David DiBiase

The Lonely Bear Vineyard story

Aerial perspective of the property that would become Lonely Bear Vineyard. April 2020

A young man piloting a UAV down the hill from our house captured this image in 2020. He said his client was the realtor who would soon list this four-and-a-quarter acre property for sale. The view is westward, from an altitude of a couple hundred feet? That’s our house on the ridge at the upper left edge of the image. Our neighbors’ homes line Panorama Drive on the right. The tawny brown field that covers most of the property is bounded along its southern edge by eucalyptus trees, sage and rosemary. An abandoned horse corral sits behind an overgrown deodora cedar. The field occupies a hollow (or “holler” as they’d say in Appalachia) formed by drainage from the foothills of the San Bernardino Mountains (off camera to the north). An outcrop named Crafton Hills appears a couple miles away to the west. Los Angeles is about 75 miles further west – a world away from our quasi-rural City of Yucaipa.

3 May 2020

Several families have lived in the neighborhood since homes were built in the 1950s. One family on Panorama Drive owned the hollow as long as anyone can remember. The family is in the construction business. Their patriarch dreamed of subdividing the hollow and building houses for his kids. (If you look close, you may notice that the field is terraced into four levels from front to back.) Apparently the City’s conditions for permits to develop the property were so onerous that the houses were never built. The field remained more or less as it was when neighbors played in it as kids. Still, the owners asserted rights to their private property – though the young granddaughter who posted the sign pictured above noted that “David and Tao” (Teo, the cocker spaniel puppy I walked in the hollow) were “accepted” from the trespassing rule.

Once or twice a year the owners sent in a tractor to mow the field. Whenever we heard the machinery, all the neighbors bordering the hollow feared that the bulldozers had finally come. Then the young man with the UAV came, and soon after that, the For Sale sign went up on Panorama Drive.

Val and I thought, what if we bought the hollow? Could we rescue it from development? The real estate listing included an asking price that was out of reach for us. But we knew from public records what the family paid for the property years ago. Maybe they were fed up with paying property taxes, and eager to move on? We calculated what we could spare from our 401k’s, and asked our real estate agent to present the owners with a cash offer. To our delight, they accepted; the sale closed on December 10, 2020. The hollow was no longer at risk of development. But what next?

Teo oversees vineyard construction. 31 August 2021

Valerie and I are wine lovers, and love visiting wine country in Paso Robles and Napa Valley. So why not a vineyard? Our neighbor Cesar Roldan inspired the idea. He had planted vines the year before on his property along the south side of our ridge. The hollow’s site and situation seemed promising: plentiful sun exposure and a cool westerly breeze flowing down the hollow every evening. Water probably flows beneath, though who knows how deep (The City ruled out a well)? The 3000′ elevation should take the edge off of sometimes hot summer temperatures. Questions remained about soil, since the lots had been graded and filled years ago beyond anyone’s recollection. But soil tests would help with that.

The hollow is situated within the city limits of Yucaipa, and is zoned residential, but that doesn’t prevent us from planting. We can’t change the zoning, but we don’t have to build housing. Vineyards were popping up all around town at this time. Cesar helped organize a local Wine Alliance, which promoted a Wine Country land use plan, and successfully proposed that parts of Yucaipa be designated as an American Viticultural Area. Cesar had also founded a vineyard construction and maintenance business. We hired them to build the first stage of the vineyard.

Construction started 27 August, 2021. After we sketched a layout, the crew sunk wooden posts at the ends of each row to support the trellis wire that would come later. T-posts were sunk every 20′ or so in between to support the wires, and the black irrigation tubing. More wooden posts formed corners of a surrounding electric fence. Mule deer and black bears are common in these parts.

Planting the first Primitivo seedlings at Lonely Bear vineyard, 26 April 2022

Planting commenced the following Spring. The vines came from the Duarte Nursery, in California’s Central Valley. The first planting included about 85 Primitivo, and 40-45 each of Mourvèdre, Viognier, Syrah, and Grenache. (A second planting of about 375 more vines followed in 2023, in a somewhat larger lot farther down the holler.) Workmen wrapped each rootstock in chicken wire to stymie gophers and ground squirrels. The guys humored the gringo by letting me plant some of vines.

Young vines growing strong. 22 July 2022

By July, the young vines were already outgrowing their grow tubes. With the first phase of construction finished, I remained as the sole crew member. My work at this time was mainly mowing weeds with a string trimmer, and making sure the irrigation worked.

