Persimmon Creek Vineyards
81 Vineyard Lane
Clayton, GA 30525
(706) 212-7380
www.persimmoncreekwine.com
If you’re from Georgia and you say I’ve never had a Georgia wine, then I say to you, go and taste your dirt. Try it. And don't just taste one. Go to others because wine is like movies. Just because you know maybe—Silence of the Lambs—maybe you like it and I don't but it’s one of those things. Wine is like that. It’s subjective. Taste your place. – Mary Ann Hardman
Persimmon Creek, under the direction of Mary Ann Hardman and her husband Sonny Hardman, a pathologist, is perched at 2,100 feet, in the mountains of northeastern Georgia, not far from the Tallulah River Gorge. Their intent was to grow vinifera grapes in a region where moonshine had long been the favored alcoholic tipple.
On the estate they grow riesling, merlot, cabernet franc, and seyval blanc grapes. The Hardmans make single variety bottlings from each, and sell their goods to tourists exploring the mountains, as well as, more recently, white tablecloth restaurants in Atlanta and other markets, in search of vinifera wines with a taste of locals or regional terroir.
In 2000, the Hardmans bought land in the Persimmon Valley with the idea of starting a vineyard, then a winery. Two years later, they bottled their first white. In 2003 came the first red. Today, production at the 110-acre Persimmon Creek Vineyards has increased markedly, and reception, especially of their seyval blanc, has been warm, thanks in some part to the persistence of Mary Ann’s marketing efforts.
What follows is a portion of the original interview that has been edited for length. To download the entire transcript in PDF form, please click here.
Subject: Mary Ann Hardaway
Date: August 27, 2008
Location: Persimmon Creek Winery, Persimmon Creek, Georgia
Interviewer & Photographer: John T Edge
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John T Edge: Today is August 27, 2008…I’m sitting here with Mary Ann Hardman and Miss Hardman if you’d please tell me your full name and your date of birth?
Mary Ann Hardman: I’m Mary Ann Hardman, AKA Mary Ann Hard Woman; I was born January 20, 1968. I’m 40—whew-hoo.
We’re at Persimmon Creek Vineyards, but help me locate this place. Where—where are we in terms of topography and geography?
We’re in the Northeast Georgia Mountains; we’re 45 minutes from Highlands if you go the shortcut and we’re at 2,100-feet elevation, so we’re in sandy, loamy, alluvial dirt and we’re in Rabun County, Georgia; Clayton, Georgia in a little bitty town known as Persimmon. Well it’s not really a town; it’s just a little suburb like you’ve got Atlanta, you’ve got Decatur, Alpharetta, but Persimmon is a part of Clayton, Georgia—not Clayton County but Clayton, Georgia.
And driving through it looks like Persimmon was once a—a self-contained place, that there’s a schoolhouse and—?
Right it was and it still is; I mean it’s known as the little community of Persimmon, so and there’s you know the schoolhouse is actually now sort of like a town hall gathering spot where they have meetings like for the political candidates that are voting—you know that are running for candidacy in our county; they’ll have gatherings there. They’ll have a Halloween festival for the community there; I mean it’s just a little—I guess it’s sort of like an old church hall but non-denominational. And people will gather there; they—they do a clean-up, trash pickup you know once a year and they gather there, so it’s sort of a—a benchmark, because Persimmon is bigger than people realize. It’s just not Persimmon Road and Persimmon Creek Road; you’ve got Milly Keener and then you’ve got Betty’s Creek and Patterson Gap and all that—that sort of meander off these roads, so—.
So prior to planting this in grapes what was raised here and—and who raised it?
Well historically you know if you want to talk about what this was a long time ago, this was the tromping grounds of the Cherokee and you know my twins have really some cool little arrowheads that they’ve found out there, and so they’ve got a great flint one and that is so neat. You can go through the vineyard because that soil of course—of course has been tilled up and you know what was old has probably been brought to light that hasn’t been in a while.
But the Cherokees ran through here and you know at that point in time what I love about the Cherokee Indians is that they see land as everyone’s. And that’s one reason I have to say and this is an aside, one very special part about Rabun County is when you’re out there in our fields and you look around the surrounding mountains, guess what you see? You see 39-percent of the land being privately held and another 61-percent being owned by Georgia Power and the National Forestry Service. So when you look up at those mountains there’s no development in them; the ones that we’re in the valley of. And that’s really wonderful because you think about preserving that and that’s really how I guess the Indians would have wanted it, because they saw it all as—you know instead of building fences and putting up gates it was all their own and they cherished it and they only killed what they needed to eat and to live and they took from the land. So that’s really the heritage here, but after that of course you know truly as bootlegging, people farmed here and Rabun County is a part of Appalachia; truly is, and people forget that.
