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My cousin Phoebe has a vineyard in New Zealand. It lies on a green slope of the valley just south of a little town called Greta. Her partner Gary is a wine-maker. He is building a small house for them to live in, atop a tall mountain by the sheep-gate.
Last week, Henry and I spent two days labouring in their vineyard -- the first day cool and overcast, the next day amber and gold. In early autumn, the nets need to be removed from the vines. There are bright yellow pegs to be untangled, tendrils of grass to be torn from the lace-like cover, acres of white to be wound and twirled as if from a cloud. We wondered aloud if Princess Catherine's wedding train the next day would be as long.
It's a memory now, and for seven days I've been mulling over what it meant to me. It taught me nothing about wine, which I've never really understood anyway. It taught me nothing about grapes, which by this time of year were nearly all gone. But it has taught me something about a real day's work, and the joy of family from far afield. Last Thursday was the essence of life.
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Lots of nets |
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Gary, Phoebe and their net-pickers |
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In Gary and Phoebe's garden |
John
Great stuff and glorious photos - it makes me appreciate the millions of manual workers who toil like this daily.Look forward to seeing you at the weekend.
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