Thanksgiving dinner all over again
October 27th, 2009 by CatherineFor those of you who cook Thanksgiving dinner, you may be able to relate to what I’m saying. You plan and plan and cook and cook and everyone sits down and it’s over. If you’re like us, you linger, and eat a little and drink a little and eat a little more. But still, for all the preparation and time that goes into getting it on the table, don’t you think that all-important holiday dinner should last at least all day and probably all night as well?
That’s how I feel about the grape harvest on our ranch. From about January, when our crew comes in and prunes our pinot noir vines, we’re thinking about harvest. We worry about frost and wind and heat through the winter and spring when the vines are blooming and the fruit is setting its clusters. Frost can wither the tender shoots, impacting production, wind can blow the petals away before the flowers set, and heat can make them shrivel and shatter. Then we worry about mildew and heat again all summer long. Our foggy mornings and occasional rains can cause rot in the clusters and the heat can sunburn the fragile skins. As harvest approaches, we start watching the fruit change color from green to vibrant purple and then the birds come. So we net the vineyard and hope they weren’t too far ahead of us.
Finally with the netting on and the grapes all purple, we wait. And watch. We’re waiting for the grape to reach maturity. That moment in time when the seeds are crunchy and the pulp is perfectly sweet and acidic and the skins are still plump and shiny. And then we get the call. “Harvest tomorrow!”
They come the day before and unload the bright yellow picking bins, the tractor and forklift and the transport bins. We take the kids down to watch and the excitement is palpable. It’s coming, harvest!
Then the next morning at about 4am, when it’s still dark and cool and a little damp, we hear the tractor start to rumble and the lights go on. We wake the kids and run outside to watch the first moments. The pickers getting their knives and bins, the headlights from the tractor guiding them to the first vines. And it starts.
By the time we get up a few hours later, it’s virtually over. The sun’s come up. The vines are bare. All that’s out there is our end row crop of grenache- sad and lonely and still half green. The crew is on to the next site. The transport truck is loaded and harvest is over.
Oh well, at least I don’t have to wash the dishes.




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