This was the fifth day of picking. I think. Harvesting, your
world shrinks and time becomes a vague thing. You just focus on getting through
to lunch. Then after lunch you focus on getting through to dinner. You vaguely
know that outside your little world there are things i.e. party conferences and
elections happening. But they seem so far away and quite irrelevant.
The weather gods amuse themselves with us. Today we'd just
started and it began to sheet down. Scary. But it was just a tease. After five
mins it stopped and we were dry till 'midi'.
Today was the lowest, dampest vineyard. It had some rot. Some
grapes had gone furry. But we've seen worse.
A little shake and the affected grapes mostly drop off. So we lose some.
And it slows us.
After lecturing all the newbies about never snipping where
they can't see, I forget my own rules and snip open my little finger. Idiot.
This vineyard has mint growing as a weed between the vines.
Peppermint. Lovely. Peppermint Vineyard.
Actually called Le Grand Pre.
At lunch, sit with the older ones. Including our retired
farmer Guy, father of Olivier our farmer, husband of Bernadette, our cook. We compare aches. The French talk about old
folks 'Tamalou' lunches: “t'a mal ou?”
… where do you hurt? It's chicken stuffed with cepes. A big favourite. And Mark's latest bottling from the chai. Off
the machine this morning 'Pierres Dorés'. Carcassone Chardonnay.
Lovely dinner for 19 … cooked by the lads: sausages in
piperade - the basque tomato and peppers sauce.
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