Our good friends and neighbors are a Mexican-American family with a ranch about five minutes from our house. The Mexican side of the family has owned and operated the ranch for generations. About two years ago, as part their efforts to convert the property from traditional crops to more “green” agriculture, they planted a vineyard. So when Diane emailed me and asked if I’d be willing to help with the first harvest of the season, I jumped at the chance.
She suggested that I round up a picking partner so I immediately called Alex. Despite the fact that we were to start at 8:00 in the morning (and Alex is not a morning person) I thought he’d enjoy the experience given that he has such appreciation for mother earth and the growing of things.
As I presumed, Alex agreed. However, given the daunting idea of rising so early, Alex thought it a good idea that he spend the night at our house so that the responsibility of waking up so early could be shared. That night we had one of our best rain storms of the season.
The next morning we were having our coffee and tea on the patio before departing. “Wow,” Alex said, “Mornings are really beautiful. Not so much that I’d give up my nights, but beautiful nonetheless.”
“That’s what siestas are for.” I said. “Then you can experience the best of both.”
Armed with our pruning sheers, buckets and rubber boots, we set off for the vineyard.
Once we arrived and Diane gave us our picking instructions, we were designated a row and set to the task. It was beautiful. The morning was bright and clear, rain drops still clung to the vines and the dark purple grapes. Shortly into the effort Alex found a humming bird nest with three tiny eggs. So as not to disturb the nest, we spared the ripe grapes that surrounded it.
As my bucket filled and I trudged down the row, the task became more difficult; primarily because with each step I managed to collect another layer of mud on my boots. They were getting heavy. I was probably pulling an extra five pounds with each step. “You know,” I said over the top of the vines, “In the U.S. we use Mexicans to do this work. Funny that here you use Americans.”
At that Higinio, the father, yelled “Immigration!” and his son Eric added, “Papers please!”
All in all, there were about 20 of us participating in the harvest. We picked cabernet sauvignon, cabernet franc and tempranillo, about 200 kilos in all. (We took a look at the Grenache but it wasn’t ready.) We suspect that there is probably about three times that amount yet to ripen in the coming weeks.
The grapes were handed over to a Mexican family from neighboring
The first harvest was completed by 11:30 AM. With a nice mid-morning buzz from the wine tasting, I set off home for a two hour siesta.
