Life is like a vat of grapes

It's 8.30am on an autumnal Saturday in Ceccano, Italy.  As the sun begins to warm the surrounding hills, the only audible sound is of the occasional distant farm vehicle and the gentle snip, snip, snip as pairs of secateurs cut the grapes from the vine. 

Enzo and I are the first ones to the field, collected a bucket and started at the top of row.  Those that I couldn't reach Enzo collected and we started the day as usual with a little conversation in Italian.  Well, let me just quantify that - I practice my Italian and Enzo dutifully tries to make sense of it all.   Enzo has been helping as many people as he can with their harvests so we will turn this article over to him:

For the whole week I had been preparing for this event, the last time I picked grapes I was just 10 years old.  I didn’t know what to expect, after all 48 years had gone by, so I was pretty sure that Lucille Ball of 'I love Lucy' would not be there stumping on the grapes.  OK, I thought I would be the one doing the stumping, so the night before I showered, shaved my legs from my knees down and was careful not to put on any powder or deodorant.  I made every effort not to be the one to spoil the natural aroma of the wine.

The next morning at 7 am I was ready to go.  I called Carla my cousin and she informed me that it was still early.   Apparently early morning is not when you pick the grapes.  They need to stay on the vine until the sun shines over them rendering them warm enough to release their natural sweetness.

Ok now what do I do?  I started to think back to when I used to go up into the vineyards located in an area called 'Colle Antico '(ancient hill). My grandmother’s house was just at the edge of the vineyard and her 'cantina' (wine cellar) was just below the house.  I remember walking around the vineyard picking grapes on the lower branches of the vine.  For some reason only a few vines had grapes growing low.  In retrospect  I think  few were left to grow low to keep us cousins busy.

One year my job was to keep the men well supplied with wine, (last years wine that is).  All of my uncles and older cousins would gather when it was time to pick grapes, corn, wheat, tomatoes or potatoes.  Everyone in the family would help with the best fun coming after the work  was done because that was when the eating started.  You see, while the men were out in the fields bringing in the crop, the women were all inside preparing the feast for that evening.

More smoothies and other delicious beverages ....
Better body and brain health The Mediterranean diet

I remember during the corn picking time, the corn would be picked by hand and put into small barrels then brought up to the front yard of my grand mom’s house.  It was put there in a great big pile and left there for a few days to dry.  Then everyone young and old, family and friends would get together and start peeling the leaves from the cob, placing them in one pile and the cob on another for further drying.  With so many  people together in one place working, breaking bread, drinking wine and playing music, the work was often never done until the sun would rise the next morning.

One year during the grape harvest, my job was to serve drinks to the men working in the vineyard.  Back in those days there was no fashion for drinking water, so I would carry a big bottle of wine and one glass, pour some wine for one guy and refill the glass for each man to drink.  I remember the vines grew pretty high so the men used ladders to pick the grapes.  Passing a full glass of wine up to a man cutting grapes wasn't as easy as you might think.   I would often get to the second step of the ladder with a glass full of wine only to be told "ve dopu!"  (come back later).  Ummm ... climbing back down with a huge bottle of wine in one hand and a full glass in the other so that I wouldn't spill it was really difficult.  There was only one thing to do, so down the hatch it went.  One morning this happened a few times, so many times that at one point my uncle Carlucci (uncle Carlo) had to put me on his shoulder and take me back to the house.  I was drunk you see, to the point that a doctor had to be called because I was not waking up.  I was told later that I slept for two days!  For the next 30 years not one drop of wine passed my lips.

Its now 9 am and I see Vincenzo, Sandro and the rest of the family getting ready to go grape picking. The tractor and trailer with the empty barrels was warming up when Gina my cousin said to me "Enzo where is your hat?"  I asked her why did I need a hat? She said "because while you are picking grapes the ones from up high will fall on your head."  So now we had to go searching for an extra hat.

The day was warm and the sun had not a cloud in front of it and the only thing on my mind was that I couldn't wait until I start stumping on those grapes. In the meantime here we are 48 years later and the process has not evolved too far from back then.  When looking for a hat I looked around and noted a  smile on my face as I watched the men gathering to work in the vineyard.  The women in the rustic kitchen were cooking fresh egg noodle with sausage and chicken, mixing the flour with the eggs and killing a few chickens.

In the vineyards the guys took turns bringing in the grapes from the fields.  So now it was my turn and together with Sandro I started to bring our grapes in. I was sitting at the edge of the trailer counting the minutes. I knew it was nearly time to stump on the grapes. 48 years earlier I did stump on the grapes with my cousins.  We had lots of fun with the music playing, children running, yelling, having fun.  With all these fond memories  I headed up to the catina and started to remove my shoes and socks, and rolling my pants.  I did not want Sandro to have all the fun and get in the barrel before me.

The tractor made its last turn towards the cantina and there I saw the barrel.  It must have been about 5 feet in diameter and 5 feet tall, all wood.  As we got near the door the tractor turned and Sandro parked next to what it looked like a huge mincer. 
He saw me without my shoes and said "che a fatt tu si fatt male a nu ped" that is ciociaro country dialect and means  "what happened to you? Did you hurt your feet?" 

"No," I said, "I want to be the first to get in barrel."
"In the barrel? No, no, the grapes go in this electric crusher machine and it removes the stems from the grapes, the juice with the skin is sent by this machine to the barrels. Tthe stems fall to the floor to be recycled back in the earth."

I was very disappointed by this. I  had gone through all the trouble of shaving and now what? How do I explain to Susan that shaving my legs was really for stumping the grapes and not because it was a new fashion in Italy.  She's already worried that I might soon be wearing a 'man bag'.

OK, since I was not going to crush the grapes, I helped by putting the grapes into the crusher that had replaced my feet.  I was sorting the bad grapes from the good and throwing the best ones into the crush when Sandro asked me what I was doing.  I said proudly " I'm making sure only good grapes get into the barrel so the wine would be the best."

Sandro explained that mixing the over-ripe grapes with those that looked good enough to eat, helps the wine ferment.  He went on to explain that the juice would be separated rom the musk in about 10 days and that the musk would be put into a press for further extraction.  Once all of the juice possible was removed, it would then be sealed in barrels for aging.  Usually for one year. 

Man this is not the way I remembered it! But it was fun just the same.  I had spent the day with friends and family and the best part had not changed in 48 years: eating, story telling and all round good fun for young and old to share together again once more.

Enzo gathers grapes in Ceccano