Terroir: We Are the Connection

The French have a word for the way topography, climate, soil, and other environmental factors (like flora and fauna) contribute to make land good for growing certain kinds of crops. Terroir. Like ”terror,” but with a bit more French “wah” at the end. There, you’ve got it.

Terroir is a gestalt, more than the sum of its parts. The complexities of the physical elements of terroir are connected by something vastly more complex. It‘s the human element. It takes a human, insightful, intuitive, creative, and skilled, to look at the land, appreciate terroir, and bring a crop out of the ground. And then after the harvest, once the art and science of the craft are perfected, to hand that tradition down over generations. Connection is what makes terroir.

Interestingly, you really only see terroir in reference to the traditions of French wine making and Scottish whisky distilling (particularly the legendary Islay distilleries like Bruchladdich, Lagavulin, and Ardbeg). These traditions are renowned for their commitment to their craft: they are the best in the world at what they do, and everyone knows it.

Similarly, as we humans delve the mysteries of the beloved coffee bean, specialty coffee companies throughout the world are tapping into terroir as they try to balance the complexities of the growing, processing, roasting, and brewing of everyone's favorite hot brown morning potion. And as any coffee snob knows in the depth of their being, there’s no comparison between a single-origin espresso and popping a pod into to your Keurig! They are worlds apart in terms of terroir.

Let’s take it a little further. These beverages have something in common. They facilitate the connections we make as human beings: coffee in our morning and afternoon meetings as we catch up with friends, colleagues, or strategize with business associates, wine with dinners, family gatherings and celebrations, whisky for conversations, for long talks and somber recollections with our inner circle. Our lives are structured around these shared experiences.

Of course, there are good reasons to abstain from any or all of the above - including simple preference! I won’t hold it against you if you say “no thanks” to one or all of these beverages. I have the utmost respect for that, whatever your reasons, but I hope you’re still tracking with me.

The point is that terroir has one goal and that is connection, a commingling of souls over the shared experience of an exquisite taste. If terroir represents human connection to the physical features of the land, then the product of terroir—what that connection yields—is our connection to one another.

Think about that for a moment. You remember where you were for that significant conversation. Your remember who you were with, what they said, because it happened over a shared experience, and maybe over a shared beverage. You felt the connection. And it was real.

You might even remember the taste, smell, and texture of that experience.

This experience is universally human, because it is bound up in our senses. It's physical and earthy, but it is also transcendent. It takes us deeper into who we are as individuals, but also beyond ourselves and into the world of another person. Through our shared experiences and conversations, we find ourselves expanded, empowered, enlightened.

All because of this connection. You could even say we are this connection. That our lives are summed up in the relationships, conversations, and connections we have with each other.

It’s pretty epic.

Did you ever think of your life that way? As epic?

I know that you know what I’m talking about. We’ve all had these conversations, and they are memorable and life-giving and life-altering. They sustain us in important ways.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could have more of those?

This is what I hope to do with my life and teaching, whether it’s in the classroom, a small group, or a one-on-one conversation. Let‘s bring some terroir to our connection.

What does it look like? That’s what we’ll talk about next.

Grace and Peace,

Mat