What I learned from my trip to the vineyard

So what did I learn from the seven days spent working on a vineyard?

I learned through hard manual labor the great strength of nature, particularly on a small scale. Weeds that defied a copper weed whacker blade or the full force of my torso with a sickle or spade: brambles of blackberry so dense and tangled that ten minutes of hearty striking could not fully break through: nine hours of work to barely alter a portion of the landscape, and only for the few months, weeks, or even days until nature would grow back, even stronger than before. I, along with the kind-spirited Giovanni, 23 year-old oenology student from Salerno, mused with respectful awe that six months of neglect would turn this farm right back into a forest, leaving no trace of all the grooming effort we had put forth.

I learned, therefore, to appreciate a well-groomed and meticulously maintained plot of land. It is a constant struggle, and even difficult on the soul, as one must ruthlessly destroy and worship the land, often simultaneously.

Once again, and not for the last time, I remembered to be appreciative of those who produce my food and drink, especially those who do so on a truly organic farm - and I emphasize truly, as many secretly cut corners while no one is looking. That higher price you pay is for the farmer who, respecting tradition, goes to great lengths to produce a competitive product without the aid of many of technology's most tempting tools. We who grow up and live far from the farm will, through no fault of our own, tend to forget with what toil and paternal care our produce arrives at the supermarket, shiny, ripe, and without any bruises. However, while it is forgivable to forget these things, it is our duty to every so often return to the land and once again understand through our direct labor the value of our food. That is a lesson I hope never to forget.

I learned that efficiency not only saves time, as it does in an office, but also means saving your body from excessive soreness or exhaustion.

I learned that regardless of your industry or labor, work well done is satisfying to the soul and pleasing to the eye.

I learned to recognize and identify Beethoven's first ten piano sonatas, a total of 35 movements, a most satisfying example of multi-tasking if there ever was one. Along this same (melodic) line, I realized blissfully that I will always associate these sonatas with this phase in my life (except for no. 8, the Pathetique, whose associations go back to being 16), as they had been hitherto "un-earmarked."

Most immediately to my current condition, I re-learned to thank my lucky stars for my absolute freedom. Not since the start have I so fully recognized with heartfelt emotion my complete liberty: I wake up when I wake up, I buy what I want to eat, I decide where I want to go, when I want to leave, which path to take, when to take a break, if I want to nap on the ground, eat, read, write, or continue, where I want to pause, how far I want to go, when to stop, where and when to sleep, where and what to eat, and what to do with my time in between walking, eating, and sleeping. What a heavenly paradise I have carved for myself here in these most precious of days! There is nothing like seven days of labor, 70 hours of toil with someone to direct your time, to make you appreciate so deeply a walk like the one I have undertaken... except maybe 10 days of the same, or five years, and so on... but we will just stick to what I have learned here, eh?

Through Tito, Liu, and Benjo, three of the most loving, playful, and affectionate black lab mutts, I learned that dogs make excellent work companions. The shovel feels lighter when a puppy chases the clumps of compost as they fall. I was constantly giggling with these three, puppy, mother, and grandfather/father, whether it was the daily game of trying to tie my shoes as they nudged my hands onto their heads for petting, or the way they jockeyed for position (two hands for three dogs... grrrr), or the way they "helped me work" like little children. Man's best friend is no false appellation for this beautiful species.

Finally, I learned to appreciate wine, the process of making it, the intricacies of selling it, and the nitty-gritty of imbuing it with high quality. I cut with my own hands thousands of bunches, fingers sticking together after nine hours of grape juice bursts. I sampled the different grapes, noting the particular qualities in each variety. I saw the stems, dirt, leaves, insects, weeds, and rotten grapes that make their way into the tank, and realized that this process is far from perfect, and that these "undesirables" contribute to that taste that wine drinkers call terroir.

I lifted the forty and fifty pound crates of grapes up to chest level in order to dump them into the de-stemming machine, weighed them hurriedly on a scale one by one, power washed them, carried them outside, and repeated the whole process the next day. I sampled that concentrated, murky, chunky grape juice that will months later become wine, and saw that this is no blind process, but involves graduated cylinders and various chemicals, even for organic wines.

In short, I saw what I wanted to see, and having experienced at least the initial part of it, developed a deeper and more reverential feeling toward wine makers, and a greater appreciation for those wines that make an evening special. So, the next time you lift your glass to take a sniff before you take that first delicious sip, spend a moment to think about the grower, anxiously looking out the window every day to see what the heavens will bring: the harvester, bent over for hours at a time snipping tens of thousands of bunches: the winemaker, sweating bullets as he tries to keep tabs on the dozens of variables that make a wine undrinkable or unforgettable: and the vine, which thanklessly and wordlessly brings forth bright, flavorful bunches of that divine fruit year after year after year Trust me, your wine will taste better if you do.