Monthly Archives: February 2017

Finger Lakes Wineries Books, Part 1

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When people think of the Finger Lakes, they often think of grapes and wine – rightly or wrongly. There’s a lot going on here BESIDES wine, after all.

*But wine is, in fact, very important to our region economically, and even in forming the “viewshed” of the Finger Lakes. Personally, I don’t drink at all. But I don’t mind those who do (in moderation), and I know that wine is important to our heritage (going back almost 200 years) and to our finances (delighted Pulteney folks, around 1860, found that grapes were the first thing that justified the taxes on their property).

*In recent years quite a few books have been published on Finger Lakes wines. Here’s a little wine-book tasting (wasn’t that clever?). Some of them can only be found on the used market these days.

*KEUKA LAKE AND THE GRAPE, by Richard Sherer. Dick was Steuben County historian for years prior to his death, and he dug deep into grape and wine history. He labored for years to identify every winery that had ever operated on Keuka. He told me that one, for which he found only a single reference in a newspaper, gave him fits. He finally discovered that a bank had accepted a vat of wine as collateral on a loan, then foreclosed on the vat. In order to sell the wine off and recoup their losses, they needed to be licensed as a winery. So that’s all that that winery ever did, is sell the single vat.

*Dick listed the wineries in chronological order, threading through all the intricacies of corporate changes. His book has plenty of photographs, including brightly-colored rape labels.

*CULTURE IN A GLASS: REFLECTIONS ON THE RICH HERITAGE OF FINGER LAKES WINE, by Richard Figiel. Rich doesn’t actually reach the Finger Lakes until chapter 2 and page 16, starting out with the ancient roots of winemaking. But that’s a really good foundation for telling the story of grapes and wines throughout the entire region, with lots of great historic photos and engravings.

*Then comes a chapter on the geography of the Lakes Country (and why it matters to the grapes), a chapter on the types of grapes, and “The Winemaker’s Calendar,” following the process through the year, with lots of photographs to help understanding. If you want an easy-to-digest (53 pages) introduction to the process and the history, this will probably fill your bill.

*CIRCLE OF VINES: THE STORY OF NEW YORK WINES, by Richard Figiel. Rich also did a much longer statewide history, in which of course the Finger Lakes loom large. An appendix lists 19th-century wineries still standing at the time of publication, and the uses they were being put to.

*FINGER LAKES WINERIES: A PICTORIAL HISTORY, by Emerson Klees. First of all, I’ll be up-front about a problem with this book. A dozen or so pictures are distorted, either stretched horizontally or compressed horizontally… unfortunate in a pictorial history.

*However, none of them become unusable – it’s more an annoyance than otherwise – and dozens of other pictures look just fine.

*Em has written extensively for Finger Lakes tourists and travelers, including specialty volumes on the wineries. He’s also well-known as a historian for the region, and here he blends the two interests.

*And does it well, using photos and other illustrations to tell the tale from the earliest days right through and including the current day, plus 20 pages describing numerous grape varieties, and an 11-page glossary of grape and wine terms. (Which is very useful for the neophyte in a field that prides itself on arcana for those who’ve been admitted to the mysteries.)

*May I add that both “Circle of Vines” and “Finger Lakes Wineries” gratefully acknowledge the assistance of Steuben County Historical Society? And we’ve got more books yet! Come back next week!

When Johnny Came Marching Home

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Thousands of Steuben men served in the Civil War, and hundreds died, leaving hundreds of widows and orphans. Sickness had taken more lives than battle causes, and official counts are low — men who were very sick or badly wounded were discharged, so they didn’t appear on official lists when they died.

While most Americans didn’t write or speak in these terms, those losses left huge gaps not only in families but in communities. Just as samples, Clayton’s 1879 History of Steuben County lists 36 Civil War dead for Avoca (some of whom starved to death as prisoners); 29 for Urbana; 17 for Caton; and 6 for Hornby.

The psychological effect of all these losses must have been crushing, especially for the military-age cohort. Down in Addison, Stephen P. Chase wrote on his return, “I feel very lonely to find so many who went into the army with me are not here. They rest in a soldier’s grave.” Chase further wrote, “I do not enjoy my mind very well” — his description of recurring deep depression. Later he commented, “I thank God I have the right use of my mind after 4 years of terrible war.”

He found relief to a certain extent by going to church and by working in the field, but there was really no help (or even terminology) for emotional and psychological problems. Spiritualism boomed as people tried to contact lost loved ones. Funerals became elaborate rituals. Sentimental songs abounded, such as “The Empty Chair” and “Faded Coat of Blue.”

Depression and “survivor’s guilt” were no doubt widespread. Those who had been in combat, and those who had been prisoners of war, were prime candidates for what we now know as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Russell Tuttle of Hornellsville wrote years later that the cry of a whippoorwill always filled him with horror, bringing back ghastly memories of Chancellorsville — a clear P.T.S.D. trigger.

Many veterans suffered physical wounds. In Hammondsport Monroe Brundage had lost an arm at Antietam, and Hezekiah Ripley had lost a leg at Missionary Ridge. R. C. Phillips in Prattsburgh and John P. Faulkner of Dansville suffered no amputations, but each lost the use of one arm at Gettysburg. Barry Dexter of Caton was “deaf and dumb” for the rest of his life, after being caught in the blast of a bursting shell.

While many veterans couldn’t wait to get home and stay there, others found that they no longer belonged in Sonora, Buena Vista, or Coss Corners, or even in Corning, Bath, and Wayland. Some would head west, some went south to help with Reconstruction, while others gravitated to Rochester, New York, or other booming cities.

Many of the public were terrified that a million trained and experienced killers were about to be unleashed on the population. Could they settle down to civilian life? As time went on, that fear turned in some cases to loathing — they wanted BENEFITS? Only lazy parasites would behave that way.

The veterans came together in local, state, and national groups as the Grand Army of the Republic. This gave them psychological and emotional support (not that they’d have used those terms). It also educated the public about veterans’ need, and helped change the mood on benefits and support systems — the G.A.R. was a major force behind creating the New York State Soldiers and Sailors Home in Bath (now Bath V.A.).

A group of returning soldiers drank themselves drunk and rioted in Bath, hunting down and attacking African Americans, presumably under the alcoholic “reasoning” that since the war had been about the condition of African Americans, that made them responsible for the soldiers’ sufferings.

As a whole, though, the veterans as organized in the G.A.R. became increasingly angry at seeing their victories on the battlefield thrown away in peacetime. (The organization itself was one of the few groups in America to be racially integrated.) They agitated for the rights of African Americans, and fiercely opposed the Ku Klux Klan. Perhaps their last gasp as a national pressure group was in joining others against the Klan-glorifying film The Birth of a Nation. Most of the “boys in blue” were gone by the 1920s, but we imagine that those who were left were at once enraged and heartbroken as their grandchildren, here in Steuben County, joined the Ku Klux Klan in droves.