Inside this Issue

October/November 2014

Grape Expectations
Wine Industry Pioneer Gianni Zonin and Winemaker Luca Paschina Achieve Jefferson’s Vision

Compiled by Sarah Crain and Lindley Smith
Photographs by Jon Golden


Virginians have made wine for more than four centuries. The Jamestown settlers had such hopes that Virginia would become a major source of wine for the British Empire that in 1619 they signed into law a requirement for each male settler to plant and tend at least ten grape vines. Little came of it. Every effort to grow Vitis vinifera, vines of European origin, met with failure from both disease and phylloxera, an aphid-like root louse. The booming tobacco trade diluted British interest in the possibilities of American wine, and soon Americans themselves lost interest. While fine wine could only be had from Europe, American-made whiskey, beer, and brandy were plentiful.

Thomas Jefferson, often called the “Father of American Viticulture,” was an avid farmer and gardener. He believed that American soil could produce “as great a variety of wines as are made in Europe, not exactly the same kinds, but doubtless as good.” In hopes of one day realizing the promise of fine Virginia wines, Jefferson cultivated European grapes for more than 30 years, but his Monticello vineyards never produced a single bottle of wine. He wasn’t alone in trying. After 11 years of efforts at Mount Vernon, George Washington, too, had nothing to show for it.

In the 1820s, wines made from Native American grapes met with great success. The discovery in the late 1800s that native and European vines could be grafted gave Virginia’s nascent wine industry a lift. A Virginia Norton wine was named “best red wine of all nations” at the Vienna World’s Fair in 1873 and won a gold medal at the Paris World’s Fair of 1889.

































From the ground up
Connecting Local Foods to Local Markets

By Sarah Crain
Photographs by Jason Ide


In 2013, Daniel and Ashley Malcolm began selling produce from their new farm, Malcolms Market Garden in Staunton, Virginia. They owned eight acres along Bells Lane, an area that Daniel’s family had farmed for generations. But as a small, diversified produce farm and one of the few operating farms within Staunton, they wanted a connection to help them sell their produce efficiently and effectively, so they could worry less about business and focus more on farming.

They contacted Local Food Hub, a nonprofit organization that aims to bring locally grown food to everyone. In that first year, Local Food Hub worked closely with Malcolms Market Garden to help develop their business and reach new markets. “They have made it easy for us to scale up in some ways and sell produce that we would not have been able to retail ourselves,” said Ashley Malcolm.



UVA’s Pegasus Celebrates 30 Years
The critical care transport services provided by University of Virginia Health System celebrates 30 years of flight and ground service, a significant milestone for air rescue programs.

By Lindley Smith
Photography by Rick Stillings


UVA’s helicopter is perhaps the best-known part of Pegasus Air & Ground Transport. UVA got its first medevac helicopter in 1984. It was the first of its kind in our central Virginia area and the third in Virginia. The program’s primary operational area is within a 120 nautical mile radius of Charlottesville. When treating a life-threatening injury or a stroke, time is everything. First responders and dispatchers call on Pegasus when someone needs an ICU (intensive care unit) immediately. The medical crew configuration consists of a registered nurse and a critical care paramedic trained in all aspects of emergency care. The service also includes UVA’s ambulance and the Newborn Emergency Transport System.






























Last Laugh
Love, Out of Bounds
By Louise B. Parsley


Once upon a time, long, long ago I was relaxed. Positively CALM, I tell you.

Then I took up golf. Not by choice, exactly. More due to . . . chemistry.

As a lifelong tennis player and golf adversary, I was...um, speechless...when, one anniversary, The Bob proudly gave me his father’s golf clubs. Technically, the clubs fell within the specs of the “No Plug Rule” I invoked that Christmas he gave me the apocalyptic dehumidifier. “For your hair,” he said. Fuming, I was speechless. For six months.

As a respectable golfer (no homicides, at the time), The Bob envisioned us spending oodles of time together, hand in glove, sharing our deepest swing thoughts, bonding with nature.

Unfortunately, this golf thing came at a time in my life when I had no excuses. My bartender’s license had expired, I’d already lined all three of my kids’ kitchen shelves and the only signs of future generations to bounce on my knee were two guest dog bowls and furniture covered in so much dog hair, I bought a leash for the sofa.

Bunco was always an option, but I couldn’t face a lifetime of being hung over every Wednesday.

My pals with low handicaps told me golf was cheaper than a shrink. “If you’re gonna play out an opera in your head, you might as well embrace flamboyant clothes,” they said. Then...then, I saw the blond-haired, blue-eyed, movie-star-handsome golf pro and knew at first sight that I was drawn to him, I mean, the game, as a slice seeking a sand trap. I was hooked. I took lessons. I bought videos. I had my lessons videoed. I suffered shanks, blisters and bad tan lines as opposed to, say, going to the grocery store, dry cleaners and getting waxed.

Did I mention he could’ve been an underwear model?









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