When setting out for a morning of work in the vineyard, I never know what I might encounter.  I’ve witnessed deer bounding gracefully right between our trellis wires and lone coyotes sauntering about, slyly portraying ignorance yet fully aware of my presence.

More often than not I encounter birds.  From majestic Hawks and rare Bluebirds to annoying Starlings – it runs the gamut.  I especially look forward to spring, when new life in the vineyard is not limited emerging buds and dandelions.  This past week, while tying down canes of Pinot Noir (specifically Row #7 in the Old Block),  I was fascinated as I closed in on one particular vine.

Cautiously creeping closer, it became evident that a determined Robin had chosen one of my oldest Pinot vines as the perfect place to raise its family.  I recognized the irony in this nest full of future grape-pecking Robins staring me in the face, but I couldn’t bring myself to relocate the cosy looking abode.  Instead, I tied down the canes and snapped a few quick pictures as mama Robin chirped at me rather aggressively from two rows away.

This is actually a common vineyard occurrence.  The most interesting discoveries are the camouflaged Kildeer nests dotting the ground between grapevines.  Mother Killdeers are seemingly fearless.  As you approach the nest she will frantically charge at you, feigning a broken wing in an effort to seem more vulnerable to the perceived predator.  In the ultimate act of altruism the mother will then attempt to lead you in the opposite direction of her nest, all the while fanning her “broken” wing.  I always get a kick out of this evolutionary trait and try to vacate the area as quickly as possible.  Inevitably, I must approach the nest as work continues in the adjacent row and the whole dance starts again.

My mind flashes to a vision of yours truly, arms flailing and yelling wildly, as Howie approaches one of my dogs on the tractor.  He is blissfully unaware, and they are all too eager to greet him.  Finally, I get his attention and danger is averted.  My inner Kildeer is satisfied.

Call me Chicken Little.

At the first sign of rotten berries and fruit flies in our Pinot Noir I run to my father and proclaim, “the sky is falling”.  I rattle off all the jobs that need to be done IMMEDIATELY: gotta get the bins ready for harvest, gotta cut the rot out, gotta check the sugar and acid levels, gotta thin out green bunches, gotta take the nets down…

He takes in all the “gotta’s” and I manage to catch my breath while swatting away invisible fruit flies.   My anxiety stems from sheer amount of time I’ve put into that damn vineyard, and coming to grips with the concept that no amount of time and care can trump mother nature.  Water is always the great equalizer.   These overly tight Pinot clusters just can’t resist taking in excess water.  They are starting to rot from the inside out, as mid-cluster berries begin to split.  This condition is worse than a simple bird peck or hail strike which often times dries up on the cluster exterior.  The only cure for this malady is the strategic removal of rotten berries, not a fun prospect.

Howie takes it all in stride.  The calm look on his face reminds me that we go through this same excruciating Pinot dance every year.  He knows that we will cut the rot out and the resulting fruit will ripen-up enough to make good wine.  If not, then at least we can rest assured that we gave it our best shot.  Why can’t I be this wise and even-keeled?  I guess that is where we differ.

He goes on to recall the words of a sage vineyard manager we both know who under similar circumstances proclaimed, “They are just grapes and we’re just making booze.”  I shudder and remind him that this fellow no longer manages vineyards.