A few years ago my husband—the geologist I sleep with— took a group of us on a Geology tour of the Columbia River Gorge. It is an unbelievable treasure with a rich and complicated history, and a visually stunning part of the world. After a day of talking about the Missoula floods, mudflows and volcanic sediments, the last stop was at the Cathedral Ridge Winery tasting room.

We gathered around an outdoor table overlooking the Gorge to taste two different bottles of Pinot Noir. Both bottles were made from the same grapes, and were made by the same winemaker. The only difference? One was made from grapes grown in Underwood WA, the other from those grown less than 20 miles as the crow flies in the Dalles, OR. Their taste? As if they were grown on different planets. Tom and I loved the one made from the grapes grown in the Dalles. It was complex, rich, and layered. The one from Underwood? Light, fruity, and sort of acidic.

The difference between the two was the terroir, which refers to the environmental conditions, especially the make-up or geology of the soil and the overall climate.

The grapes that resulted in the wine we preferred  grow in a climate that is hot and dry, and on volcanic sediments that are probably about 10 million years old, and richer in sodium and potassium, The other grapes grow in a relatively cool, wet climate on young basalt lavas less than 1 million years old that are richer in iron, magnesium, and calcium. Same grapes. Same winemaker. Different terroir.

We just celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary, and I’ve been reflecting on the terroir of our particular marriage. What makes up the soil in which our marriage has grown? I’ve been trying to cleverly put that into words for a couple of hours now so that it all fits in with the metaphor of a vineyard, the terroir of that vineyard, and the fine wine that comes as a result but to no avail.

So instead, here goes.

For me, for us, it all boils down to hard work, the rituals that connect us, and a willingness to keep showing up. It’s as simple as that, and somedays, as hard as it gets.

Relationships are hard work. Period. Hard stop. Luckily for us we found in one another someone who was, and is, willing to do that work. Again, and again, and again, until death do us part.

Rituals, something done with intention over and over and over again, have a way of forging a connection. For us, our days begin and end with ritual. Coffee early in the morning—always outside regardless of the weather— and a walk in the dark before bed with Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle are the bookends of our days. They hold our life together by giving us designated time to connect, resolve conflict, laugh, cry, problem solve, imagine, or simply be together side-by-side.

Showing up means just that. Bringing the best of our messy, broken selves and saying “I do.” all over again to whatever life brings our way for as long as we both shall live.

The terroir of our marriage has helped us to grow into the messy and magical partnership for which we are grateful every single day. And I say that with a lot of humility and gratitude because I am no picnic to live with. (He isn’t either, he just looks like one.)