The label pays homage to a classic, rural, gravel road back in Kansas, my proud state of origin: Road 31 runs by both my maternal and paternal family homesteads. The ’66 green Ford pickup, which traveled Road 31 frequently, was willed to me by my grandfather, a proud Kansas farmer, when he passed back in the 1980’s. The green truck and I now tend a handful of select rows from three extremely gifted vineyards at the southernmost reaches of Napa Valley. The truck and I harvest to cave space borrowed from some friends in the Stag’s Leap district, where my hands then perform every step of the crafting: tiny-batch fermenting, barrel aging, bottling, and eventually, peddling.