Steady as the stars in the woods,
So happy-hearted and the warmth
Rang true inside these bones.
And as the old pine fell, we sang
Just to bless the morning.
Old Pine, Ben Howard
Late last month, the community of Paso Robles came together to remember Jacob “Jake” Russell Beckett, who shuffled off his mortal coil just days after celebrating his 50th birthday.
Jake was born in 1976 on New Year’s Day. He shared a birthday with his dad. His parents Doug and Nancy founded Peachy Canyon Winery in 1988, and it’s the tenth oldest winery in Paso Robles. Best known for its critically acclaimed Zinfandels, Doug and Nancy passed the torch to sons Josh and Jake a few years ago.
The Beckett Family (From left to right: Jake, his wife Jen, dad Doug, mom Nancy, sister-in-law Gibsey, and brother Josh)
But the hundreds gathered at his Celebration of Life included more than winemakers and growers. Dirt biking friends, old school stoic farmers in baseball caps and faded jeans, fellow adventurers, neighbors, colleagues and family gathered at a venue so full that guests poured outside of the building and nearly into the parking lot, while others listened to the proceedings from satellite rooms nearby.
Adam Montiel, a Central Coast-based broadcaster, wine journalist, and close friend was entrusted by the Beckett family to host Jake’s Celebration of Life. In his strong broadcaster’s voice, Montiel brought the diverse crowd together with a tribute both deeply moving and at times funny. “This many people do not show up for a quiet life,” he began. “They show up for someone who left a mark. And if we are being honest, he would probably be a little pissed off that we are doing this in the first place. He would rather we were all out riding dirt bikes and screwing off than sitting or standing in a room like this. Jake did not do anything halfway. And we are not going to either…and we are going to make this fun. Not because this is easy. But because that is who he was. And one more thing that matters to me. It is very important to me that everyone in this room feels like this service had them in mind. Because each of you knew a different version of Jake. And somehow, he made every version feel real. So let us do this the way he lived this. All in.”
Young Jake
Montiel traced the trajectory of Jake’s life with words by turns tender and ribald. He drew a soft wave of laughter from the crowd remembering Chronic Cellars, the collaborative wine label founded by Jake and his brother Josh. “Chronic was not just a label. It was an attitude,” he told the crowd. “But Chronic was not a solo act. This was two brothers. Brothers who pushed each other. Brothers who argued. But brothers who never, ever stopped having each other’s back. It was hearing from the old guard that this was a bad idea and deciding that it meant it was a great one. They went to their dad. He did not hand them a big check. He handed them forty cases of shiners. That was the runway. Now go see if you can sell it. And they did. And the names, good Lord, all Jake: Sofa King Bueno, Love and Sex, Dead Nuts… Ricardo Grande. They were out of their minds. And that was the point.”
Montiel painted a picture of the homelife that Jake cherished: there was Jake’s salsa garden with “irrigation timers dialed in like a NASA launch,” his homemade hot sauce and marinara. He’d have homemade jerky hanging, and firewood was split and stacked. He loved Mexico and the family cabin in the Sequoias, where there was no cell service and no noise. “He was edge. And he was root,” Montiel said.
Jake’s widow, Jen, was seated in the front row. Montiel paid tribute to their love, telling those gathered that Jake and Jen had met on April 27, 2019. “At the winery,” he said. “She was doing flowers for a pickup party. And everything changed. Sometimes love shows up after you have sworn it off. After hard chapters. After you think you have seen enough. And when it does, it does not negotiate. It just happens. Jen said it felt instant. Like a fairy tale. Gentlemen, if your girl uses the term ‘like a fairy tale’ to describe you, you have won, and Jake won.” Montiel then read a statement prepared by Jen.
“Our relationship was a fairytale,” she wrote. “From the moment we met, we never looked back. One of the first things I noticed was how safe I felt. Safe enough to tell him anything. Safe enough to try again. Safe enough to build. Every morning felt like Disneyland waking up next to him. We made the bed together. He brought me coffee. He sang to me. We texted constantly. We shared everything. We lived like we were making up for lost time. We thought we had fifty years. We did not even get seven. But we never took each other for granted. Not once. Jake’s favorite quote was from his Uncle Mike: ‘A wise man makes his own luck.’ Lucky me to have known him the short time that I did.” They were married on August 21, 2021. Their blended family includes children Braydon, Logan, Charlotte, Meadow, and Amelia.
Then, in succession, Jake was remembered by a handful of loved ones. Friends from the time they were teenagers, his buddy Joel recalled dirt biking escapades and countless adventures. As men, they met often to talk about their families, their kids. Barely able to finish his speech, Joel told the crowd that what he’d miss most would be the random, spontaneous, often humorous phone calls from his best friend. “But the ride was worth the fall,” he said.
Jake’s uncles Gary and Mike spoke solemnly about their nephew and the hole his passing left in the fabric of their extended family, but remembered their nephew’s loving, resilient relationship to the everyday world. Sister-in-law Tiana Garoogian struggled to navigate through poignant recollections about his and Jen’s blended family life. ” You could tell how much it all mattered to him,” she said. “He was so genuine.”
The room shifted from a palpable sense of irrevocable loss when Jake’s 17-year-old son, Logan, took to the podium. Dressed casually in jeans, a flannel shirt and baseball cap, and flanked by two best friends – there to give him courage – he spoke with such immediacy and soulful understanding that a few men I know who were in attendance, also fathers of teenagers, had to step away briefly to gather themselves. Logan is the vice president of the Future Farmers of America’s South Coast region and chapter president of the FFA at Templeton High School.
His brother Josh then rose to speak, saying, “Jake was… everything. All of it. Good, bad, funny, wild, thoughtful, creative, inappropriate – one complete, unforgettable package of a human being. He had a whole album of Weird Al-style parody songs but done Jake’s way. If you’re lucky, you’ve heard one. Songs like the Doors Riders on the Storm, but instead Jake’s way: Spiders making Porn…He was a total smartass. Super witty. Up-front. Honest. No bullshit. But he cared deeply. He expected nothing in return. And if he met you once – or a hundred times – he remembered you. Your name. Your story. Something about you that even you forgot. Looking through the RSVP list for today, I was touched and honored. I tried to remember all the connections, all the experiences. And honestly, it pissed me off a little – because he would’ve remembered every single detail without even trying…He was a chameleon. Fit in everywhere. Made friends everywhere. And cherished those friendships like they were gold.”
Josh and Jake
Josh shared funny, touching stories from their childhood, teenage and college years, and as family men. He concluded by saying, “Jake – you’re worlds away. But you’re here every single day. In my head. In my heart. In every story. In every slurp of coffee I’ll never hear again. I love you, brother. Save a seat at the table for me.”
Jake’s father Doug was the final speaker. Vulnerable and seemingly still in shock, he spoke briefly, sharing a recent story. He told the crowd that he’d lost his wedding ring about a year ago. After Jake passed away, a friend of theirs visited Doug and his wife, Nancy. When their friend walked around to the porch where Doug and Nancy were seated, she picked up a ring. It was lying there, in a place Doug said he and Nancy had walked past a hundred times. It was Doug’s wedding ring. “I held that ring,” he said, “and thanked Jake for letting us know he was okay.”