When I was young my mother would send me to be with my Aunt and Uncle for the summer. She said it was to allow me to spend time around men (my Uncle and his buddies). I suspected the real reason was so that she could be a free, dating, career woman for a few months without a little kid (albeit a charming kid) to drag around. This, of course, at 84 years of age, she denies passionately.

I liked being at my Aunt and Uncle’s. (My mom and I agree on the fact that it beat summer school.) They lived in Trinity County, California. That is about as far north as you can go without reaching Oregon. My Uncle quit his job with the Forest Service before he was thirty, when they threatened him with a transfer. He loved his mountains and he wasn’t going to leave them. My Uncle's friends were fun. There was old Dick Bird who could cuss better than anyone I have ever met. Dick never made it past fifth grade. He was a top cat skinner who had his own logging company. There was Larry who was left millions of dollars but only had one ambition, mining gold. He had a neat gold mine that was darker and more frightening than anything Disney could offer. There was Bob G who had some top rank in the Forest Service and was one of the funniest guys you would ever meet. Bob would let me ride down miles of Coffee Creek, past large rock drops and fast moving water, lying on only a small air mattress. There was the river for swimming and the mountains. Miles of ground full of adventure that a small boy could really get into. And if that wasn’t enough there was the screened-in sleeping porch, full of fishing poles, bags, loggers' hats, wet boots and a bunk and sleeping bag which was my bed for the summer. It even came with a young black dog that loved eating bees, that slept by my side until morning. What more could a boy want? Especially one who was doomed to be raised in a small, city apartment, with two miniature turtles and a hard working mother who one day would be called one of the first "career women".

There was also my Uncle. He was an adventure all to himself. One minute he would be in the house quoting from some book he was reading, acting out all the parts, or singing along with his favorite musical. The next he would be off with only a pistol to see if he could shoot a bear that was bothering workers on one of his properties. Or late at night he might get an urge to go check out that old haunted house down the road in Carville. “Come on Richard. Let’s go check out the old widow Johnson’s place. It’s been abandoned for centuries. Maybe we could scare up a ghost. It is going to be a full moon tonight.” Of course we couldn’t take flashlights. Normally, I would have one of my younger cousins with me. Someone you could share the terror with. My Uncle loved to sneak away while you were in mid sentence. You would turn around and he would be gone. My Uncle broke a rib that night while sneaking a way. He made it to the second floor. But, while he was jumping up and down pretending to be a ghost, the floorboards on the second floor gave out under his weight.

He taught me first to play checkers, then chess and then bridge when I was six because in the mountains he needed people to play with. We were both very competitive. I didn’t get to beat him often, but I tried. He got this board game called Aggravation. We loved it. We played it every night. Aggravation required mostly luck so the game was a little more even. Neither of us liked to lose. I beat him at tennis only once, and not for long. He immediately demanded another game and wouldn’t quit until he beat me. We even got into a competition to see who could write the best spy novel. I was about ten and he was probably around 30-something. I still think mine was better. But, I recognize that it is mostly a matter of opinion, kind of like wine in a way.

Many years ago, the first time that I thought about starting my own winery, I developed a plan that I was preparing to send out to attract money and partners. My Uncle was with me during a rare visit. I noticed after he left that one of the business plan copies was missing. I never accused my Uncle of taking it but I knew he did. A few years later my Uncle was planting a vineyard and starting a winery. Next thing I knew my cousin was living with me and studying at the University to be a winemaker. Their winery is in the highest county in California. It is called Alpen. You should read my Uncle's newsletters. Of course, my Uncle built his winery first. But, I think my wine is better than his. I have absolutely no doubt he feels I am misguided in my opinion.

When I boarded my plane to Chicago last week I got a call that my Uncle was in ICU in Redding. He wasn’t doing well. I had to go on to Chicago. I had made too many commitments not to go. From the moment I received the news, I have prayed for my Uncle every day. I am not sure what he would think about that. My Uncle is not a man who ever said one word to me about God and prayers. I have no idea what he believes. He is still in ICU as I write this. I am still praying. My Uncle, he’s a tough old bird. I have no doubt if he wants to, he will pull through. But, what makes me nervous is that I wouldn’t put it past him to try and beat me out of the stall to somewhere new.