A Harvester's Life

A handfull of grapes from one stem on the vine.

Even after all of the physical conditioning from the previous week, groans could be heard as we arrived at the farm early Tuesday morning.  We were nearly as sore as we had been after our first two days of harvest the week before.

We remembered Lou's words as we quickly fell into a steady clipping rhythm, handling our secateurs with the skill of pros (well most of the time).  We snipped bunches of Grenache grapes from vines over 70 years old, which were often too large to fit into one hand.  An occasional taste revealed a rich, sweet flavor which would eventually make its way into Domaine Rouge-Bleu's Mistral wine.

Normally we lost track of time as we worked nonstop during the hours of 0800 and 1200, only pausing long enough for sips of water from bottles that were thrown to us across the rows of vines.

Parma ham and a baguette of crust French bread.....mmmmm.

After processing the morning's harvest in the cave, lunchtime was a welcome break of two hours which started off with a glass of beer on tap from the outdoor keg.  Everyday, Kristi provided a feast of fresh crusty baguettes, parma ham, turkey and salami, along with carrot salad, coucous salad, green salad, garden fresh tomatoes, trays of local cheeses and the list goes on and on.



Jean-Marc and Stephan enjoying a glass of wine "al fresco".

Jean-Marc was not to be outdone, as he raided his wine cave each day, providing two or three bottles of the excellent French wine that you will never find exported to America. We always drank from "proper" wine glasses, even while eating outside, with the dirt under our fingernails and the burrs covering our clothing at odds with the gentile display of fragile goblets.



Two kinds of beer on tap in the outdoor keg.

My collection of burrs for the day.

Amazingly, we never felt tipsy after our halfway liquid lunch.  Perhaps we were channeling the grape harvesters of generations past.  Whatever it was, we were enjoying the process and looking forward to the end of the day, when Jean-Marc always sent us home with a half dozen more bottles of that French "eau de vie"!

A different kind of "bucket list"

Sara and Lou begin a new day's work.

It was the start of a new week and although we'd lost one of our fellow harvesters from the French team, a new member had joined the American team.

Lou came to us from Florida and was, like the majority of the group, a first time harvester.  At 83 years young he was also fulfilling a longtime dream......to harvest grapes in France.  I imagine that he never thought he'd be filling THIS kind of a bucket on his "list".

Lou had been travelling on his own through France, meeting up with friends here and there along the way. He told Kristi and Jean-Marc that he would take time out to pay them a visit while he was in the vicinity and promised to lend a helping hand with the harvest for a few days before he had to move on.  

It's not as easy as it looks but the company is fantastic!

He quickly fit into our group and was soon telling us stories about his family, his previous life as a salesman, his time in the service during WWII and his secret to a long and vibrant life.

"I eat plenty of chocolate, drink lots of coffee and walk, walk, walk," he said, when I asked him how he stayed so fit.

He worked alongside the rest of the group for the remainder of the day, sharing with us the heat of the sun, the heavy weight of the grape filled buckets and the taste of a cold beer at the end of the day.

He returned the next day to do it all again, without any complaints of sore muscles or an aching back.  On that second day, one of the young ladies on our team who was a quarter of his age, asked Lou how he was feeling and wondered whether he had any pains like the rest of us.

He paused from his grape cutting, laughed and said, "when you get to be my age, EVERYTHING hurts all the time.  You just live with it and get on with life."

I'll try to remember those words when I roll out of bed....aching....tomorrow morning!

Lou and Jean-Marc taking a breather.
Photo by Elizabeth Parker.

Touring Provence

Braise and Smokey playing in the yard.

I spent Saturday night at the Espinasse house looking after Braise and Smokey while the rest of the family went out for the evening. This gave me some quiet relaxing time to myself,  and a chance to catch up with some long overdue correspondance. 

The next morning as JM tended to his "cave", Kristi took me for a tour of Villedieu, one of her favorite towns in the area.  The picturesque "centre ville", with its café, fountain and outdoor tables, made it the perfect spot to enjoy a midday drink after exploring the sometimes steep, cobbled streets of the village.



