Vintage Sterling. Charles A. Witschorik

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 another day in your life that really happened many years ago. It’s one of many places that we’ll go together. But you’ll have to just watch and observe. The time for making decisions and acting in each place has already come and gone. What you can do now is listen and see. Go, check it out.”

      Sterling wasn’t sure what to make of Chris’ instructions or really any of what was happening, but he knew it felt good to be back there—to be in a place that felt like home.

      As he made his way reflectively down the driveway of the old house, considering what Chris had said and wondering just what day he’d arrived for, a scream suddenly pierced his eardrums, startling him and drawing his attention toward the small pond in the distance at the end of the row of vines.

      Suddenly, instantly, he knew exactly what day it was. In his childhood years he’d known many families that passed through the area to help harvest the grapes each year, and he met and befriended many of the families’ children. One family stood out in particular, though. The Domínguezes were one of several families that passed through each year, but Sterling had gotten to know several of their children, who were around his age, especially well. The friendship grew even deeper as the family eventually decided to put down roots in the valley and seek a way to make it their permanent home. This was not easy, as official visas were hard to come by. But little by little, coming and going back and forth to Mexico, the family eventually received official permission to immigrate, and Sterling was thrilled when he found out they would be long-lasting neighbors and friends.