The name “Lonely Bear” commemorates a young bear who roamed our neighborhood in 2017, and sometimes took a dip in our pool on hot summer days. One day I heard splashing outside, and was lucky to get pictures of him from our family room window. I watched him (we assume it was a male) swim a couple of laps, then climb out, shake off, hop the fence and move on down the ridge. He never caused much damage, though he did sometimes bite the undulating pool sweeper hose. Teeth marks in the hose confirmed his visits when we weren’t home to see it.

The lonely bear pauses for a swim in our pool. 8 June 2017

The same neighbor girl who posted the No Trespassing sign (“accepting” me and Teo) thought the young bear looked lonely, since it always roamed alone. After some months, the bear visits stopped. We heard later that the bear had been struck and killed by an automobile on a nearby road. It probably would be raiding our fruit if it had survived.

Young vines pruned, trained, and mulched. 23 June 2023

I had never farmed anything before. I learned about viticulture from books, articles, YouTube videos, observing experienced vineyard workers, and conversations with other growers and winemakers. One lesson was pruning and training young vines. The yearlings shown above exhibit the characteristic trunks and arms (cordons) fastened to trellis wire.

Bud burst. 29 March 2025

This next image above – taken in early Spring the year after our first harvest – is out of chronological order. I include it here because it shows two things clearly: how our two-year-old vines were “spur pruned” during their winter dormancy, and the “bud burst” that follows in early Spring, when the new year’s shoots, leaves and flowers begin to emerge. The picture also highlights my beloved mulch rows.

Upper and lower vineyards, with mulch mounds. 25 June 2023

This westerly view is from roughly the same perspective as the UAV image shown at the top of this article, but at ground level. In the foreground is the original vineyard (planted in 2022); the newer, lower vineyard (planted Spring 2023) is in the background.

Two mounds of mulch appear just to the right (north) of the electric fence line. I was determined to mulch every vine row thickly, both to deter weeds and to retain water for the young vines. I learned that store-bought mulch is not only expensive, it’s also typically of unknown origin and dubious quality for farming. None of the nurserymen and women I met could say for sure what was in their mulch. Anything might be – even chewed up pallets and other trash.

Eventually I found giant piles of pure orange tree mulch on nearby former orchards that had been cleared for real estate development. I got permission from the property owners to harvest a few hundred cubic yards of the stuff, which I paid a guy to scoop up and truck in for me. I spread the mulch along the vine rows by shovel and wheelbarrow. I’m really proud of that mulch. I just hope I won’t have to reapply it anytime soon!

Grenache (left) and Primitivo clusters on Harvest Day, 12 September 2024. Charlie Garcia Photography

Two-year-old vines are very, very young. Writing about old vines in Letters from Lodi, Randy Caparoso states “… grapevines as young as three years old can … produce dark, concentrated wines. Because of their matured plant morphology, however, older vines are more likely to produce wines with sensory attributes reflecting a specific vineyard or region.” Turley Wine Cellars calls Zinfandel wines made from grape vines 6-25 years old “Juvenile.” Even so, the winemakers I work with at Herrmann York Wines in nearby Redlands CA believed that the precocious Lonely Bear fruit (shown above) were worth the effort to harvest, barrel, and bottle. But we didn’t count on the wildfire.

First Harvest day, 12 September 2024. Smoke from the nearby Line Fire posed a risk of smoke taint. Charlie Garcia Photography

As our first Harvest Day approached, I assumed the worst: a “lost harvest.”  A week earlier, the Line Fire ignited in nearby Highland CA. It eventually burned 43,978 acres, mostly in the San Bernardino Mountains to the north. But the southeastern edge of the fire perimeter was within about five miles of us by September 12. Acrid smoke blanketed Yucaipa. Although I didn’t see ash on the grapes, I assumed that they would be ruined by smoke taint. Not necessarily, my friends Garrett York and Dustin Hermann reassured me. Immediately after the harvest, they crushed the grapes and discarded the tainted skins. The remaining juice, we hoped, could become a drinkable rosé.

Grenache, Syrah, Mourvèdre, and Primitivo grapes harvested at Lonely Bear vineyard, 12 September 2024. Charlie Garcia Photography

Dustin Hermann, David DiBiase, and Garrett York at First Harvest, Lonely Bear Vineyard, 12 September 2024. Charlie Garcia Photography

Eleven months later, Garrett and Dusty presented Val and me with a case of Salvare rosé. “Salvare” is Italian for rescue; it honors Hermann York’s skill and faith in salvaging this surprisingly pleasing summer wine from the Line Fire. Before all that drama we had planned a red blend, but Salvare has proved so popular we’ve decided to make another rosé from the 2025 harvest.