The centre ville of Villedieu.

Colorful homes in the town.

A welcome entrance to a cosy little home.

When we returned to the farm, the girls from my apartment had arrived to take me to a restaurant in the mountaintop village of Séguret, where we had luncheon reservations.

The approach to Séguret was daunting, with its steep inclines and single lane roads creeping to the top of the mountain.  The view was as breathtaking as the ride, as vineyards spread out neatly below us. Pencil thin cypress trees punctuating a clear blue sky could be seen in the distance as they clustered around the clay roofed village houses.

Séguret, with its stone and clay roofed houses.

At the restaurant, the courses arrived and the wine flowed,  each  accompanied by the admiring noises of anticipated delight. The display was a tantalizing feast for the eyes as well as the palate.  We could have sat there well into the evening meal service but there were sights to see and calories to lose

. 

Zayra, me, Elizabeth, Caroline and Sara.
Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Parker.



Figs stuffed with paté de foie gras, crispy prosciutto and arborio rice with apricots.

Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Parker

Following lunch, we walked along the narrow streets of the old stone village, visiting galleries displaying paintings and sculptures created by local talent. The clock on the church tower reminded us that our day's journey was not complete.

We hurried on to our final destination,  Vaison-La-Romain. This ancient town boasts the ruins of the 12th century Chateau Comtal sitting on a hill high above the city. It also houses a bridge constructed by the romans which remains in use to this day.



Le Chateau Comtal



Zayra and myself on the street in Vaison-La-Romain.
Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Parker.

We explored the city until sunset, when we gave in to temptation by stopping at a local creperie for a snack and to quench our thirst with several bottles of Breton cidre.

Night had fallen, along with the temperatures by the time we made our way back to the car.  Our weekend had been a welcome break from the hard work of the previous five days.  We all wondered if we were ready to return to the fields for another six.



A weekend respite

Our apartment in St. Cecile les Vignes.

Sainte-Cécile-les-Vignes is the hometown to Domaine Rouge-Bleu.   For our two week experience, six of us are staying in some local apartments within walking distance of the town center. 

Our kitchen looks out onto the courtyard and vineyards next door.

In addition to the daily buzz of activity as grape filled trailers transport their loads to the town co-op for processing, locals and tourists alike flock to the Saturday marché, held on the street in the center of town.

Tables and booths display a bounty of products made in the surrounding area.  Bowls brimming with colorful olives and tapenades and salts mixed with Herbs de Provence draw one in for a closer look.  Bright yellow and red painted pottery catches the eye, while the fragrance of locally grown lavender competes with the rich aroma of chickens roasting on a spit.





The natives are friendly here, easily chattering with strangers about the particular items they have for sale.   They are proud of what they produce and are quick to point out exactly where their products are raised, sometimes even pulling out photos to better detail the steps involved in their operation.

A wagonload of grapes heading for the town's co-op.

One of my roomies, Zayra, and I,  were up early this Saturday morning so that we could visit the market before the crowds gathered. We grabbed a flaky, chocolate filled croissant and wandered through the stalls, oohing and aahing over fresh seafood, stacks of cheeses and enormous pans of shrimp filled paella being made on site.

Zayra thoroughly enjoys her pain au chocolate!

The tough work of the past week has made this day off a luxury. We decide to participate in another local tradition as we make our way to a nearby café for a steaming cup of cappuccino, which will go especially well with that second pain au chocolate!

It's what we do.......



Felicia and Daniel making quick work of this vine.

Friday arrived bringing with it a definite chill in the air as we headed off to the fields in a light drizzle.  We had been blessed with wonderful weather all week but were now starting to wonder if our luck had run out.  Suiting up in jackets and whatever raingear that we'd brought with us, we drove over to today's harvest site and braced for the worst.

