crush

Awoke before even the sun this morning, outside in a vineyard. All around me are rugged mountains, some shrubby, some clean-shaven. I rise, stand before the mountains, and do tiger's pose. Again and again, sinking out, settling in, moving out ...bouncing my knees forward and backward, side-to-side, up and down. While I am sinking in, the sun rises and shines upon my face. Everyone else - save John, who has walked somewhere - is asleep.

Leo's galloping lope awakens me fully; he and Steve have come to take their morning stroll. They smile at me as they pass by. Later, I see Leo a couple paces before me drop something rather large. It is a rabbit, full-grown, bigger than my pet bunny I used to have - and it hangs limply from Leo's mouth. Leo sits next to it for a while, just relaxing. I wonder why he has not yet begun eating it. Five minutes pass.

Then, suddenly, just as I am standing, the rabbit also stands and tried to run away. I nearly choke - it is the closest thing to resurrection I have ever seen, for moments ago I had truly believed that the rabbit was dead. Immediately Leo chomps his jaws on it, and I hear it scream. It sounds a great deal like a red-tailed hawk.

I leave them alone. Steve is mightily pleased when he hears about it.

The day begins fairly quickly. Before I know it, I am back in the field, harvesting Shiraz grapes from the crowning vines. Each plant is fairly heavy with fruit; Steve tells us that they are in their fourth or fifth year of production. They were planted in 1998; the ones by the water tower were begun in 1995.

This soil is so rich. No wonder Steve lauds the geography so much - the alluvium that has been deposited into this bathtub of a valley, the winds that blow both easterly and westerly, that provide the heat and coolness at the right times, the pump that extends 100' downwards into the source of water - whereas the neighbors must pump 300' down to reach that same source. Steve dryfarms his grapes every year - a method borrowed from an old Italian mentor of his, whose name I am forgetting. Benito, I think - some of his grapevines are over 80 years old. These Shiraz are just as lovely, however, despite their comparative youth - eight years growing as such. After the harvest, Steve gives them a long drink, then leaves them to their own ends for the rest of the year. His grapes are marvelous.

I eat many of the undesirables - the ones that are small and green, or not quite dark enough (still pink). We harvest only the grape clusters that are predominantly ready, with fewer than 2 undesirables. The ones that are beginning to prune are especially good; that means that the sugar content will be higher. All the ones that could use more time ripening we leave alone. There is a good chance that they will be ready by next harvest - 2 weeks from now.

We fill nearly six containers' worth of grapes. Each container holds 1000 lbs.

Robbie makes grape pancakes for breakfast. I eat three and - out of manners - do not rush for a fourth. Most people are finished by their second one. I haven't eaten a breakfast this delicious in a long time; it reminds me of heaven. That would be the word.

After playing a few minutes on the zipline, people prepare to go. I write briefly in the guestbook, then take extensive time drawing a picture, using my new colored pencils to add a touch. Steve, David, Erin, and I prepare to drive the grapes all the way to Aromas, which is closeby to Salinas...