Final Grapes Of The Season

Cold. Our last grapes of the year arrived after dark last night following a long day’s pick trudging up & down the hills to the west. Actually, the grapes would have arrived by mid-afternoon had Mr. Osgood & his crew not stopped for beer so frequently, to ward off the heat he explained. It was cold; very cold.

Cabernet Sauvignon, were the grapes. The date of pick was November 10^th. A very, very late year. Now to ferment, or foment as the case may be, & then to slide into barrel; the last of it for 2011.

Most people view yeast & other beasties (AKA, microorganisms) as being more or less a catalytic participant in the making of wine. Not so. They live the seasons, & sense the shortening days, & hence to bed, to sleep, & perhaps to dream until sap rises in the Spring. I suspect that last night’s Cabernet will only complete a portion of its journey, its transmutation into wine, before the beasties decide it’s time for slumber. Sweet juice in barrel, but I’m confident that the party will begin anew with the new year’s bud break.

A mirror of the transition can be seen, appropriately, in last night’s de-stemming of the grapes. The dark scene:

The final bin being dumped:

It was supposed to be raining by morning, but the dawn broke with glory:

 

With a view towards the north-east through the trees:

Rain this afternoon, they say, & that too seems meet, fit, & appropriate.