ENTRY #1
THE MUSIC
When Eric and I first sat down at a whiteboard together, it wasn’t about goals or plans. It was about imagining a life we truly wanted to live — one built around what we love, what moves us, and who we are when we’re creating side by side. We didn’t know where it would lead. We just knew it felt right.
The years that followed unfolded quickly — wine taking shape, art coming to life, journeys designed in places that moved us. But Whiteboard is something quieter and more personal. It’s the space where we slow down, listen more closely, and ask ourselves to create something honest at the highest level — something that reflects the beginning of this shared story.
When it came time to write the song, I went inward. I walked. I drove long stretches with no music, no noise — just silence — letting melodies find me when they were ready. I recorded fragments as they came, then brought them home to the piano, building the harmony around what I’d already heard. The lyrics arrived slowly, and they’re still coming.
The first line came without hesitation… “Let’s start at the beginning.”
Because that’s where this song lives.
And where this wine — and this story — begin.
Mindi 🎶
THE WINE
It was around 2010. I was managing Mumm Napa in Rutherford, a place that will always have a piece of my heart, driving south on the Silverado Trail with the top off my Jeep, music turned up — maybe Coldplay, maybe the Foo Fighters — the kind of soundtrack that makes a place feel timeless. On my way to my local lunch spot at the always-awesome Oakville Grocery, I’d slow just before turning right onto Oakville Cross Road — or “Crossing,” as we locals inexplicably call it.
Those vineyards on this right turn always felt different. Perfectly tended. Bathed in light from morning gold to evening blue. This is where the valley floor begins to rise, where the fog slips away earlier and the sun lingers just a little longer — a narrow band of land suspended between power and grace. I knew that within that quiet patchwork, some of the greatest wines in the world were being grown — names like Screaming Eagle — though I didn’t yet understand why I felt such a pull.
The land rise is almost imperceptible — a gentle lift from the Napa floor, famously called the Oakville Bench. Beneath these vines, iron-rich red clay gives way to gravelly loam, earth that drains freely yet holds just enough to protect the fruit. The vines slow here. They concentrate. Berries grow smaller. Flavor deepens. Balance finds its voice. And when that balance is carried from the vineyard into the glass, the wine feels inevitable.
What I didn’t realize then was that this wasn’t just a turn toward a great sandwich — it was sacred ground, quietly waiting for me.
This is where Whiteboard begins.
Eric 🍷