Although the wind blew harshly, the clouds could only muster enough moisture to sprinkle a few drops our way.  By 1130, the sun came out and the jackets came off, as we settled into our by now normal routine.

"Don't you get bored, standing outside in the sun all day long doing such repetitive work?", some may ask.  I can't answer for all the others but for me, the hours seem to fly by.  I use the solitude and the silence as a time to listen to the wind blowing through the trees, letting it clear my mind of unwanted clutter.  Often I think about what I want to share on this blog.  At other times I let my mind wander as random thoughts take shape in my mind.

Because we work in close proximity to each other, often with two persons to a row, we are able to converse easily as we progress across the field in an even sweep.




Alexi carries the afternoon's entertainment on his back.

Sometimes, someone will break into song, be it in English or French, as music from the portable player in Alexi's backpack keeps us entertained.  Stories are told and advise is exchanged, while occasionally, an unusual insect is discovered, giving everyone an excuse to stop work for a moment as its name is translated into French and English.

We even learn some grape history, as Jean-Marc discusses the amount of time that it takes for a grape to reach maturity after the flower has dropped off the vine (100 days) or he answers questions about the lifespan of a vine (average age is 50-65 years although they can die earlier from disease or live more than 100 years, just like a person).





It's not blood this time, just the bright red juice of a grape.
photo by Elizabeth Parker

We do take breaks when we need a drink of water, a nibble on a cookie or a moment to stretch our backs when they become sore from bending over for too long.  We even have to bandage a finger now and then if we are careless with our secateurs and discover that the red running down our hand is something other than grape juice.

We work approximately four hours in the morning and four hours in the afternoon, with a two hour break inbetween, which is used for eating lunch, checking e-mail or having a quick snooze on the iron bed next to the pool.  Just the anticipation of the lunch which is prepared daily for us by Kristi, is enough to get us through the morning.

Work often slows down a little in the afternoon, as the after lunch drowsiness takes effect but soon we regain our rhythm and reapply ourselves once more to the task at hand.  At the end of the day, four or five of us help Jean-Marc with the crushing of the grapes, their transfer to one of the thirteen large concrete holding tanks and the cleanup of the area to get it ready for the next day's activities.

We usually make it back to the apartment between 7:00 and 8:00pm, shower, unwind with a glass of wine (or a bottle or two, maybe three) and have a light dinner before we drift off into a sound sleep.



photo by Elizabeth Parker



The Beauty Around Us

There is nothing quite like being utterly and completely filthy, sitting with four friends in a car being driven by a 20 year ol Frenchman, who is flying 100km per hour through the narrow lanes between vineyards, as French rap music blasts out of the open windows.

Looking as we did after finishing a hard but satisfying day's work, we were in no condition to make new acquaintances when we encountered Madame Hubert walking across the courtyard of the apartments upon our return.

She greeted us like her children, with hugs and a "bise" on each cheek, plus one extra. (This part of France follows the 3 kiss tradition upon greeting.) She quickly introduced us to her friend, a vibrant lady "of a certain age", who was her neighbor and had stopped by to pay her a visit while out riding her bicycle. Madame explained to me that she and her friend had known each other all of their lives, but since the village was small and everyone still lived there, this wasn't unusual.

I apologized for the dirt covering me from head to toe as I reached out to shake her friend's hand. No, no, no, Madame said as she waved her hands excitedly to put me as ease. "That is good!", she said. Dirt is good.... I puzzled.....hmmmmm, ohhh......DIRT IS GOOD! Looking at it from a different perspective, in the fact that I'd worked hard at a task that would ultimately bring pleasure to so many people........dirt IS good.

Then I thought back across the past few days, about the beauty that I would have missed had I not taken the time to look around me. There IS beauty in dirt, in the changing color of the leaves on the vine, in the heavy, rain filled clouds that threatened to soak us as we worked,





....in that one cluster of white grapes which dared to be different from the millions of other, darker clusters.......





There is a quiet beauty in the empty nest that I found tucked within the branches of a vine, as I searched it for hidden purple treasure.




