Highway to Hell

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Finishing the tucking in in the far field should have been cause for celebration. As I climbed through the electric fence, having passed row upon row of tidy (okay, let’s not get carried away, I mean not entirely junglified) vines on my way home, I couldn’t help feeling a wary nibble of uncertainty chipping away at my good mood.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. In their natural habitat, vines have evolved to have their fruit eaten from the vine by the top end of birds and the seeds deposited elsewhere from the bottom end, preferably somewhere near a tree. In turn, that seed grows into a vine. Presuming that the poor thing doesn’t fall victim to the accursed rabbits and deer, the vine will thrive, go in search of lots of the sunshine – climbing up the tree in the process – until it eventually swamps the poor old tree, and wipes the pair of them out in the process. We saw some Vitis Vinifera (wine species) vines doing this to some huge Eucalyptus trees in Turkey once, it’s remarkable how big regular vines can get.

Sharp eyed readers will have noticed that the trellising at Chateau Huxbear is rather smaller than enormous Eucalyptus trees, so how does that work? Well, the wine cognoscenti would have you believe that people all over Europe spent generation after generation looking for the most utterly wonderful piece of land on which to plant vines, tasting the wines at each potential site until alighting on the perfect spot. I suspect that they spent as long looking for stony land that was rough enough so that they didn’t have to spend all of their time hacking away at a field full of triffids. In fairness the truth is probably somewhere in the middle, but the best land for vines is rarely of much use as anything else.

After a winter’s work hacking away at the previous year’s growth and having planted the vines in a carefully selected site*, the vines still need some attention throughout the growing season. Tucking in comes from when the discerning vigneron would wander around the vines tucking the extraneous shoots into the wires of the trellising. Tucking in now usually involves moving a wire that lives beneath the growing part of the vine in the winter up the post to a hook above where the shoots are growing, lifting all of them into place in one go. It is hard to overstate quite how satisfying watching a tangled mess of shoots turn into gorgeous row of vines is. I’d recommend turning up at your local vineyard and having a go, but you have to have spent three years having a bash at doing it the old fashioned way and failing miserably to enjoy the full effect.

*Don’t let your correspondent’s levity fool you entirely, he spent literally hours going cross eyed in front of Ordnance Survey, geological and soilscape maps before pulling the trigger on the purchase of this particular bit of land. Honest.

“So why all the confusion, it sounds like you should be absolutely punishing a gin and tonic in celebration” I hear you cry. Well, for starters, the weather is still sub-tropical and probably better suited to ale, and secondly, when I arrived home and checked our progress with last season’s dates, we are miles ahead of where we were this time last year. I smell a rat, because this never happens. It was while I was looking for that rat that I stumbled over the new – well, new to us – sprayer that had tiptoed its way past militant French people at Calais all the way to our vineyard! Glory be! In fairness, the sprayer probably accounts for a good bit of our additional progress this year, and it actually had a dead rabbit under it until the dog found it yesterday, which probably accounts for the eau de rat.

Given the shenanigans of the ferry workers, the delivery of the sprayer was fairly uneventful until it reached Devon. We had it delivered to our ever patient and willing farming friend who is fortunate enough to own land on a road that is worthy of the name and I arrived in time to see him carefully extracting it from the delivery wagon with his enormous tractor. Once the delivery documents were signed and I had stopped weeping at the thought of tossing my backpack sprayer in the bin, I was instructed to go away and return with my rather smaller vineyard tractor so the sprayer might be attached to it in preparation for action.

Logistically this is probably more of a problem that it might first appear. While the tractor itself moves around freely enough, it was manufactured when I was two, has a top speed of under twenty miles an hour and I was about to take it out on the sort of road that is frequented by young chaps who will invariably enviably plant their massively exhausted motorised discotheque into at least one of the fields. But then again, it is holiday season, and who can say that they have had the full Devonian experience without having a near death experience with a tractor?

I enjoyed myself enormously on the road, it made a fascinating change from driving around in a field. I was actually feeling quite disappointed when I turned back onto our lane and bid farewell to my new friends in the line of traffic that had formed behind me; who were doubtless as amused as I was that right hand indicator appeared to have stopped working causing me to apparently stop in the middle of the road for no discernible reason. Fine times! I could even see them all earnestly ordering two bottles of wine each with their hands on my way back up our lane.

On its first outing it became apparent that the sprayer was worth the harrowing journey, making mincemeat of the big field in about three hours – a job that is pretty much a couple of days work this time of year when one has factored in the associated procrastination. I whizzed around the smaller field in the afternoon and even managed to fit a spot of grass cutting in before clocking off and was feeling so self satisfied and smug by the end of the day that I assumed that I’d turned into Piers Morgan or something. I can now only imagine how awesome it is to have one of those tractors that cut the grass and spray the vines at the same time; that’d leave me loads of time to repair all the things that I’d smashed into while attempting to do two things at once.

Ooh, before I sign off, I’d like to thank you for keeping your fingers crossed. Although the weather has been less than stellar over the period of flowering – it has been threatening to rain pretty much throughout – it never actually got around to actually raining and the vines are now through flowering and out of the season ending danger zone. Which is as well, because at the time of writing, it’s absolutely lashing down.

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