There’s something that’s been on my mind lately: perception. Specifically, how much I hate it. I know this is dramatic, but stick with me.

Wine glasses have been having a moment in my life lately. Not in the “I’m upgrading to hand-blown Austrian crystal” kind of way—more like the “How did I suddenly end up with a mismatched army of wine glasses?” kind of way.

When it was time to go back to America, my mother-in-law, Jenny, dropped Dominic and me off at the airport. Before leaving, she gave each of us a nice hug and, to me, she said:

One unforgettable day during harvest in Hawke’s Bay, I accidentally drank wine from a hose. But let me back up.

A few years ago, when I first dipped my toes into the world of wine, I found myself at a consumer tasting in Vail with my husband and his dad. Back then, I knew next to nothing about wine, yet somehow I was out here "educating" people on our New Zealand wines and a friend’s French rosé.

Sometimes, you put in the work and don’t bear the fruit of your labor—in my case, grapes.