The smell of a fresh, new morning as the sun streams across the fields, invites me to breath in this timeless beauty before the opportunity is lost and I have to clean the dirt from under my fingernails once more.

Winemaking 101

Sara, Jean-Marc and Daniel shifting the load in the grinder.

We're into the 3rd day and my body has finally realized that it will not get a break from the constant onslaught of bending and stooping. It tried to intimidate me with its aches and pains, stiffness and swelling but it received no mercy. There were to be no excuses to sit on the sidelines and let others do the work. As a matter of fact, the extra work seem to have helped and I've now turned the corner on my pain.

The knee is still causing difficulties, refusing to bend when it should so I do everything I can to remain in an upright position. We were working a different field today with different grapes, whose vines were trained upon wires stretching from one end of the field to the other. There is less crouching and most of the work is easily done standing. These are my favorite vines.

The Mistral died down for a day but the heat took its place. The heat in southern France is not of the same caliber that you would find in Arizona or Oklahoma. The brightess is intense but the temperatures are not. Wearing my sun visor hat and my long sleeves to avoid a burn, I could easily work all afternoon and not break an obvious sweat.

Sucking the crushed grapes up into the holding tank.

Our day starts at 0800 and ends somewhere between 5:30 and 6:00 PM, but the work doesn't stop when the buckets are emptied. Back at the farm, the most important work begins in the cave.



The cave contains all the concrete tanks that hold the grapes when they are brought in from the fields. The tanks are probably 15 feet high and each hold several days worth of crushed grapes.


The grapes are collected in a large, deep trailer which is pulled through the fields behind the tractor. An enormous screw running across the bottom of the trailer grinds the grapes to release the juice, much like the grape stomper did in years past. A large flexible hose, resembling that which is attached between a lav truck and an aircraft, is attached to the grinder and shoots the maserated grapes throught the tube and up into the holding tank chosen for that particular wine.

I hold the tube steady as Caroline aims the end into the tank.

Two people stand on top of the holding tanks and direct the stream of grapes into it. A small amount of sulfur solution is added to the mix to guard against oxidation when the bottle is opened. The grapes then sit the prescribed amount of time, depending on the wine being made. The final product will be drained from the bottom of the tank through a spigot.

The grapes are ground by the screw then are sucked into the hose.

The grinder is then hosed down, along with the concrete floor and grape crates which will be used the next day. This ritual is actually done twice a day, at noon, after the morning harvest and in the evening after the afternoon harvest. Jean-Marc can take an immediate sample of the wine at this point, to determine the sugar content of the grapes and get an idea of the future wine's final flavor.

The only thing left to do is grab a couple of bottles of wine from an earlier harvest and head back to our apartments, where we will enjoy the fruits of our labor before starting the process over again the next day.

Morning respose before hitting the fields.

The morning of the second day dawned all too quickly for those of us who were suffering from the stiff muscles of a backache caused by the constant stooping over the tops of the grapevines the previous day. It appeared that all of the exercising that I'd done over the past six months didn't stand up well to the exercise we'd received from just one day in the field. Over compensation by squatting and standing only added insult to injury. By the end of the day my knee decided to repay me for all the years of sports abuse it had taken by swelling up and refusing to play anymore.

Heading out to the fields.

The grapes wouldn't wait however and there was work to be done, so we all carried on. Team America was conspicuous by their silence this second morning, as the strength of the Mistral made the the cool morning seem even colder. Team France however, kept us going with their animated chatter, sometimes breaking out into what I imagined was a French harvest song, although reality told me that it was a contemporary tune.

The wind howled, our muscles ached and the occational nip of a finger with the sécateurs caused us to question our sanity for putting ourselves through such a exercise. All we had to do though was look around us at the beauty of the endless rows of grape filled vines, the profile of cypress trees in the distance and the ancient villages atop the hills which dotted the landscape in every direction, to knowt that we had made the right decision to come to this place.

Sore muscles are temporary but memories such as these will last a lifetime.

