Life on a winery is romantic. That's common knowledge. For example today. Today was such a highly romantic day.
Getting up before seven is one of the romantic things I thought I would be doing for the rest of my life when I studied graphic design.
Being in the vineyard before eight is right up there with that wish (it is pretty out there before eight. I have to admit that much. The sun rises gently, the air colors faintly in roses and oranges).
Manual harvest is something for nature lovers. Cutting grapes all day, an average of 1,2 tons a person (yours truly included) is simply lovely and invaluable exercise. Really. Each of the boxes you see in those photos weighs somewhere from 15 to 19 kg. That means that halfway full I have to drag them because carrying them is out of the question. But still, I look like the governor of California now. I'm that muscly.
The first morning everyone still tries to impress. The afternoon is already much more honest. Each person finds a rhythm and forgets about the others.
I tried to amputate my finger so I didn't have to continue, but that didn't work. I swallowed two flies (on the romanticism-scale, one being the worst and ten the most romantic, that would be about a nine) and almost choked on the second one, but it didn't change anything, either. I still had to continue with the rest of them.
After the day's work, let's say around six thirty, you think you're done with the day, but romanticism never stops and there's still the cleaning to be done,
the tank to be insulated (I'll tell you the reason tomorrow, when I'm less tired), a beer to be swallowed (which was good, if not romantic) with the whole team, which, inevitably, will attract the most idiotic jokes of the day (end-of-the-day beers do that).
And thus the most, the very utmost, the most romantic thing I have photographed today was this container of radiant plutonium which I found in the cellar attic.
...oh no, I forgot. There was this, too:
As far as romantic goes... ? What do you think ? Found it in the cellar, too.
Well, in any case, I will put myself and my romantically aching back in bed now and I wish you all sweet dreams. Tomorrow at something before seven I'll have to wake up again and I dread the moment. Moving or resting are fine, but getting up to move after resting hurts a lot right now.
... ah, all right. I'll admit it was great fun, too. But the ache is real, all the same.