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“Radar,” a helpful memory bank for J.D., who at 51 sometimes needs reminding of left-behind pens, correct spellings and other items that he tends to disregard in his rush to get things done. Debbi, the wife and mother of the clan, works in the vineyard weekends, and otherwise, for the Federal Aviation Administration at Dulles Airport in a section of the Air Traffic Control.
As one of about 85 vintners in Virginia, J.D. Hartman (which stands for Jimmy Davis), comes across as refreshing as an ice cold rose’ on a warm summer’s day, at least for anybody who has grown bored with the Wine Spectator’s often arch view of vintners as rarefied aristocrats. These people, peering out from the glossy pages, never seem to have much else to do, really, but lounge at gingham-covered tables under shady live oaks sopping up their own wine and talking “nose” and “finish” with other nobs.
Not Hartman, by a long shot. He was never very impressed with Virginia’s wine when he first tasted it more than 14 years ago. Over that time span, however, new growers came into the state and started making wine with a vengeance.
“It’s unusual to drink a bad bottle of Virginia wine these days,” Hartman says, adding later that one of his products, a Chardonnay, won the Gold Virginia’s Cup for
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