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Grape Picking

There are still a few things that I will set my alarm for a 6:30 wake up call on a cold, wet winter morning to report in by 9, and one of them is a community picking party of the last grapes on the vine for ice wine. This was the most fun I’ve had in a while; I think sloshing around in the rain and the mud made it even better, and all of it was punctuated with passionate singing for each stage of the process from the men’s wine choir in prayer-like tones to seemingly to bless the event, the harvest and maybe even a blessing for us hardly-working happy pickers for a good vintage year ahead.


We were consistently shown appreciation with goblets of warm mulled red wine to keep warm on the inside and smiling as we clipped the small, little, sweet, white grapes and brought them down to press for a taste of the most magnificent and magical very special, yet complex and earthy, fresh grape juice. This is a yearly event, I only hope next year we may have some sun, but then again would the wine taste as good or the community feel as warm if it weren’t for the clouds and rain?






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