Harvest time
Harvest is that magic time of year at a winery when everything happens. The sugar levels are right; the pressure is on to pick the grapes at the precise moment. Forklifts zoom by, and trucks roll in with full loads. Walking into a winery while the grapes are being pressed, especially when it’s cold, is like taking a bite out of a wild berry popsicle.
It sounds glamorous, but trust me, it is not. Exhilarating, yes. Hard work, most definitely. And I’ve only had a small taste.
Yesterday was my second time picking grapes. Hands were getting sticky; back was starting to hurt from bending over to cut clusters from the vines; I was wishing that I could remember more Spanish from high school. (The vineyard manager said he’d teach me, probably so I could say more than gracias, cuantos, and equipaje, which doesn’t do me much good as it means luggage). I also realized that I’m not very fast, as Julio also said I should keep the tally of how many full tubs everyone brought in instead. That was fine since I was starting to get a complex from my low numbers.
Tonight I was finally able to help with the crush. This term refers to the actual crushing of the grapes, as well as the whole process. (Sometimes ‘harvest’ and ‘crush’ are used interchangeably.) No one ever really took me up on my past dozen or so offers to help, maybe because it would take more time to train me than to do it. Tonight, though, I weighed grapes coming in, helped cover dry-ice-laden grapes (so as to prohibit fermentation–allowing more color and flavor), and mostly washed out the empty bins.
Not glamorous, I’ve already admitted, but I was a participant. When the 2006 vintages come out, I’ll be able to reminisce about making the wine. And it will be partially justified.
harvest, crush, picking grapes
October 20th, 2006 at 11:30 am
Not so glamerous at the bottom of the heap but neither is 1000 feet down an African diamond pipe blasting kimberlite and diamonds from the earth. At the other end of the spectrum there certainly is a mystique that when observed from a distance is plenty glamerous.
October 27th, 2006 at 7:24 am
When I was young (between 7 and 12) we used to pick grapes near our church in Gilbert, Arizona. It was a pick your own type establishment and we would use our laundry baskets to gather them. We were not picking the grapes for wine, but raisins. It was hot, sticky, and not very pleasant. My sister still tells a story about losing her flip flop in the sandy soil and never finding it.
Great blog!