Salvare rosé, 2024 vintage, produced by Hermann York Wines, grown at Lonely Bear Vineyard, Yucaipa CA

Meanwhile, you’ll often find me in the vineyard. You can see me at work in the Apple Maps image below. The Maxar satellite imagery they used that day shows me, with my garden tractor, at work in Lonely Bear, preparing next year’s crop.

David at work in Lonely Bear vineyard, 30 December 2024. Image repurposed from Apple Maps for non-commerical use only.

I’ve been teaching for Penn State University for 30 years. I spent part of that time in front of large classrooms full of undergraduate students. You can imagine the scene. Many students slouched in their auditorium seats, ball caps pulled down over their eyes, body language expressing no desire to be called upon or to speak up.

To keep my edge under such conditions, I approached each class session with the mindset that the day’s lecture would make a difference in the life of at least one of those students. I might never know who was affected, or how. But I believed someone in that classroom would be secretly inspired. And that belief inspired me to teach from the heart.

Not long ago, I heard from a former student through LinkedIn. Steve Smith was a student in the very first course I taught at Penn State – a laboratory course called Advanced Production Cartography. In those days (starting in 1989) Penn State’s Department of Geography offered the course during the month-long Intersession period, which Penn State now calls “Maymester.” Maymester is underway as I write this reminiscence.

Steve Smith in 1990, with the ACSM Map Design Award

Advanced Production Cartography was an intense four-week immersion in what was then the state of the art in cartographic design and production. Students labored hours every day on pen-and-ink drafting, hand engraving, a little bit of computer graphics and digital typography, and a whole lot of time in the darkrooms on the 2nd floor of Walker Building.

The class project was to design and produce a printed postcard that showcased original map content. (I borrowed the postcard concept from Judy Olson, who had led a similar class at Michigan State for years.) Steve chose a timely theme – the 100th anniversary of the Johnstown Flood of May 31, 1889.

Map postcard designed and produced by Steven A. Smith in 1989. Actual size 7” x 5.5”

Steve’s postcard features a 3-D terrain model of the Conemaugh Valley, illustrating the path of the flood from Lake Conemaugh to the city of Johnstown. Steve digitized the terrain from a topographic map, rendered the model with a PC-DOS program called Surfer, printed it on a newfangled laser printer, and then processed the print photomechanically. All the rest of the piece is produced manually, including lettering placed by hand.

The piece turned out so well that Steve and I marched into a local marketing firm and convinced the owner, Mimi Barash Coppersmith, to print and publish the postcard for Johnstown’s centennial. The card went on sale that summer. In 1990, Steve received a letter from the legendary Barbara Bartz Petchenik that he had won the American Cartographic Association’s Student Map Design Award. Later that spring he graduated from Penn State, and went on to work for Michelin in South Carolina, first as a cartographer.

Steven Smith and son James, visiting Penn State in 2018

Nearly thirty years later, here’s the message I received from Steve:

“Hi David. I just wanted to let you know that my family and I just did a prospective student tour for my son James at Penn State. It was an awesome time, which goes without saying, as PSU is a great university.

“We did the introduction and campus walking tour. Afterwards, we toured the Meteorology department, since my son is extremely interested in that. Oh…Walker Building, the memories for me…

“It brought back so many memories, but especially YOUR guidance during my time there, both in this class and the time I spent working in the Lab as an intern. You had a VERY large impact on my time there. Thank you once again for your time, patience, and tough love during that time. I would not be the man, employee, or person that I am today without your input.”

James Smith receives the National Park Service Junior Ranger Badge at
the Johnstown Flood National Memorial, as Dad looks on proudly.

Steve continues, “On our travels back from my hometown of Bradford we had the opportunity to stop at the NPS Johnstown Flood National Memorial. It was my first visit, which is hard to believe. They no longer have *my* postcard/map for sale, but they were quite impressed and interested in the copy I showed them.

