Stepping In It: Survival Tactics for the Harvest Widow
As a cellar intern, I remember what a treat it was when the winemaker’s eight year-old son would show up to help us sort grapes. Sorting hundreds of thousands of rolly-polly berries as they bounce along a sorting table is fun for about ten minutes; the next few hours tend to numb the fingers and the brain. It was always a welcome change of pace to have a third grader, fueled with the thrill of helping Daddy at work, belly up to the sorting table. He would stand on an overturned bucket to reach the table and dutifully pick through the fruit as it rolled along. We’d chat with him about school and what he wanted to be when he grew up (a winemaker and a pilot, of course), and carry on the berry sorting with our pint-sized crewmate. The pride exuding from father and son was as palpable as a ripe cabernet berry. Had I been more perceptive at the time, perhaps I would have noticed an even more palpable sentiment from the third member of their family: Mom was probably relieved as hell to have a break.
This is my seventh harvest as a mother. It is also my fourth harvest as a mother of two and, notably, my first harvest as a mom who has left the shackles of diapers and naps in the stinky trash, never to come out again. When my kids were babies it felt like we just burrowed ourselves into the living room curtains for the harvest months, and reintroduced ourselves to sunlight just before Thanksgiving. My kids are old enough now that if we went that route, no one would make it through November with a pulse. Smart harvest tactics are key to survival.
The moms at home this time of year find ways to make it work. (So do some dads and grandmas and aunties!) Humor is a good place to start. The darker, the better. This weekend a friend stopped by while we were carving pumpkins. She mentioned that the night before, she took her kids to a Halloween party where nearly every dad was absent. (That sounds painfully out-of-date, so I should add that I know plenty of winemaking moms too. They just don’t go to kid parties at Halloween, for obvious reasons.) One of the moms at the party pointed out that they all should start dressing as harvest widows for Halloween. I can’t help but think that black lace doilies would be too easy. “What kind of harvest widow are you?” might be more poignant. Battle robe and sponge curlers? Rugby helmet and an overflowing basket of laundry? Maybe just lots and lots of chardonnay, plus some baby wipes for good measure? And I’m sure there is the rare mouse of a widow who parties it up while the winemaking cat’s away. I’ve heard it happens.
Visit-daddy-at-work-day is another tried and true approach. If it’s the weekend, the kids can watch the fruit begin dumped into the crusher-destemmer or the press. You can bring lunch to the cellar crew, feel like a real hero, and before you know it the kids have spent two incredibly happy hours eating pizza and watching forklifts. My new personal favorite is bringing my children to the winery to step on grapes, I Love Lucy- style. It has to be timed just right; “punching down” grapes to the bottom of a bin or barrel is only part of the process for a few days. I brought my kids to the winery after school and stuck both of them in a barrel of syrah. I loved it. They didn’t. But we got a great family photo out of the ordeal, and they did get a kick out of seeing their own legs covered in grape juice.
The one strategy that’s really surfaced as a winner this year is the Hunter S. Thompson method. He’s the one who famously wrote, “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out and loudly proclaiming, ‘Wow! What a ride!’” It seems to be the way the kids and I are going this year. Gymnastics. Party. Gym. Play date. Park. Library. Winery visit. Hike. Grocery store. Movie night. I’m not sure how many we could fit into a day, but maintaining mommy’s sanity over the course of a week takes all of the above. And with all that doing, who has time to cook? We might be setting a family record for grilled cheese and pizza dinners. They even got to try their first 7-Up last weekend at a paddle boarding picnic. My kids think harvest is awesome.
I spent plenty of pre-motherhood autumns working harvest in the vineyards or the cellar, so it just may be that this is the first October I’ve noticed in over a decade. When I do come up for air, it’s like the valley has squeezed my cheeks between her palms and planted a wet one right on my face. Did you know? This place is freakin’ gorgeous! But like I said, that’s when I come up for air. Maslov made it clear eighty years ago that you’ve got to keep your house together and your children fed before you get to revel at golden vines of autumn. Widows of the valley, get your survival skills in check. And as long as you’re surviving, you might as well enjoy it.