No grape left behind.....

Anticipating a full load of grapes from the afternoon's harvest.

Day One of Vendange 2010 began with an apology from Jean-Marc for all the things that he would do to us during the next two weeks. He might push us to work harder, he might raise his voice, he might be impatient.....he did say, after all, that this was going to be boot camp.

One could hardly blame him for any imagined irrational behavior, since these next two weeks would be the culmination of all of the work which had gone into the vineyard during the past year. It was important to him, therefore, it was important to us.

Boot camp is a learning experience and we learned plenty that first day.

1. "Sécateur" is the French word for clipper.

2. Cut the grape cluster off the vine close to the base of the fruit.

3. Be sure to look for every grape on the vine....leave no grape behind as they are precious.

4. Check on the ground around every vine for any grapes which may have blown off the vine during the Mistral

5. Keep the shriveled grape clusters. They don't add juice but they do add flavor to the wine. Even a little dirt is okay.

6. Pick all the leaves and weeds out of the harvest bucket before dumping the grapes into the truck

7. Change positions frequently while cutting.

8. Don't run with sécateurs (actually, I made that one up, but it's probably a good idea.)

That's me in my full sun protection gear.

The harvest team was made up of Team France, four ladies who had worked the Rouge-Bleu harvest in previous years, along with a young man who was interning in the wine business; and Team America, five gals and a guy who had no vendange experience whatsoever but were keen to learn.

As would be imagined, Team France's harvesting skills were impressive. These four gals and guy could work a field quicker than a Frenchman could make his way around a crowded room with a kiss for every cheek.

We were envious but this wasn't a competition, so we didn't mind the obvious gap in performance. Our rival team even finished up our rows for us after they had done theirs, thus cementing Franco-American relations.

The first four hours flew by quickly and we really appreciated the French custom of the two hour lunch. Kristi and Jean-Marc provided pizza, pate, cheese, baguettes and several salad selections. Rouge-Bleu wines and beer on tap rounded out the luncheon menu.

The Teams, getting ready to hit the field.

When we returned to the field, we moved into the grand-daddy of the vines, the Grenache. These vines had been here for 77 years and were as gnarly as you would expect a 77 year old to be. The vines were low producers (I would be too at that age) but the tase was sweet when I slipped a few of the dusty blue grapes into my mouth.

We were warned that this field would be more difficult to harvest due to the grapes growing lower to the ground hidden under a dense cover of leaves. It was. For the rest of the afternoon we groveled and stooped, knowing that our bodies would betray us by the next morning. They did.

After the grapes had been crushed and stored in the concrete vats, we headed back to the apartments for a shared meal prepared by the men in our entourage. Four bottles of wine later (graciously donated by Jean-Marc and Kristi), we were back at our apartments before midnight, grateful that we had made it through the first day.

Prelude to a harvest

A quiet scene in the town of Tulette.

The day was a busy one at domaine Rouge-Bleu and the harvest didn't officially start until tomorrow. Jean-Marc and one of my fellow harvesters, Daniel, were busy cleaning the wine making equipment and tidying the area in anticipation of the arrival of the rest of the crew.


We had volunteers from California, Illinois, Arizona, Australia, Scotland, myself from Oklahoma and several from various areas in France, all converging upon this organic vineyard via the proverbial "trains, planes and automobiles". Among our group were a professional photographer and teacher, a student, bartender, wine seller, wine making intern and numerous other professions, who had come together to work the fields, share their stories and find a common bond in spite of any language barriers.


Before the others began to arrive, Kristi and I had the opportunity to visit the nearby town of Tulette, which is in the middle of the wine making area of the Rhone Valley. Its ancient stone buildings dated back to the 12th century, with pastel facades and clay tile roffs completing the picturesque scene.

A view from the window of our apartment.

