When Someone Great is Gone

Last week BC craft cider lost one of its early pioneers. Tom Kinvig, one of the original three of Summerland Heritage cider, passed away in his home. A recently retired apple grower and cidermaker, he had farmed for nearly 50 years in Summerland. Tom was one of my orcharding mentors. He thought me as much about enjoying life as he did about farming. He was a big supporter of Dominion and a good friend.

Our very first batch of cider, back in 2013, we made in carboys and carbonated in kegs in my parents fridge. What I wasn't sure of was how to get it into bottles. I didn’t know Tom, but looked him up in the phone book and cold called him to ask him a few questions. Summerland Heritage had been in business for a year or so, and Tom had been making cider in his basement for 30 years before that. In the middle of explaining how to do it, he offered to drop what he was doing and just come over to help me. “Tastes like cider!” Was his sophisticated assessment when he tried the product afterwards.

We stayed in touch and the following season I helped out with their cider pressing on the giant old rack and cloth press. It was the end of October. Temperatures were low but spirits were high, buoyed with Bailey’s in the coffee and Tom’s homemade sausages on the grill. He made sure I went home with carboys of coveted english cider apple juice and some tips on fermenting.

That willingness to help anyone in need was one of his defining traits. As I continued to go to him for advice, he invited me to join him and two other old time apple growers, Bob and Dave, for lunch at the pub on Fridays. Despite a 30-odd year age difference, they became good friends of mine. I'd to save up my orcharding queries and then pepper them with questions at the table. If it became clear that I had screwed something up, Tom could be counted on for disarming, shrug. “Thats Ok. Try again next year.” He would say. Nothing was irreversible, nothing was so bad that it couldn't be fixed. Trees were resilient, the land heals itself with time.

Its been hard for me to confront the fact that this time there wont be a next season. Some things are, in fact, permanent. If there continues to be a Friday lunch, there will be a very conspicuous empty chair, and a large void to fill.

Goodbye my friend.

Mike