The Vacuity of Material Indulgence

Not long ago I went to an event at a nearby cidery. It had been several years since I had last been there. Back then, I figured the experience we were offering at Dominion was largely similar. A small, niche business that was an honest reflection of the very normal people who built it. The cidery is right up my driveway past my house. To walk up to it means passing by the kids toys I forgot to put away. A perennially messy workshop. A shed that badly needs re-siding. Laundry hanging on the line.

They had been busy since I was last there. Tasting room had been rebuilt. Pro-level production equipment. Lots of shiny stainless. Everything looked really good. Professional. Successful. There were no more kids toys to be seen. Certainly no laundry.

It sent me on a bit of a tailspin afterwards and I let my own feelings of insecurity about the business and the experience we are able to offer get me down for a while. Maybe we were doing things wrong.

A few weeks later I was at a friend’s family’s beach “cottage” for a drink. Used only a few weeks of the year, it was bigger than most houses. Everything was new and exquisitely beautiful. At the same time, it was clear no one actually lived there. There were no photos on the fridge, no framed portraits drawn by four year-olds, or any of the collected objects and debris of a home. Instead there was the efficient coldness of an exclusive hotel.

I read this comment in an article regarding the often unfulfilling aspect of luxury, once obtained: “As with most material indulgences, a sense of vacuity descends once the novelty of the marble floors and stacks of fluffy towels wears off.”

Something we do offer here at Dominion is the clear sense that this is a small, family run business. And that it exists on a farm, where real, very normal people live. We can’t offer marble counter-tops at the tasting bar, but more often than not Rowan will run out to the cidery and tell any customers who will listen all about the KVR train, his current obsession.

We do our best to keep the grounds kept up, but I've come to realize that trying to polish away all the rough edges is not only impossible at our scale, but not necessary.

The best things in life aren't things. The people who come to Dominion and support our cidery know this innately. Thanks everyone.

See you next month,

Mike