I wake up to the rooster’s crow. Not because a rooster is crowing, but because my alarm is Jason Mraz’s “Back to the Earth” and that is how the song starts. No living roosters are crowing, because they are not up yet. Like good, Godly creatures they wait for the sun. I’ll hear them in an hour or so. Bernhard, more affectionately known as Bernie, is already awake, I can hear the creak in the floorboards of his 200 year old house as he ascends to the kitchen on the third floor to start the coffee. In ten minutes work clothes are donned, face is washed (so part of me can feel clean), and hiking boots are strapped on. The next few minutes are spent reminding Oliver he has to get up, then brushing the knots and dried grape juice from my hair, while he goes through the same sequence. We ascend to the kitchen to find Bernhard awaiting us. Most mornings we spend eating in half silence with a few scattered sentences, sleepy eyes drinking in our coffee.

The morning drive is one of my favorite parts of the day. Bernhard’s truck, which is more like a utility van by American standards, seems ready to fall apart for all its squealing and rattling. We tip our hats towards the mayor’s house as we screech past it, hoping he doesn’t know which citizen is providing such a gratuitous wake up call. And we are on our way to those precious vines. As we drive the world slowly brightens, and after 20 minutes and one final ascent we reach the top of the hill before Bernhard’s vineyard, Domain Lanye-Barrac, The sun is rising before us. Some days are darker, full of clouds with barely any rays coming through, some cloudless with just the slow ascensions of colors, and then mornings like today. Clouds haphazardly scattered across the horizon, reflecting back a multitude of purples and pinks along with the yellows and blues of the dawn. Bernie, Oliver and I all lean forward in the seats to take in more sky through the windshield. That moment is worth waking up in the dark most every time. (I say most, because some days sleep is far more precious than sunrise.)

Turning into the dirt drive we see our fellow pickers have already arrived, as their cars can take windy mountain roads at a speed far faster than the Berniemobile. Chloe, her partner Ben, and his cousin Gaetan are stomping the butts of their first cigarettes of the morning into the stony ground. Adeline and Morgan, gypsy style travelers camping at the river for the harvest, are leaning against Adeline’s vibrant red, mini-camper van, having already finished their cigarettes on the drive. Finally, Ivan and Cami. After a couple weeks of carting 45 kilos on his back everyday, Ivan is wrapping his back with some support. Cami is attempting to reign in their dog Chopie, who is whimpering in excitement for another day in the fields with his mom, and Bernhard’s dog, Syrah. Some days others are here: Melanie’s cousin, Bernhard’s sisters, and childhood best friends have all joined at some point for the vendange.

“Sous” (buckets) are distributed, clippers are chosen, and Bernhard directs us to which parcel we shall take today. The morning is cold and my fingers are slow to warm up to the nimble work of clipping the cluster from its stem and dropping it into the bucket. Bernhard practices organic/natural farming so his vineyard isn’t just full of grapes, it’s full of life. Grasses grow between the rows, leaving behind lots and lots of burrs on my clothes as we push through. Everyday we see praying mantis, grasshoppers, bees, wasps, and the largest array of spiders I have seen. Chopie and Syrah weave through the group of us as we pick, seeking those dropping grapes so they can gobble them up. Good vineyard dogs like grapes. When my bucket is full I stand and shout “Sous!’. In response I hear “Oui!” and see Ivan and the giant green bucket on his back bobbing up and down through the fields as he makes his way towards me. I pass the weight of the grapes onto Ivan, who will eventually pass it on to the trailer or bins we are currently filling.

And thus it goes. As the sun rises my fingers warm and begin to move quickly. As the sun continues to rise we shed layers, nearly everyone grabs a cigarette, and we keep cutting. By noon we are sweaty and sticky from the sneak attack with grapes that Adeline is bound to launch on us each. Someone may be bleeding from cutting themselves instead of the grapes and someone else is nursing a bee sting. If you are really unlucky you are both of those someones. (Like I was on day two.) It is the early afternoon when we call it a day, after collectively cutting 3-4 tons of grapes. Buckets are stacked together, clippers dropped into one, to all receive their daily washing from Ivan. We pile into Chloe and Ben’s ramshackle car and Oliver and I both pray the entire way home that we don’t die. The drive home is the scariest part of my day. Bernie’s car is big and slow and therefore feels safe. Theirs is small and zippy and they test its limits around those corners the whole way home. But then Gaetan brings up Game of Thrones and my anxiety is relieved while we debate WHO will be the other two to ride the dragons with Daenerys and the differences between the books (which Oliver and I are reading) and the show (which they are watching).

Crossing the bridge back into Ceps my body relaxes with relief, we are back home. The evening ahead will be wiled away with a mix of reading, hiking, playing Monopoly deal, cuddling with their cat Zed while I miss Sheldon, and far too little of writing for this blog. Most importantly Oliver and I will sit by our favorite spot at the river and reflect on this time that we are here, this style of life, and refine the vision that we want for our future together. There is a fifty-fifty chance on our walk back from the river tonight that one of Bernie’s neighbors will be outside having their “appero” and we will join them for a beer, or two, or maybe even three if Remy starts asking us about US politics again. We will fall asleep early tonight, sore but happy, and ready to do it all over again tomorrow.

Good morning Ceps.
Good morning Ceps.
The best sunrise was saved for our last morning of the vendange.
The best sunrise was saved for our last morning of the vendange.

Syrah & Chopie. Chopie found himself quite the bone to distract him from eating grapes.
Syrah & Chopie. Chopie found himself quite the bone to distract him from eating grapes.
Picking those grapes
Picking those grapes
By the end Ivan was taking a quick nap every chance he could.
By the end Ivan was taking a quick nap every chance he could.
Oliver "testing" the grapes
Oliver “testing” the grapes
Beautiful grapes
Beautiful grapes
The crew during the last lunch break
The crew during the last lunch break
Melanie & little Siena.
Melanie & little Siena.

Loading up the buckets behind the tractor
Loading up the buckets behind the tractor
You should all see my tan line from 3 weeks of this... my back is rocking a coppertone baby look.
You should all see my tan line from 3 weeks of this… my back is rocking a coppertone baby look.
This is why Ivan needs so many naps...that's a lot of grapes to haul around.
This is why Ivan needs so many naps…that’s a lot of grapes to haul around.

117 thoughts on “Un Journée dans la Vendange (A Day in the Grape Harvest)”

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