You know you’ve got like Lake Seed, Lake Rabun, Lake Burton that you know the—the New York Times writes about this area and they call those lakes the Hamptons of Atlanta. You’ve got Sam Nunn having a house there; maybe Julia Roberts does—I don't know; it was a rumor. But very, very wealthy people on those lakes who—who—it’s a tremendous dichotomy between those people and the locals who are here.
And you know my own mother-in-law grew up on Tallulah River Road in a house with no electricity. Her mother died when she was nine and you think about that; that was just one generation ago—one generation and you have such a change. But there’s still—
And this was—corn was grown here—was the predominant—?
Corn—corn and you know that was the main thing was corn and livestock, so what Persimmon was known for was their quality of their bootlegging during Prohibition. Persimmon was the hot bed of bootlegging. And actually I think this is sort of even—this is sort of like really harkens like that Mayberry sort of Andy Griffith thing is—is that when the revenuers would come through these little old ladies would be sitting on their houses which are sort of like row—like millhouses if you—there’s a couple on Germany Road that sort of harken that but they’d be sitting on that and they’d see the revenuer car go by. And it was sort of like the Paul Revere thing; oh the revenuers are coming by. And so it would be passed from house to house to house verbally and then it would finally get to the person who needed to know it. [Laughs] But the revenuers would come up here and they would smash the stills and stuff but that was how the people tried to make a living because there’s not industry here. There’s not you know—there’s not Clorox Bleach being made up here; there’s—there’s very little industry here as far as—if you can consider like Atlanta and—and I mean I still have to go to Gainesville to get the cartridges for my ink printer here. There’s Wal-Mart and Home Depot which have come in and people can debate that and what it does for local businesses and I think there’s a time and a place for everything but it’s very hard. If you want anything esoteric up here you just can't get it; this is really different…
I think that people here are a little bit more connected and my friendships here have a deeper level than I would say that my—my—. Horace wrote The Country Mouse and the Town Mouse, okay. You know that story? So you know my friendships here have a deeper level because you need it more; you need somebody to be connected with. So that’s really going back to the revenuers and how they had to help one another and that was survival, because you know you think about bootlegging and Prohibition and what you know that meant and this was people trying to eek a living out of wilderness.
And you mentioned when we were walking around the property, today we went down by your springhouse and there was an—there was an abandoned still and you—you told me of one particular person that raised corn here and tell me about her.
Well her name was Delia and she is—
Do you know her last name?
Well it probably was Kelby ‘cause she’s related to the Kelby(s) across the road and maybe Delia is not her real name. It was in a book; it’s sort of like—she’s probably still alive today you know maybe late 80s kind of thing but she was—she was asked to leave Persimmon because of her bootlegging prowess but the thing about her that’s very remarkable is—is that you know if you think about today and we can just go to Whole Foods and pull stuff off the shelf and that’s so easy. And what she did was she had to create her own living. And here she was a single mother of I don't know how many children, and she grew her own corn, and then she made it into corn liquor which she in turn drove to Atlanta and sold. And so you know what a chick—courageous, heroic and iconoclastic and classy. My acronym.
But—but she was—and I admire that in a woman because it is so much harder; she was eeking a livelihood for herself and her children and she—you know probably a lot of her maybe become legends sort of like what is Paul Revere and what’s not but she was very attractive. She was a beautiful woman and she could outrun the revenuers and—and people just thought she made great. I don't know if it was just like—maybe she’s sick—stopped bootlegging; I don't know. Maybe she was the Marilyn Monroe of bootlegging. But she honestly she—she was respected not just because she was but what she did and could do and so—but she was driven by eek(ing) out a livelihood for herself and her kids. So she grew corn; she made—she made corn—she made bootleg and she made hot corn liquor and she took it to Atlanta in her car during Prohibition and finally she was arrested so many times that the police asked her to leave and she did.
Let’s talk about how the vineyard began here and the year your husband’s, Sonny’s first attempt. What—what happened?
Okay; this is the whole deal. It’s 1999 and Sonny found the property and you know it wasn’t—you have to remember that my husband is a pathologist. He’s a germadi-pathologist which is a fancy word for pathologist with the—with a skin subspecialty. So Sonny went to get—to Emory for 12 years, passed college to do what he does, but that really doesn’t matter, but what does matter is that if you think about that time and you know like we’re so much a reflection of our education and Emory and all that much years of schooling, scientific method, so his mind, unlike mine, is very much guided by reason. [Laughs] And so I’m the creative one.
