I used to like Fall. After living in a small Tuscany village, I learned to love fall. After the sun had done it’s work, the late summer showers provided the final dose of energy for the vineyards. Now that 80% of the garden has been either eaten or canned, the upcoming grape harvest (vendemmia) was on the mind of many. As Jill and I walked Montanare’s gravel one lane road and the trails dividing the 100 acres shared by unending rows of vines and hundreds of soldiered olive trees, we too wondered how farmers decide when the grapes are ready to crush. Fortunately for the villagers, raccolta, the gathering of the olives happens 45-60 days following the three different varietals of grapes. In one of my many clumsy conversations with neighbor and vineyard caretaker Primo, I was curious as to his prediction for the annual community gathering of 25 to pick the giant clumps of mostly red grapes. Although I caught about 60% of the conversation, I was able to get the rest watching his well worn hands move in concert with his words. The bottom line was this. Primo won’t pick the grapes until the night after a good rain. It didn’t do me a lot of good to ask more questions cause even though I’d been the curious American sitting on his porch for the previous six months, little of what I’d learned included Italian agriculture terminology. From what I gathered, Primo learned from his father, I suppose, that an evening rain in mid September meant the season change was imminent. I also heard something about the word that means dust of which a good rain would take care of. Two days after our brief exchange, it poured for two days. Eager to find out if that was Primo’s sign from mother nature, I made my way to find him. Behind his big three story yellow house, I found him rinsing out two dozen, teal 50 gallon garbage cans. Before I could even ask, he half yelled “Sabato presto, spero sole. I did my best to help get the plastic cans in order while sharing my enthusiasm for this upcoming Saturday, early morning event. For Primo, this calling of the community to pick his grapes is a means to an end. The only way he can have excellent wine on his table every day with lunch and dinner is to get through another years harvest. Based on my 50 questions, I’m sure he’ll see this year as one he’ll never forget. Producing wine and olive oil took two top spots on our “must do” list when planning our one year in Montanare. I double checked with Primo Friday night and it was a go for 6AM.

Primo, his many cousins, their kids, and two green Americans, joined together at the farthest row. I felt a little unprepared when I noticed everyone had boots, long sleeves, gloves, and clippers specific to this activity. Maybe my tennis shoes, shorts, and white t-shirt made it clear that this was my premier as a vineyard worker. My first job didn’t include clipping anything. I was to load 55 gallon plastic bins full of grapes on a trailer 30 inches off the ground. For the previous several months, the heaviest thing I lifted was a fork full of spaghetti. That must of been obvious when I nearly dumped the second plastic bin all over myself. Fortunately, I was able to get the tractor driver to give me a mano (hand). We lifted the bins to the front of the aged tractor. This “fun” adventure turns out to be two full days of manual labor that greatly elevated my respect for those who work the land full time. Once the red wine grapes had been through the crush and into the giant holding pool, it was time to head back out and pull the white wine grapes. Each year, Primo reserves about 10 bins of white grapes to hang in the attic until just after Christmas. Nearly raisins, they are pressed, pumped into a barrel and become Vin Santo, a golden, very sweet after dinner digestivo. The monks dip rock hard biscotti in Vin Santo to soften them.

I fell in love with autunno (fall) because it represents the beginning of a bounty season that requires community muscle and a common mission. For their efforts, the entire village shares in the production throughout the year. In one weekend, we crushed 2000 bottles of red wine and 1000 bottles of white. For their efforts, anyone who participated in the harvest can bring their three litre “fiasco” into Primo’s cantina and fill up, no questions or cost. I love autunno.
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