My First Time

They say you never forget your first time.  The nervous pit in your stomach.  The fear of messing up.  The desire to make it last, but the realization that it’s over all too quickly.  I’m speaking, of course, about your first harvest, and true to form I ran the full gamut of emotions as I brought my own grapes in this weekend, though not before dealing with one final crisis along the way.

When I went to check on the vineyard to take my weekly sugar measurement, it was immediately apparent that the grapes had been overrun by swarms of bees, wasps and yellow jackets.  What last week had been the one-off flying pest and morphed into hundreds of creatures feasting on my fruit.  The Brix (sugar content) measured at 20.1, short of the 22 I was targeting, but the books say 20 to 24 will do, so fearing that there would be nothing left to pick in a week, we quickly shifted to emergency harvest mode. 

A light drizzle set the mood, and with Mom, Dad, Macy and I hard at work, first to untie the bird netting, then to delicately remove the bunches one at a time as the stinging creatures circled desperate for one last meal, we were done within 15 minutes.  All in, we filled one large lug with about 36lbs of grapes, enough to yield maybe half a case of wine.  If I can learn from this year’s mistakes and the vines continue to mature, it’s fair to expect twice that output next year, but at this point anything will do.

With late night help from Drew and my neighbor Cliff, my new crusher/destemmer admirably performed the job I asked of it, and the must is now quietly fermenting in a bucket in my kitchen. 

Years of anticipation over in a matter of moments.  Not unlike another first I remember those many years ago.