By Mary Anna Violi | @Mary Anna Violi
As an IU college student in the 1970’s, I managed to attend classes and learned to cherish life in colorful Bloomington. As I trekked to Ballantine Hall for my English literature classes, I was forced to tread lightly in my 3-inch wedge sandals worn with a maxi-dress. My long hair was a halo of frizz since I braided my wet hair immediately after towel-drying it. It was the ‘70’s; most of us had long hair parted down the middle, a’la British pop groups.
In 1972 buzz circulated about a new winery located 20 minutes outside of Bloomington. A Professor of Law, Bill Oliver was the force behind a Heartland vineyard. As the daughter of an Italian wine-maker, my curiosity led me to the Oliver Winery. A nondescript building, scrubby vegetation, a trio of stoned students banging on tambourine, small drum, and finger cymbals greeted visitors. On the other side, I noted a petite vineyard, the first I had ever seen in The Heartland. Friendly voices called us over to an enormous wooden vat. Hippies ladled some kind of “wine” that I had never seen nor smelled before called Camelot Mead into plastic cups. I took a swig and nearly choked. After drinking the full-bodied, dry Italian red vino my father made, this brew was enough to choke an Italian horse.
“First time drinking Mead?” the hippie with a ladle asked me.
“[Cough, cough, cough, choke] Yes,” I spluttered, “and possibly the last.”
She laughed and ladled up some more of the brew into the cups of unsuspecting others.
I didn’t drink a drop of Oliver Wine until the late 1990’s when I was at IU Bloomington on business. A wine-tasting evening at the Oliver Winery had been organized. I begged off from the sunset field trip.
“C’mon,” the event planner argued. “The Oliver Winery has undergone a metamorphosis since the ‘70’s. Check it out.”
I succumbed. To say that the winery had changed was an understatement: I didn’t even recognize it. The evolved Oliver Winery now not only housed a classy wine bar inside a beautiful structure, it also offered an extensive selection of wines, along with its Camelot Mead. I tried envisioning Beowulf and his entourage feasting, wenching, and pouring mead into their gullet, but even this literary allusion failed to overcome my dislike of honey mead. When I asked the sommelier for the driest of the red wines, I purchased a bottle for my parents. The following Sunday, my parents concurred that this wine smacked of an after dinner one.
On Mom’s Weekend in April 20, 2013, my daughter signed us up for her sorority’s wine tasting event at the Oliver Winery. Anjelica prefers the mildness of the Oliver Wines. The Creekbend Vineyard Chambourcin 2012 tasted so good that I purchased several bottles at the winery, along with a bottle of Sangria for fun. But not the honey mead. I’ll take my wine and my honey separately. Salute!
Ciao for now.