But you know when he came upon this plot which he was guided by you know where are you from? His mother was from here, so that’s where you start looking but he didn’t know about this area. A real estate agent—he didn’t know that the valley opened up here and you see this beautiful valley with the mountains behind it. He didn’t know about it; he had an Aunt Buell and Uncle Ferd which Buell and Ferd, he used to wonder which one was her and which one was him, but I mean on Tallulah River Road, which is three miles from here. But he didn’t know about this area but really to plant the vineyard what did he do?
First off, UGA came out—soil studies and then we did temperature studies and I was not part of that. Brigham and Hamilton—10 years old right now; you can do the math; I was a little distracted. So but once those came in and actually I told Sonny, I said you know we—you know we have to buy those 10 acres because Brigham and Hamilton love it so much. We were sort of attached to the land but when you plant a vineyard you just don't say oh I want to grow vinifera, I want to grow wine grapes; you don't do that. You have to match your soil and your climate. You know I love Fox Gloves just as much as anybody and you know when I planted my Fox Gloves out there I just went out there and just found them somewhere good, kind of shady, but wine is different. It’s different. You have to match your soil and your—and your varietal because you want ripe grapes and if you can't get ripe grapes then you ain't got good wine. It’s not anything that happens after it’s picked; you’ve got to have the good grapes.
So—so Sonny you know figured out what four varietals because you have to think about it this way; why—why start planting 20 grapes to figure out what grows well? Why do that? Why not just study and figure out what climate you have and then narrow down those grapes that you think might grow well and see what they do rather than just saying oh I’m going to plant 20 different types and see what happens because then you’ve got the expense and it’s just much more rational. If I were going to make jellies, I think I’d start with—if I were Mrs. Welch 20 years ago I think I would have started with two varietals and then maybe—maybe apple and grape and then maybe I’d branch out to boysenberry later. But you have to start with your four core and that’s what we’ve done and I really don't want to go anymore. But you choose four and you try to do them well and we’re still trying to do them well. Just like we’re people and we’re still trying to become the best we can and that’s what those grapes are doing. So we’ve done the best we could in choosing the grapes for the site.
And you started out with 10 acres and four varietals?
And now we have 110 with 20—20 grapes—acres of grape but 16 in production, so some of those will kick in—in the upcoming years but we’re always—you know the great regions of the world in wine didn’t happen overnight—Italy, France, how long have they been doing that and how long ago was it just in Oregon that they said that you can't do that with respect to Pinot Noir; you can't do that?
And so you know how many people—do you know—but the first time I went to go sample our wines that the guy refused to taste them. He refused to taste it. He was from Manhattan but had roots deep in the South and he refused to taste it.
You took these wines to a shop or—?
Took them to a very, [Laughs]—a very, very high-end place, my first sales call ever; he refused to taste them because they were from Georgia. And—
So where were you; where did you take them?
At—I was at the Ritz Carlton in Greensboro; that was my first sales call ever—ever.
I don't think that’s anything to whisper. I think it’s something to say. It—it reflects both your interest and determination and the—the difficulties you faced.
This was probably 2003; so you know I go down there and you know this is just—I’ve never sold wine before. I’m a former kindergarten teacher and had a calligraphy business and I just decided well we’ve got some wine. Where should we sell it?
You know I believed it was the best—just like my children you know. If my children are going to go to college do I want them to go to third tier or one? If they can go to one I’m going to send them to one; go there—shoot high. Don't aim low; shoot high. But so that’s what I did; I shot high. And so I go down there and get all dressed up you know and just drive down there and what do you do? You pull out your Reidel and your Speigalau glasses that you sweated and you know these are the right glasses for this or not?
And then the guy looks at you and says I’m not going to taste this. And then you look at him and you say well you know why don't you smell it? Smell that Riesling, smell that Seyval because we didn’t have red in the bottle yet; just smell it because then you can kind of tell; and then you know smells it and I said well you know you’ve already smelled it and you know smelling and taste are so close sense, you might as well just go ahead and taste it. So then the guy tastes it and you know he’s like well he didn’t die. So and he tasted the Seyval and he didn’t die. And then you know I leave and he doesn’t order any and of course I’m like well gosh, I failed. But then I go home and I get out my nicest stationery because gratitude is important. Does it matter if he brought your wine or not right then; it’s—the sales call is not over at that moment. You sit down and you write him a note. Dear so and so; thank you so much for your time today. I’m so honored that—blah, blah, blah.
