la grange

so romantic

Life on a winery is romantic. That's common knowledge. For example today. Today was such a highly romantic day.

Getting up before seven is one of the romantic things I thought I would be doing for the rest of my life when I studied graphic design.

Being in the vineyard before eight is right up there with that wish (it is pretty out there before eight. I have to admit that much. The sun rises gently, the air colors faintly in roses and oranges).

Manual harvest is something for nature lovers. Cutting grapes all day, an average of 1,2 tons a person (yours truly included) is simply lovely and invaluable exercise. Really. Each of the boxes you see in those photos weighs somewhere from 15 to 19 kg. That means that halfway full I have to drag them because carrying them is out of the question. But still, I look like the governor of California now. I'm that muscly.

The first morning everyone still tries to impress. The afternoon is already much more honest. Each person finds a rhythm and forgets about the others.

I tried to amputate my finger so I didn't have to continue, but that didn't work. I swallowed two flies (on the romanticism-scale, one being the worst and ten the most romantic, that would be about a nine) and almost choked on the second one, but it didn't change anything, either. I still had to continue with the rest of them.

After the day's work, let's say around six thirty, you think you're done with the day, but romanticism never stops and there's still the cleaning to be done,a beer to be swallowed (which was good, if not romantic) with the whole team, which, inevitably, will attract the most idiotic jokes of the day (end-of-the-day beers do that).

And thus the most, the very utmost, the most romantic thing I have photographed today was this container of radiant plutonium which I found in the cellar attic.

...oh no, I forgot. There was this, too:

As far as romantic goes... ? What do you think ? Found it in the cellar, too.

Well, in any case, I will put myself and my romantically aching back in bed now and I wish you all sweet dreams. Tomorrow at something before seven I'll have to wake up again and I dread the moment. Moving or resting are fine, but getting up to move after resting hurts a lot right now.

... ah, all right. I'll admit it was great fun, too. But the ache is real, all the same.

harvest, day five :: the tools of the trade

My job on this winery is usually kitchen maid, cook and entertainer. It depends on the moods and the moments. Only at harvest time do I assume more important tasks: I'm the official grape-pusher. With this very sophisticated tool (the handle with the wooden plank at it's end) I push tons of grapes into the reception area (a big concrete hole with a giant screw in it that transports the grapes wherever they need to go) each day. So there's a lot of responsibility going 'round these days. And a lot of muscle building. Because the tons were no joke.
But I have always enjoyed mindless tasks. Not that stupidity runs in the family, oh no, far from it. The others are quite intelligent. But I'm the queen of repetitive occupation. For example box-making. I can do that at lightning speed all day and enjoy it. Or stamping on boxes. That's maybe my favorite thing to do in the world. I'm mind-bogglingly quick at stamping on boxes.
And I'm not joking, either.
So pushing all those grapes is really the thing for me on the winery. There's even some responsibility in it: I have to make certain none of these big wooden bits get caught in the giant screw. Or else they might block it.
The only thing I regret is the shoes.
Really. You can't say they're fashionable. They're not even en vogue on the winery. And they're good for naught. Only if you want to have a tractor run over your feet or an elephant step on them do they fulfill a purpose. That's why I wear them. Because of the elephants.
One never knows.

harvest, day four. a perfect day for

harvesting Merlot, for this year's first Rosé.

putting lots of grapes into the press.

testing for the alcohol to be in this wine.

being a little bit silly (the boys have been asking for two of these. 'So you see better where to put the grapes'.).

making new friends. This one got caught up in the grapes and we saved him in extremis.

spared

At the end of last week the Languedoc was hit by a thunderstorm that brought us rain and hale.
We were very fortunate and had only minimal damage to our vineyards done while other villages around us have lost their entire harvest.
It would be nice if the sun cold be with us for the next two or three weeks, as it would prevent further damage or even illness in the vineyards.

harvest, day three. while we were waiting

While we were waiting for the Chardonnay to reach a temperature that would allow us to put the yeast in, the girl did girl things.

*make notecards*
While the boys did boy things.

*cut trees*
At 10 pm the white wine was finally at 13 °C, so Vincent did wine things.

*start yeast*
Now that the day's work is done and we wait for the Chardonnay to start fermentation, we wish you a good night.

second day of harvest - never stop singing

We call them team B or the dream team. You'll always know where they are because of the shouting. That's both of them. The singing is just François. But birds have been known to drop out of trees because of it.

Team A doesn't shout. They whisper. Into the megaphone if they need to be heard in the middle of all the noisy machinery. They are known to drink even their coffee out of wine glasses.

Still Chardonnay.

Still grape juice.

6:30 to 9:30, first day of harvest

6:30 am dawn

7:00 am sunrise

7:30 am pumps and hoses

8:00 am Chardonnay

8:30 am grape juice

9:00 closed press

9:30 coffee for the boys

and tea for the girl.