He said a little bit of shrivel is fine

It's that time of the year again.  A time of high tension, as all eyes are on the weather forecast and on the grape vines. Harvest is all done and dusted in most areas, but here in Gibbston Valley there's still a lot of fruit waiting to be picked.
We had a doozy of a frost last night. I was lying in bed listening to the annoying drone of the neighbours' wind machines (imagine the sound of a small plane taxi-ing in circles outside your house), and all I could think about was the gwertz hanging in The Vineyard. Hope it's surviving okay.  At least the sun has come out now and the ground is no longer white with frost.

We've been harvesting in The Vineyard for the last week or so, working our way through ten hectares of luscious fruit.  If you think picking grapes is a job any monkey could do, I have news for you.  We handpick, checking every bunch for any sign of nasties that could affect the wine. You're trying to pick as quickly as possible, while keeping a close eye on quality, usually standing in an uncomfortable position, and doing your best not to let your bucket of grapes fall over (we've been picking the hill block).  An added challenge for me is to NOT cut my fingers.  Last year I think I sliced four fingers in the first three days, this year I've picked for seven days and not cut anything.  Of course now I've written that, I'll no doubt slash a couple this afternoon.

Conversations at harvest time are interesting.  It must be the only time a man can say he doesn't mind a little bit of shrivel - we're talking grapes of course. This is also the time I spend full days working alongside the guys from Vanuatu, listening to them talk in their own language.  Some of it is a form of pigeon english, so I kinda understand what's going on.  Sometimes they argue about how many bins of fruit we've picked so far, I don't bother counting.  Instead I just plead with The Boss to tell me we're on the last one for the day. 

Anyway, dispite the aching muscles, the bruises and the scratches, I definitely get a buzz out of being involved in this crucial part of the vineyard year.  There will be a huge sense of satisfaction when the last bucket is emptied, and the tanks and barrels are all full of liquid gold.

What I've learnt recently:
1. My chickens have become daily visitors to the Winery at the other end of our driveway.  They line up to be fed grapes and lunchtime leftovers.  How embarrassing.
2. Pinecone the frizzle roo has been woo-ing my wee Silkie bantam. He appears to have a little competition from Prince Charming, but I think he's doing okay.
3. Golden Pheasants are happy to cruise around outside in subzero temperatures. I think they're nuts.
4. Piggles LOVE grapes.  Maybe it has something to do with the high sugar content, or maybe they enjoy the sophistication of dining on pinot noir. These porkers are going to taste divine!