“Your class, Advanced Production Cartography with an emphasis on journalistic cartography, and working in the Deasy GeoGraphics Lab, is really how I got to be where I am today, professionally. It opened the door to my job at Michelin. I’m now a Senior Product Development Engineer designing tires for OE vehicles. It has been interesting as a tire designer to utilize spatial design realizations that I learned back in my PSU Geography Department days to now. I use them on a daily basis for new tire tread designs, and most times it blows away my coworkers. I will always remember you, David, and other professors and classmates, when it comes to who I am today.”

Steve’s message is an awesome gift. It affirms that teaching really does have the power to help young people find direction and purpose. Every experienced educator has a story like this to tell, and every new teacher can look forward to stories like it down the road. These stories sustain us to keep teaching with heart, despite all the disincentives. Remember, there’s at least one person out there – and you may never know who – but then again, you might find out someday!

Home from near the top of our steep, 1/10-mile-long driveway, before we cleared much of the brush (but not the Deodora Cedars).

Val and I found home in June 2015, around the time we were married. In fact, our realtor Susan found it for us, to our everlasting gratitude. It wasn’t on the market, but she knew that Cade and his partner were thinking about moving to a one-story in Palm Springs. Susan arranged a visit with Val. She fell in love with the place, and so did I when I visited later.

Pool and olive tree on the west side of the house, looking north.

Fireplace at Christmastime, 2016.

David’s home office.

View of Mt. San Gorgonio, looking north from our front door.

The place was built in 1968. The architectural style, we learned, is “Monterey Colonial.” I knew nothing about it until I happened across a paragraph in Kevin Starr’s 2005 California: A History:

Starr wrote about “gentlemen traders” in the “hide and tallow trade in the 1820s and 30s.” The trade involved shipping “manufactured goods to California” from the east coast, “sea otter pelts to China”, then back to California with “Chinese goods to pick up cattle hides and tallow for shipment back to Boston.” One of the “maritime trading elites” in Spanish and later Mexican California was Thomas Oliver Larkin of Massachusetts, recently of Charleston, South Carolina.

Larkin was a “storekeeper and trader,” and a “skilled carpenter … who built the first two-story house in California.” The house combined “adobe walls, a second-story veranda similar to those in Charleston, and a tile roof. The resulting design, subsequently known as Monterey Colonial, in and of itself expressed the fusion of Mexican and Yankee people’s and traits that was occurring up and down the California coast.”

Our place lacks the tile roof and adobe walls, but it has the salt-water pool that Val dreamed of. The pool’s built around a magnificent olive tree that she’s determined to harvest one of these years. We’re on a hilltop at about 3,200′ elevation, chill enough in winter to enjoy the fireplace.

Cade and partner were not connected to the internet. I was relieved to discover that we’re located on the edge of FIOS coverage. Our fast connection allows me to work at home, which I dearly enjoy.

The front of the house faces north, providing a vista of the San Bernardino mountains. At 11,500′, Mt. San Gorgonio dominates the panorama, and always recalls a stout hike to its summit.

We discovered Prescott when we passed though on our way home from Sedona back in Fall 2014. A year and a half later we returned for a belated anniversary over Memorial Day weekend. It was a great time, in town and out.

We spent most of Friday at Watson Lake, a century-old reservoir a few miles north of town. A young couple rented kayaks out of the back of a couple trailers.They said the water hadn’t been so calm in weeks. Paddling in and out of the submerged canyons was sublime. I intruded as quietly as we could on the perches of a couple of Great Blue Herons that labored into flight when I ventured too close.

Most surprising was the challenging, scenic 5-mile Lakeshore hike. We were glad to have trekking poles to help clamber up and down the granite dells, following a trail well marked with white painted dots. We found our way back to Val’s car happily tired and sunburned.

Saturday we explored the town. A 19th century mining center and early state capitol, Prescott is proud of the bordello heritage of its downtown Whiskey Row. We shared a couple cool ones at the Palace Saloon, where many patrons were dressed up like extras in the movie Tombstone.

An arts festival occupied the courthouse square. We found many realist paintings of wolves, horse-mounted cowboys, and Grand Canyon landscapes. But even these exceeded expectations.

We found lots of interesting shops, cafes, and old-timey bars. Most of the waitstaff and other folks we met were visiting or transplanted from Phoenix or So Cal. The few genuine locals we met were interested in us new-comers. One young waitress confessed that she dreamed of leaving town for someplace bigger, but worried that she’d be homesick. I’ll sure miss the place, and we’ve only been here a couple of days!

Come Sunday it’s time to head home. Grinning from ear to ear as we wind down state route 89, one of the most interesting drives I’ve found in these parts. We’ll be back to enjoy the rougher-edged, less expensive and less crowded alternative to Sedona.