And so of course I get out my finest stationery, handwrite it and mail it to him and you know I never hear another word back from him. Three months later he calls my husband’s office. But I have to say this; one of the restaurants down at the Ritz Carlton Greensboro is named Georgia’s and my whole point to him was—is that how can you have a restaurant—your flagship restaurant and be named Georgia’s and you have meatloaf on the menu and you have traditional Southern fare and you are serving wines from Loire. And you’re serving you know Italian and whatnot; why don't you have something of your place here—your dirt that is vinous—v-i-n-o-u-s, not the planet. But you know that’s what—that’s what I told him; that was my whole thing is that what grows together goes together. If you’re going to have local Southern foods then why not offer some beverage that is quality and that is good from your place? And so I pressed that with him and you know I wasn’t overly assertive but that’s been my whole argument all along since 2003. And I don't know; it just landed.
Is there a way to typify the response you get?
Well most people are like they can't argue with that because I’ll tell you this. You go to Italy which I’ve never been to Italy but my son and my husband have. They—you can't find anybody else’s wine there; that’s all they drink. They have tremendous heritage there and pride in their heritage. You go to France and you can't—the good French wines, I mean of course we get Margot and all this but you know so much of that never makes it here. The—the German Rieslings that are the finest they never make it out of their country because those people drink it and they have pride.
They have—I guess it’s ethno-centrism; they are so proud of what they have and they support that. So that’s my whole thing is—is that look at this; this is good. I mean you know you’ve had the seyval; it’s a good wine. Why not—why are you serving that dish with a wine from the Loire Valley or a sauvignon blanc from Burgundy or a—you know whatever—the carbon footprint from Australia or New Zealand. And I love Israeli Rieslings, I mean great—I’m tickled but the world of wine is flat. But how can you consider yourself to be a wine connoisseur and this would be my thing—how can you consider yourself to be a wine connoisseur but you’ve never tasted your own dirt?
If you—if you’re from Georgia and you say I’ve never had a Georgia wine then I say to you, go and taste your dirt. Try it; and don't just taste one. Taste—go to others because wine is like movies. Just because you know maybe I thought that oh I don't know—Silence of the Lambs—maybe you like it and I don't but you know it’s one of those things; wine is like that—it’s subjective. Taste your place.
One thing that seems to—in talking to people making vinifera grapes—growing vinifera grapes in the South there seems to be this casting about for what’s the right grape to grow in certain climes. And—and tell me about y’all’s efforts to figure that out.
Well you know this is cold climate here and Rabun County you know a lot of people—you know I’ve been to London and the London International Wine and Spirits Fair; I was the first person from Georgia ever to tour there. I mean I was there, a Georgia chick, and the people are like going we thought you were from Russia. You don't have that Russian accent because actually Georgia, as in Russia is one of the—is—is really old in wine; that’s huge. I mean it’s probably around there is where you know vinifera originated.
So you know I have that and that was a great experience to have. But people associate outside of Georgia and outside of the country they associate Georgia with Savannah and—and all the humidity and whatnot. And we do have humidity here; it is not California but you think about this is cold climate. We are always 10-degrees colder than Atlanta, 15-degrees at least if you’re in Wal-Mart parking lot with the wonderful, wonderful heat absorption of the asphalt there.
But you know we’re all—you know this is cold climate; it’s 2,100 feet elevation. My last frost date last year—May 15th, slight teensy weensy frost and—and to the seyval—it didn’t do anything—no damage. But so what do you do? It’s just like when you are going to plant anything you know like lupines or lupines from Texas, they don't grow well here. I’ve tried to grow them but I can't grow them because they just like that Texas stuff. You have to match your grapes and you also have to have the hope of ripening.
So that’s what we’ve done and my husband matched what he thought would ripen here into our climate. So you know it wasn’t like oh you know I really, really love pinot noir; you—you know I love Fox Gloves and I grow them. But you can't say that with grapes. You have to match—you know I might love to drink oh I don't know—some Italian varietal that’s a warm climate Mediterranean style grape. I might love that grape and I might love sangiovese. I just don't think we could ever get it to ripen here because it’s Mediterranean but it does great where it is in the heat but for us here I don't know if it would ripen.
So you have to match and certainly cabernet franc, what a great grape known as the grape that saved the vintage in Bordeaux because it’s an early—early ripener, late budder, so that’s what we need. And Mother Nature, chief chick in charge, you know we got to—you have to respect that. You just done come in and say well I like this; this is what I want to do. You have to respect what is there and who was there first? It was Mother Nature.
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