Ronnie Scissorhands
July 5th 2008, by Gavin
Our new rogneuse arrived this week, complete with numerous spinning blades. New to us, that is, after one careful owner and just twelve months on the road, allegedly. It is immediately being put to good use, trimming the rows of vines after a team of mostly seasonal workers, or saisonniers, have lifted all the vines up through the training wires. Our old machine could just about cope but it’s seen better days, not least during our first full season in 2000 when we bought it brand new. (It should have lasted longer but the both the manufacturer and the distributor have closed down, so it’s tricky to get it fixed each time it goes wrong.) We still have the really old, lethal one that we inherited but we can’t show it here because the inspecteurs de travail would close us down if they knew we still had it. Even visitors to the vineyard exclaim ‘oh my god, what’s that?’ when they peer inside the tractor shed (all part of the longer, more exciting tour), but head boy Daniel is quite attached to it and, besides, he never throws anything away. I should get him on to eBay.
Using the rogneuse (pronounced ron-years, in case you wanted to point one out on your next vineyard tour in France) is a highly skilled job, carried out this week by Hafid while Daniel works on one of the other tractors. By far and away the most labour-intensive aspect though is the work by the saisonniers, lifting the branches of the vines up through the training wires, taking care not to damage the newly formed bunches at knee level.
Frost Damage but No Hail, Please
June 25th 2008, by Gavin
Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of the night we were badly hit by hail. The evening of 24th June, 2003 lives long in the memory. After a period of steamy hot weather, a hail storm swept through part of the region, starting in the Graves to the south west of us and petering out beyond St-Emilion to the east. Hail on its own can be a bruiser but it’s the combination of hail and gail force winds that inflicts serious damage. We lost half the crop in just a few minutes, and with it half our income for the year. Some of our neighbours’ vines were wiped out, whereas Esme Johnstone’s Château de Sours, just five miles away, remained untouched.
Ironically, we had cancelled our hail insurance policy the year before as the premium had rocketed, and we believed a local pundit who claimed that the geography and shape of the hillsides of Bauduc would force the winds around the estate and that we were unlikely to be hit in just such an event. This turned out, of course, to be complete tosh.