On May 20, 2015 Valerie and I were married at the Ponte Vineyard Inn  in Temecula CA. We settled on a very small ceremony for her family and closest friends. About an hour before it began our saxophonist Naomi arrived. She played a mix of sacred and secular tunes, including Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely.” Val was, and is!

Her brother Roger, an ordained Adventist clergyman, officiated. He cracked her, me, and everyone up when he introduced the new bride as “Kim” – his own wife’s name.

The wedding was a big deal for Val (her first) and her family. I thought I was playing my part for her sake. To my surprise, I found the exchange of vows a little moving. Also moving were my knees, which shook noticeably, to everyone’s amusement. It was a beautiful day, and evermore a cherished memory.

Angie Lee looks happy and unruffled at the summit of Mt. San Jacinto. You wouldn’t guess that a half-hour earlier, at the base of the final bouldery scramble to the top, we nearly gave up and turned back.

Our route was the Marion Mountain trail, a relatively short but steep ascent of the west face San J from a trailhead near the town of Idyllwild. We wondered if we’d find snow on the mountain. Although it was only late March, it had been a dry winter. We found it alright, starting at about 9000′. At about 10000′ we lost the trail and found ourselves trudging up slope in knee- and hip-deep snow. We struggled to reach the saddle, at the base of the final boulder pile.

Just as we decided to risk a dark descent and turned to summit the peak, we came across a young family – Dad, Mom and two little kids – who appeared to have reached the top in light sneakers and flip flops!

The photos I did take fail to capture the rigors of this route. Much of the trail was littered with tree falls and tumbledown boulders, making the descent especially challenging for sore feet. All the way down I thought of the parents carrying the kids for six tough, steep miles.

Quinta do Roxo cottage

Val and I returned to Paso Robles again this year during the first week of March. One reason I wanted to come back, a big reason, was to revisit our precious rental cottage Quinta do Roxo. It’s owners, who make Roxo port, have restored it lovingly. It has a great kitchen, and is just a five-block walk from downtown.

We came on a mission: to find her a special ring. We found it 20 miles down the road at a special jeweler in San Luis Obispo.

One of many vineyard views along Adelaide Road on the west side of Paso.

That left plenty of time for outings, including two bike rides, some tennis at a local park, and kayaking in Morro Bay.

Our first ride was a hilly 35-mile loop up Nacimiento Road, clear out to Justin Winery, and back on challenging Peachey Canyon Road. For the second ride, a 27-mile version of roughly the same route, I got smarter. I rode clockwise this time, dispensing with Peachey Canyon at the outset instead of when I was tired.

Kayak view of Morro Rock, Morrow Bay CA

Of course we made time to visit wineries. Most memorable were J. Lohr, Turley, Adelaida, and especially Doau. Every bit as delightful was Pasolivo Tasting Room and Olive Mill, where we sampled delectable olive oils.

As soon as I returned home I set about booking Quinta do Roxo for the same week in 2016.What a disappointment to find that the owners had removed it from the rental pool! Ah well, Quercus Acorn Cottage looks to be just as nice, and it’s only a block away.

Sedona’s a long way from Yucaipa. Four hundred miles seemed an endless drive after a late Saturday afternoon start. But getting far away was the point.

By Sunday morning Val and I were hiking up into Boynton Canyon, entranced by the red rock, the perfect November weather, and the varied vegetation. With trekking poles and light packs we marched from the sunny chaparral into an autumn canopy of yellow aspen near the end of the 6.2-mile out-and-back. Lovely.

Back in town we wandered the shops in search of holiday gifts for family and friends. One shopkeeper shared good advice about where and where not to dine. Sunset found us at L’Auberge, enjoying fine food and wine on the patio beside Oak Creek. The wine is Orrin Swift’s “Papillon.” Swift is best know for the great zin blend “The Prisoner.” Get it?

Monday morning we found a satisfying breakfast at Creekside Cafe (another good recommendation), then pedaled a memorable 39 mile loop through the high desert village of Cornville. We’re at the intersection of Page Springs Road and the 89A in the bike picture. The last 13 miles were the toughest, including a 500-foot climb in a two-mile stretch.

The daylight drive home was beautiful. 89A south through Jerome and Prescott is an amazing mountain drive – unless you’re in a hurry to get home, which we weren’t. The sunset is a view from the car as we traveled back into California on the 10.