One hundred years ago when I last updated this blog, things were going pretty well. Suspiciously well. We would have liked a bit more heat, but the sun was shining as much as it ever does and everything was looking set for a smooth transition into the harvest season, interspersed with the occasional foray into the vineyards in the venerable tractor to murder the sneaky and underhanded mildew. Confidently predicting some lazy summer afternoons with a respectable gin and tonic count, I marched out into the fields armed with a pair of secateurs with canopy management aforethought.
Half an hour later, I was sat quietly in a darkened room. We have had disasters before – I suspect more than our fair share, but concede that lots of people probably share this notion – and have immediately rolled up our collective sleeve and assaulted adversity; but on this occasion, I didn’t even know where to start.
I’ll get to the point. Lucy called me on my way over to the far field to tell me that there had been a couple of the trellis end posts that had fallen over in the wind the previous night, taking the first few posts in the row with them. This is nothing new as we have had this problem in gales before – there are a litany of complaints about modern pressure treated timber on this very forum (it snaps at the slightest provocation, i.e. some wind and some rain). What was unusual was that the contents of the garden (garden furniture and a menagerie of plastic animals that have been carefully stored in the rain by the children for safe keeping) hadn’t been reorganised and distributed around the valley overnight.
The couple of demolished end posts in the near field was the tip of the iceberg. Something, and now I don’t want to be too hyperbolic here, let’s call it a tornado, had whipped through the middle of Chardonnay and knocked about a dozen complete rows flat. I had just about enough time to hurl some invective at it before running away to have a nice think about what on earth we were going to do in my darkened room. For the record, if a untimely tornado comes and demolishes your vineyard, the appropriate course of action is not to abuse it or ignore it. You must ask your wife to borrow a van and fill it with posts, and then spend a couple of weeks banging those posts into the rock hard summer soil while attempting to retain the will to live.
On the literal and metaphorical leeward side of that accursed day, things are starting to calm down a little. Well, other than one of the cars starting to belch black smoke. And the little generator blowing up. And the pick-up resisting all attempts at resuscitation. But since tornado season appears to have disappeared for the moment, we have been able to mostly repair the trellising, and the engine problems; by cleverly interpreting that peculiar Englishese* that is written all over the instruction manuals of Chinese spare parts and picking the brains of our more technically minded friends. Obviously the pick-up isn’t working so we can use it to transport the grapes to the winery for harvest yet, but I feel sure that something wonderful will happen presently, I’m just not yet entirely sure what. But it will probably involve the tractor and a tow rope.
*In fairness to our Oriental chums and their eccentric translators, the knob that I wasn’t twiddling, but should have been, was clearly marked in plain English in capital letters. Once I did identify it, I proceeded to twiddle it the wrong way. Arguably, I should seek help for my pathological inability to consult qualified people to repair our broken things.
When not elbow deep in engine oil and whining incessantly, we have been quite busy. The growing season finished off fairly nicely – regular wall to wall blue skies have been the order of the play, at the cost of the colder air from the northerly wind that has been ushering them in. Predictably, this has caused a certain amount of logistical havoc for harvesting. I have never seen it in a text book – I do read them, promise – but in my experience, colder and sunnier weather generally causes the red/black grapes to ripen more quickly (presumably as they absorb more of the sunlight), whereas warmer and cloudier weather appears to favour the whites. Or maybe everything ripens at the same rate when it’s cloudy, whatever the case, the acidity is low and the sugars high in the red berries and the opposite is true for the whites – although they are finally starting to turn the corner after some fairly aggressive leaf stripping*. Which should make the logistics of harvest interesting to say the least.
*Leaf stripping is probably less exciting than it sounds. The diligent vigneron marches up and down the rows, removing the leaves from around the bunches of grapes to allow the sunlight in, expediting the ripening process.
At the time of writing, we have harvested all of the German varieties and have made varietal wines from the Bacchus and Siegerrebe that are already clear and pretty well ready to go – we have been performing a certain amount of wine tank harvesting (that’d be tasting them) in any event and are pleased with the results. I manfully picked the Schönburger on my own yesterday after discovering that a pheasant had a taken a liking to it, and we were understandably keen to prevent any of his mates coming over and finishing them off.
In typical 2015 fashion, the ripeness of the Schönburger was all over the place. Some of it was very ripe indeed (hence the attention of the pheasant) and some of it wasn’t terribly ripe at all. As it wasn’t practical to pick on multiple occasions, we are going to experiment with grape drying this year.
You might have heard of grape drying before if you are a fan of wines from Valpolicella (especially Amarone) where they leave their grapes out in the sun to dry. This almost certainly happens under gin clear skies in tropical heat in the middle of August, as the weather is almost exactly the same here at the moment (actual frost on the ground the other morning), you will imagine what has given me the idea. The reason why our Latin colleagues do this is to concentrate the juice that comes out of the grapes – as the drying removes some of the water, but none the flavour or sugar.
We have been meaning to have a bash at this for a couple of years. In my brain this was going to happen with several tonnes of perfectly ripe Pinot Noir as opposed to the bit of indifferently ripe Schönburger that is currently cowering from the cold on a pallet under a polythene sheet, but one does what one can. I will also be interested to see if it turns into on big hornet’s nest or if I find a recalcitrant dog buried waist deep in it before we entrust the mother load to the spasmodic Devonian sunshine.
Speaking of mother loads, we are picking the big field next week; wish us luck!