1980 was a transformative year—one of those rare times in life when everything shifts, and the world seems to open up all at once. Leaving behind the familiar rhythms of my small-town Midwest upbringing, I moved to Ithaca, New York, to begin graduate school, stepping into a life I had only imagined. The change was immediate and exhilarating: new ideas, diverse people, and the intellectual hum of campus life surrounded me. I found myself energized by the challenges of academia, the beauty of the Finger Lakes, and the vibrant cultural atmosphere of the town. It felt like I had crossed a threshold into a fuller, more expansive version of myself—and I loved pretty much everything about it.
A confluence of events in New York during that time ignited and fueled my newfound love for wine. Ithaca, nestled at the southern tip of Cayuga Lake—one of the long, narrow, glacier-carved Finger Lakes—offered not just stunning natural beauty but also a unique microclimate ideal for grape growing. These lakes, some plunging to depths of 600 feet, never froze in winter, creating a temperate environment that protected the vines through harsh seasons. It was here that pioneering figures like Dr. Konstantin Frank and Charles Fournier revolutionized the local wine industry by introducing vinifera hybrids—grape varieties that would thrive in this climate and produce wines of surprising complexity and character. At the same time, the passage of the New York Farm Winery Act of 1976 sparked a boom in small, independent wineries, transforming the region into an emerging wine destination. As I explored my new surroundings, I found myself drawn into this movement—visiting tasting rooms, learning about viticulture, and developing an appreciation not just for the flavors in the glass, but for the stories, science, and passion behind them.
What do graduate students do on weekends after long, exhausting hours in the lab? In Ithaca, the answer was simple: we headed to the wineries. The Finger Lakes region offered the perfect weekend escape—rolling vineyards, scenic lake views, and an ever-growing list of tasting rooms welcoming curious newcomers. For me, it became a ritual of relaxation and discovery. I soon realized that there were virtually no wines I didn’t enjoy, but certain varietals quickly captured my heart. Riesling, with its bright acidity and versatility, was a natural favorite, but I also fell for lesser-known gems like Cayuga, Baco Noir, Rkatsiteli, Vignoles, Lemberger, Chancellor, DeChaunac, and Chambourcin. These wines carried a sense of place and experimentation that felt fresh and exciting. In a world still largely dominated by European wines, I was drawn to the distinctive character of Finger Lakes vintages and the individual flair of the winemakers—each bottle telling a story shaped by climate, soil, and the bold spirit of a growing wine region.
Life has certainly moved on since those early days of wine tasting in the Finger Lakes. Over the years, my palate has expanded thanks in large part to my wife, who has introduced me to wines from across the United States and around the globe— California Cabs, Oregon Pinot Noirs, French Vouvrays, Spanish Tempranillos, Italian Amarones, and beyond. Each bottle has brought new layers of appreciation, new stories, and new favorites. And while I still haven’t found a wine I truly dislike—there’s always something intriguing in every glass—I’ve discovered an extraordinary range of styles and regions that continue to surprise and delight me. Yet, despite this rich and evolving journey, there’s still something deeply nostalgic and meaningful about those first loves: the Rieslings and Baco Noirs of the Finger Lakes, the taste of discovery, and the feeling of standing in a vineyard for the first time, glass in hand, with the future wide open.