a ray of light had shined suddenly into a dark cavern. “Even though Luis and Tami felt like they had lost just about everything, there was one small piece of their original land that no one seemed to be interested in. Off in a distant valley in the hills, the land seemed to be good for little of anything other than growing a few grapevines and fruit trees. And yet the silver coin they carried with them told them clearly that the land was theirs—that they had purchased it and that it was publicly recognized as their own.”
Beaming with pride, Alfonso continued: “And so Luis and Tami built a new life for themselves and their family in the backcountry of the pueblo of San Jose. They built a home and carved out a farm and eventually found they could make a living with the grapes and the fruit that their land provided. And you know what, I’m convinced they’re laughing with us from heaven now, because sure enough it turned out that they were sitting on a gold mine much richer than the ones the forty-niners looked for during the rush for gold in the mid-1800s, that made a very few people very rich in California and a whole lot of other people very, very poor.
“As it turned out,” Alfonso went on, “the miners who came in 1849 and later years needed food and supplies and, when they were flush with cash, they also wanted wine, and so our family had the good fortune to be in the right place at the right time to provide them with those very things. Luis and Tami’s children grew the vineyard and the fruit fields and found ways to can the fruit and get it to the miners and refine the techniques of wine cultivation that our family still follows. So even though it felt like they had lost everything in those years when they had to leave behind what they had built and start again, in time they were able to start a new life that brought them, and now all of us, so many blessings.”
“In a way,” Alfonso mused, holding up the silver coin once more, “it all really comes down to this little coin—this sterling coin—and what it represents: all the hard work and creativity and determination that has brought our family through rough times and helped us to build the farm and the vineyard that are still our livelihood today.”
As Sterling listened intently to his grandfather’s words, he knew instinctively that they were true. Against remarkable odds, his family, over many generations, had been part of establishing a culture that would live on in spite of many obstacles. It was this culture, this inheritance of a tradition deeply rooted in his people’s presence in the land, that made Sterling proud to be who he was, a descendant of one of the original californio families, the Sánchez clan.
“Sánchez,” Alfonso continued, as if in harmony with the ruminations of Sterling’s memory, “is a name and a legacy to be proud of. Sánchez, our name, symbolizes the hard work and the pain and the joy and the perseverance that have all gone into making us who we are over all these many, many years. And it is all of you, the next generation, proud of who you are and where you come from, who will continue to pass on that legacy to your own children and grandchildren.”
As Sterling took in his grandfather’s words, weaving together the strands of family and local history that formed his heritage, his mind turned to the legacy of this proud past for the present. While aware of what his ancestors had lived through during the original Spanish colonial times, Sterling was also proud of what they had endured and successfully overcome in more recent years. It wasn’t always easy being Latino and facing discrimination and misunderstanding, especially in a business world that often singled out and marginalized those who were different. Though he had many regrets, this was one thing Sterling could be proud of—something that he could say with confidence connected him deeply to who he really was.
Lost in thought, Sterling only realized when he looked up, back at his grandfather as he was finishing his story, that Chris had joined him. Startled, Sterling felt the need to ask where this was all going.
“Chris, I know physically where we are, but, seriously, where are we? How is all of this happening? What is happening to me?”
“Sterling, there’s no need to fear,” Chris responded with reassurance. “You’re here because this is where you need to be right now.”
“Hmm, well I guess I’ll just have to trust you then.”
“Yeah, not a bad idea,” Chris said with a smile.
“This all seems pretty crazy, though,” Sterling added with some trepidation.
Not missing a beat, Chris replied, “In time you’ll see there’s a method to my madness!”
With that the scene faded and shifted around them. The strains of Alfonso’s music still ringing nostalgically in his ears, gradually the tone shifted, as the ringing turned high pitched and deafening. Perhaps it was the realization that he was still suspended within his demolished car, or that his blood pressure was spiraling downward due to the loss of blood—this horrific feeling of being trapped, with the thought of his own demise coming fast and furious. Sterling could feel the panic welling up inside his chest. With his heart racing out of control, he suddenly realized that he really had no other choice—he would have to surrender himself to this journey that Chris was offering him, whatever it really was and wherever it would lead. Feeling a sense of deep peace come over him, and hearing once more the strains of his grandfather’s voice and the music of his guitar, Sterling felt confident that he could surrender to whatever lay ahead. Resting his thoughts for now, he knew that trusting and letting go would be the course he would need to take as long as this crazy journey lasted.
Chapter 3
Dark red grapes dangling above him, filling his hands, overflowing in buckets. It was the time of harvest in his family’s vineyard, and Sterling recognized at once the unmistakable savor of juice in the air. He had no idea what this strange adventure was all about, but he was somehow glad that Chris had chosen to take him to such a happy part of his childhood. Each year harvest was a time when his family came together to work side by side; his sister, Mindy, and his parents, Rosita and José, and even his grandparents, uncles, aunts, close friends and neighbors. All gathered each year in the late summer when the countless rows of grapes they harvested were ready to be picked and taken for pressing.
Often, if the harvest were large enough, they would have help from Mexican farm worker families traveling through the area to find work. Sterling hadn’t studied Spanish in school as a child, but he picked up quite a bit working alongside the families’ children in the field as well as from his parents and grandparents in their ancestral tongue. His Spanish wasn’t exactly elegant, but he’d learned enough to get his friends in trouble with their parents when he’d innocently pepper his phrases with liberal doses of colorful Mexican idioms and expressions.
As Sterling smiled, amused at his childhood cleverness, the scene gradually came into clearer view. He was standing at the top of the hill where his family’s house sat overlooking the rolling expanse of vines extending in neat rows before him. He noticed that the workers were already starting their picking as the morning sun streamed out gradually from behind the foothills in the distance.
He even thought he could make out his parents in the background, heading toward the bins they would need to load onto the truck that would eventually pick up all that day’s grapes. He called out to them and waved, but they kept on walking. Funny, he thought. He was about to call out to them again when, from seemingly out of nowhere, there was Chris again, standing at Sterling’s side.
Smiling, Chris looked at Sterling and explained that this was no ordinary day in the vineyard. “Sterling,” Chris said with gentle yet decisive care, “they can’t hear you or see you.”
“Really?” Sterling responded. “Is this a dream?”
“No,” replied Chris. “It’s very real. In fact, it’s
