Kay Brothers Amery Vineyards launched its book, The First 125 Years, in the ‘heritage cask room’ that went up 17 years before the Titanic went down.
Kindly folk shuffled into the dimly-lit cellar from the midday sun to sip cool, fizzy Shiraz.
It was a Saturday but felt like a Sunday with a solemn congregation of true Kay believers.
There were whole tables of 80-year-old ladies and distinguished men in fawn slacks and navy-blue jackets with silver buttons.
The sound of high-heels on floorboards added to the rustic bush-dance atmosphere.
Colin Kay made last-minute tweaks, positioning an old wooden highchair at a table for his grandson.
Tony Brooks, sunglasses on head, was MC.
No one checked iPhones.
There was no hashtag, just fellowship and conversation.
Guests listened intently to the stories, the silence broken only by the odd squeal from a bored kid in his Sunday best, hugging the lectern (a hogshead) and hiding under the tables.
Colin, with fresh haircut and spectacles in case in top pocket, turned attention away from the family to thank half of South Australia including Wakefield Press.
The author, Alice Kay, said the family started talking about a book “25 years ago”.
Based on diaries kept since 1891 and last updated today, this 176-page classic is as good as any Australian wine book ever published.
Like a poor vintage or downturn, getting all the Kays to agree on the words and photos must have tested unity. True to form, the family emerged; stronger, probably.
Philip White, whose coverage of Cud Kay’s funeral features in the book, took off his white stetson hat and spoke about the first time he visited this room with a young Barossan named Peter Lehmann.
Puncheon-chested d’Arry Osborn told stories about fishing in the nude on KI with Cud Kay – only for a tourist bus to pull up on a cliff above their boat.
d’Arry sat down. “Good speech Dad,” said son in paisley shirt.
Family members including the two “Sydney cousins” spoke about the old days: making their own fun, walking the back tracks, catching rabbits, observing visits from unwelcome preachers, climbing trees to relieve bird nests of eggs and picking pomegranates – and Shiraz.
Agriculture Minister Leon Bignell said all the right things.
“I tell my colleagues in Parliament House to look down at the carpet – it has a sheaf of wheat and a bunch of grapes. We’re backing agriculture; it’s been a winner since 1836.”
The room was the epitome of farming, commerce, community, humility and decency; they wrote the book.
The main course was beef with a crumbed potato thing; no greens, no salad, no flowers or plate smudges.
The family gathered to cut the cake and whoever was left in the cellar took photos; some, no doubt, with Kodak film.
Chester fetched another 2008 Block 6 Shiraz; the label, reminiscent of an 1950s tombstone, features oval-shaped portraits of founders Herbert and Frederick Kay.
Fifty percent of the Board is female.
Kay Brothers is more progressive than your average hipster virtual start-up.
Retired Alec Johnston, 82, lamented his $60 weekly wine budget, but not his friendship with d’Arry, 89.
They’ve been fishing for 50 years.
Winemaker Mark Maxwell said, “I’ve told Colin to blend two blocks of Shiraz and call it Kay Syrah Syrah.”
Folk shuffled out of the party, clutching a brown paper bag with a special book, glancing sideways one last time at that view.
During the speeches, a tall, lean man in a cowboy hat said how kind Colin Kay and family had been to him; he got a bit emotional.
It felt special to share in such family intimacy, particularly when it happens once every 125 years.
Colin Kay, you’re a jolly good fellow.
And so say all of us who were privileged enough to have a seat at the table.
Country Wine 