Les Vendages

No one had to announce the commencement of the grape harvest for us this year. Apparently they ripened early - by almost a full month. Normally, the valley isn't full of the sound of tractors and harvesting machines until sometime in the first few weeks in October. But one mid-September morning, the vineyards came alive with people, cars, trucks, tractors, trailers, and this, the tall, narrow and intimidating harvesting machine:

I wish I fully understood how it works. Somehow, it removes the grapes, which hang in clusters along the bottom of the vines. Then the glorious, plump bunches travel up escalator-like conveyor belts to the top, where something happens to them involving round paddle-wheels. The harvester machine travels up and down the rows until it is full, upon which it then empties its load into a trailer towed by a tractor. When the trailer is full, it transports the grapes back to chez vigneron (the winemaker's house).

We were somewhat disappointed to discover that most of the grapes in this region are harvested using this method. Besides really putting a cramp in my style (I definitely had images of "A Walk in the Clouds" taking place in our front yard), it was confusing my poor daughter. Every time we passed a vineyard (which meant every time we stepped outside) Vivi would ask, "Mom, when are we going to pick grapes? I really wanna pick grapes." Apparently, our frequent visits to Butternut & Riverside Farms have her convinced self-service is the way farms normally work. Admittedly though, I wanted to pick some grapes too. So I began asking around. This led me on a wild-goose chase which, honest-to-God, landed me in the town hall of all places. I found myself one month into my French-improvement trying to ask the Mayor's secretary if she thought any of the vignerons who pick by hand would allow my family and me to help out for a day. Once she managed to understand my mumblings, she quickly produced a three-page spreadsheet of the local grape-growers and highlighted all the ones she thought still harvest some of their crops par main. Out of the Forty-Seven winemakers in Cravant-les-Coteaux (you know, that *small* village of roughly 750 inhabitants), I now had a list of some 15+ who might be willing to let us tag along. "Appelez-les," she said. Oh yes. Call them. What a perfect idea. That way, they can stand around with a phone to their ear for twenty minutes while I try to find ways to get my phone-nerves under control so I can ask if we can pick some grapes. Then they can stand around for another twenty minutes while I try to comprehend their reply without the assistance of visual cues. Brilliant idea.

Lucky for me, their street addresses were also listed. Even luckier for me, two of the highlighted names I actually recognized from signs right down the street from our house! After studying up on the necessary vocab, I was ready to find us some grapes to cut! I stopped at the first house and marched into the courtyard looking for the "degustation" room. Most every winemaker has one of these on their property - a room where visitors can get samples of their products before buying. A woman greeted me and looked very curious when I explained I had a "un question en peu bizarre." She laughed and agreed that having a 6 & 8 year old harvesting grapes along side their workers was a bizarre notion indeed. "We work too fast. It is not possible. But would you like to try some wine?"
Hmph. No. I didn't. What I wanted was to pick some grapes with my family. So, I politely refused the free wine (stop looking so shocked) and moved on to the next florescent name on my list, which happened to be about 100 yards down the street at Patrick Lambert's.

I was greeted by a slim, tall, older gentleman with a warm smile. He patiently allowed me to explain my visit in my broken French and seemed to enjoy watching me work so hard, but not in a mean way. He asked me why we wanted to do this thing and I explained because we are here, in wine country and it just seemed necessary for really understanding and appreciating life in Cravant. Bien sur!

He was very happy to oblige this silly American family. Success!! We made our arrangements, I prayed I got the details right, and two weeks later we met up with Monsieur Lambert and his workers in a field of vines heavy with gorgeous grapes. We were handed four pairs of pruning sheers and two buckets and we were each in turn told to "coupe les vines, pas les doigts." Actually, I am pretty sure every single harvester gave us this indisputable advice at least once. I am happy to announce we cut all sorts of vines and not a bit of finger.

The kids did great. From what I could tell, we didn't slow the workers down a bit. But maybe they were just being nice and hiding that fact. We spent a too-short two hours before we had to get David back to work. We all loved it. We got a taste of some grapes and promised to return after harvest season for a degustation (which sadly has yet to happen). All in all, it proved to be a fantastic memory-making event from start to finish. I'm so glad I persevered and I'm so grateful for Monsieur Lambert's generous hospitality.