"Spirit of Affable Winemaker
Leaves Precious Memories"

By Christina Kelly
Avalon Staff Writer

The late Romeo Conca knew how to throw an impromptu party that could make the Gods shiver with envy.

Creator of the Lost Mountain Winery in Sequim, Wash., Romeo could take a dozen eggs and make the most elegant frittata for guests who happened to show up at the out-of-the-way winery in the foothills of the Olympic Mountains.

Memories of a few of those evenings are etched in my mind forever. His crop of white hair, large oval glasses, flushed face and hearty laughter was usually at the center of such gatherings. I always think of him as the embodiment of hospitality to those who knew him or somehow passed through his life.

Romeo was king of his castle and held court in his home and winery for those who stopped to lend a hand at the small-production facility. His family, sons Steve and Dave, his second wife Jo Davies, and a plethora of friends, would gather at the winery during crush or bottling, adding a couple of extra hands in the process. Those who helped were amply rewarded with great company and meals to die for.

Steve Conca recalls that his father loved good food, good wine and good friends. It was a magical combination and attracted some of the most interesting people to his table.

"Everyone enjoyed Romeo's company and thought he was a kind and generous host," Steve recalled. "Food and wine always flowed during dinners and entire evenings were spent around the dining room table. Almost everyone that met Romeo was charmed by his warmth and graciousness."

I remember one early evening when Romeo was in the kitchen, making some labor-intensive meal from scratch, drawing people inside the house with the pungent smells of herbs, fresh garlic and basil. The kitchen was his element, inheriting it naturally from his father Matteo, one of the country's best chefs.

Romeo asked me to open a bottle of his Lost Mountain "Pipa's Blend," named for his father, whom he called Pipa. The table was set for 12, and some of the other guests brought their own wine, already sitting on the dinning room table.

"How is it that you can take some of the most simple ingredients and turn out something like that?" I asked, pointing to his frittata, trying not to show how hungry I was.

The sight and smell of Romeo's cooking made me dizzy with anticipation.

"It's very simple," said Romeo. "You don't have to have fancy food. But you do need fresh ingredients.

"It also helps to have good friends to enjoy the meal," he said, turning to me.

I felt my face flush. He was including me in that sentence, and I could have hugged him at that moment. Although Romeo was very attentive to his guests, he was not as demonstrative as one would think. I sensed his personal space and gave him a mental hug.

The dinners at Lost Mountain Winery drew some of the area's most respected artists. Romeo was involved in the Fine Arts Center in Port Angeles. But his son Steve and daughter-in-law Sue probably introduced Romeo to many of the writers, poets and musicians.

"The people we know are part of a circle of friends that have been on and off the Olympic Peninsula for the last 20 to 25 years," said Sue. You could say they were left overs from the counter culture movement for the most part.

"Lot of folks came to the peninsula for the same reasons we did - the beauty and isolation and to get away from the materialistic values of the urban lifestyle. They turned to tree planting in the 1970s because it was one of the few jobs on the peninsula that paid well."

Many of the people who came to the Lost Mountain area had interests in poetry, music and art, and some went on to be published or earn a living at their craft.

In the early 1980s, Romeo's wife Irene died of cancer. His family and friends said the retired organic chemist took her death hard and he began spending more time with Steve and Sue. Steve was building Lost Mountain Winery at the time.

It was at the dining room table that Romeo met many of the artists in the region. The company eased his loneliness and fed his interest in artistic endeavors.

"Romeo had a great mind and a wealth of information," said Steve. "He had a Ph.D in organic chemistry and enjoyed learning. He also liked being around movers and shakers.

"But he loved talking to people about their artistic interests."

Steve and Romeo created a poetry series on a bottle of Lost Mountain red wine called Poeisa. Every year, a poem is selected for the back label - usually around a theme of wine, or the beauty of the outdoors. This year's poem is by California poet Gary Snyder.

On the night I was in attendance at Romeo's table, I noticed the affable winemaker's ability to get people to talk about themselves. Although conversations rarely lulled at the Conca house, every once in awhile, Romeo would ask poet Kate Reavey about her inspiration for a particular poem, or author Tim McNutt about his wanderings throughout the Olympic Mountains.

Romeo loved the English language and people who also shared a love of words surrounded him. Sometimes the conversations turned to politics, but it rarely got heavy or heated.

Like a patriarch guiding his family, Romeo would steer conversations away from tragic topics or conversations that bordered on the very personal.

"Which comes first for you Christina - the lyrics or the melody?" he asked one night about my songwriting. "Since you are a writer, I would guess the lyrics come first, but I am not a musician."

I thought about it for a few moments and responded.

"It differs from song to song," I said. "After a glass or two of your wine, I will fall asleep and hear music. So, I guess I owe you some royalties - if I ever made any money from it."

Laughter erupted around the table and a new set of conversations began. I looked up and saw Romeo glancing around the table, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

Romeo was genteel, but I remember once when a group of friends gathered at a French restaurant for dinner Romeo asked if he could open a bottle of his wine.

The waiter sniffed, checked with the proprietor and announced the cork fee. Romeo offered a glass of wine to the owner, who later said to me that French wines were so much better than Italian blends.

I passed the information on to Romeo and watched his face darken. He suddenly smiled.

"The French would have you believe they are God's chosen people," he said with a chuckle. "They would have you believe that grapes grown in France have God's seal of approval."

It's been four years since Romeo died of cancer. The winery is operating smoothly under Steve and Sue's guidance. The house has been remodeled to expand the wine tasting room. The big table where so many dinner conversations took place is gone.

Yet, there is still something of Romeo that lingers in that magical place. Maybe it's the wind whistling through the pine trees surrounding the winery. Or a familiar smell that almost evokes a memory, then quickly disappears. He's there somewhere, and we all miss him.

But, most of us like to think about the dinner parties he is throwing in heaven and can just hear the curiosity in his voice when he asks his guests questions.

"I would like to ask a question of you, God," I can hear Romeo ask in a very sincere, yet amused manner. "Just what was your inspiration for the creation of French wine?"