Nearby, were our apartments where the seven of us would be staying for the two week long harvest. The rooms were comfortable, well appointed and full of the warm ambiance normally associated with the Mediterranean area of France. Soon after settling in, we were invited downstairs to the courtyard for drinks by the owners of the apartments, Monsieur Hubert and his madame, a colorful couple in their late 70's or early 80's.

We spent a spirited hour or more discussing our lives, politics, families and the monsier's experiences during WWII, while he used this time to "size" us up and ultimately declare us to be "aimiable", thus giving us the seal of approval to stay within his walls.

With pastis and other French aperitifs flowing freely, M. Hubert's speech became more animated, picking up speed with every drink he consumed. His wife finally convinced him to leave the table at the same time that Jean-Marc arrived to take us back to the vineyard for a pizza party to open the 2010 harvest season.

With wines from previous harvests flowing, we mingled with new friends as we polished off close to 20 pizzas, various crudites, salad and dessert. Jean-Marc gave us an impromptu tour of the wine "cave", where the just harvested rose was fermenting and where we would be spending part of the next two weeks.

The evening soon wound to a close and we all drifted back to our temporary homes to prepare for the 8am start to our new adventure.

A view of the vineyards from the house.

Enjoying a pastis with M. Hubert and the Mrs.

Making tracks to the South

I'm finally at my journey's end, having arrived at the vineyard of my friends, Kristi, Jean-Marc and their children, Max and Jackie. It was a six hour journey which began at the train station in Rennes, connected through the city of Lyon and ended with a sigh of relief as Jean-Marc met me at the station in Orange.

Mark and I drove the almost two hours from Lannion to Rennes this morning, having just enough time for a coffee (hot chocolate for me) before making the mad dash to the train's platform. Since the actual "voie" is not announced until the train pulls into the station, all the passengers wait upstairs, hovering around the television monitors until the departure track is posted on the screen. At the appointed moment, the crowd moves in mass, either to the only elevator or to the massive staircase, which leads to the departure area below.

Luckily, since I was riding the TGV (high speed train) between Rennes and Lyon, I had my own specially assigned seat so there was no need to hurry once I'd made it to the correct train. The TGV is the SST of the French rail system and travels smoothly and quietly along the tracks at speeds up to 300 km per hour. As a bit of trivia, once the brakes are applied at this speed, it takes the train 3.2 km to stop. Luckily they did not need to test the accuracy of this statement on today's ride.




I imagine, however, that they may have had to take our particular "car" out of service once it reached Lyon, since the window on the opposite side of my seat decided to explode while we were enroute. Even with my Bose headphones in place, I still heard the impact of whatever it was which smacked into the glass. The two fellows sitting next to the glass looked over at me with eyes as big as saucers while I tried to figure out what had just happened. I thought it was a spray of water that was covering the window until we moved into the sunlight and then I could see that the glass had been completely fractured, although it still hung intact in the frame of the window.

A train agent quickly appeared and ushered the passengers, who had been sitting next to the window, to a safer area upstairs. Those of us on the opposite side of the aisle were left to keep an eye on the damage, hoping that it didn't decide to weaken over time and fly in our direction.





The connection in Lyon was as smooth as glass is supposed to be. I made the dash to the next train with the skill of a native, using an elbow here and stepping on a foot there. No reservations on the TER, but empty seats were plentiful as I made my way halfway along the car and settled into a window seat.

I counted the stops until I'd gotten to the eighth one, which was my stop at Orange. The announcements sounded as if they were being issued through a string and a tin can, so I verified the station with a passenger seated near the door, just to be sure I didn't miss my stop.

Following the "sortie" sign, I descended a long flight of steps, then just as quickly, ascended an even longer one, all the while trying to bounce my baggage along each step. The French apparently don't believe in moving walkways or escalators.....maybe that's why they stay so slim.

It was a welcome sight seeing Jean-Marc appear at the top of the staircase and even more welcoming when he took my bag the rest of the way out of the station, heading toward the car.

A warm greeting awaited me with hugs and a glass or two of the famous wine, who's grapes we were soon to harvest in just over 24 hours.