wish I were dreaming again, that I may experience such joy. And I had an idea…”

Brother Juan nodded. “Continue.”

“Well, Brother, why could we not plant vines here, and create such exalted wines ourselves? Think of it. The hot, sunny days and the cool nights here in Temecula are ideal for viticulture. With our high-altitude climate and favorable granite soils, it would be a sin not to plant grapes.”

This was too much for Brother Juan. “A sin?”

“Not literally, of course. So what do you think? May I plant some vines on a far corner of the grounds and see what happens? If we order the seeds today from the homeland, they will be here in eight to ten months.”

At this, Brother Juan chuckled indulgently. “Why not? Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with your daily eight hours of silent prayer.” Watching the elated Brother Diego run off to begin plotting his vineyard, Brother Juan shook his head. Who would ever drink wine from California?

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