Sortin' Grapes

Between picking and bottling, much happens, some of which requires the sort of task that would make small children who like finger painting very happy.  Grapes come in bunches to the winery, rather as they do to your local produce market.  Leaves, twigs, unripe grapes which are little green bullets:  all must be gone before David commences the art and craft of good wine-making.   As with picking, sorting is tedious but necessary.  Unlike the picking part, sorting is done in the winery itself.

The picked bunches come into the winery in these large white bins which David hoists with his forklift, up above the presser.  Here he's raking the grapes into the presser, with Opie standing ready to push the start button.

Opie pushes the start button and reaches under the presser to guide the now-pressed grapes onto the feeder table....to us sorters.

A view of the whole process.  David at the top, with the feeder table deep with pressed grapes, juicy, with the skins.  As we sort, we push the clean grapes into the bin.  Here we've pressed (ha ha) a customer into sorting duty; he's the man in the red shirt, nearest the white bin. 

This is how fast we wish we could sort, given that we have 11 or so bins to get through in one day. 

Customers looking on in awe at Peter's sorting skill.  We did have to censor our conversation in the presence of customers....and Suzanne.  Let's just say that sailors on leave in Tijuana might have blushed.  But hey, sorting is booooooooorrrrrrrrring.

Stems and twigs don't make for good wine.  Nor does the occasional grasshopper, one of which made it through the presser alive.  I released him outdoors, after he scared me half to death, but his future was doubtful.

Me working as fast as my little fingers will fly.

Move it, guys.  Move it!!!!!  Let's get through this bin.  NOW!

Still hard at work, with tanks in the background, along with boxes of brand new bottles waiting to be filled.

Poor pitiful me.  Notice the rubber band anchored plastic glove on my hand?  Remember my earlier post about pickin' injuries?  One cut hadn't quite healed over, and continued to bleed as I sorted, which I was informed was absolutely not sanitary.  I wasn't too concerned about that, but the cut did sting from the juice, so I put on the glove.  My Michael Jackson look.

Opie pushing grapes down the sorting table, while the two below us yell, "No, no!  Slow down!!!"

A definite requirement of sorting is to wear your oldest, grubbiest shirt, as you will get very juicy.

Dumping detritus into the trash.

Nowhere near finished..........