On the morning of the second day the reality of waking at 5.30 and being ‘on the job’ at 6.00.am began to set in. I’m sure Vince was intimidated at the size of it all…where to start, what to do, and how to do it! All I knew was that we were harvesting our first crops in 14 days, and we had to get organized fast and prepare for the two months of intense heat that lay ahead.

One of the first things we needed to do was check in with the cellar master. We needed to know when our harvest was due in and what variety of grape he would be accepting. We soon learnt that the sauvignon Blanc would ripen earliest and was also the most difficult to pick.

We would have to pick grapes at various sections of our ‘block’, mush them into juice, and take the sample to the cellar for testing. They would be subjected to a number of tests such as sugar type and content, ph balance and acidity. Each of these has to be within an acceptable range, and if they fall into that …well then harvesting begins.

This task would involve my colander of 35 years and my potato masher over the next few seasons! Eventually Vince resorted to a large piece of wood to mulch the juice filled grapes, and restored my kitchen gadgets to their rightful places.

Tensions would always run high around this time as we waited to see if our crops met the requirements altering all the variables to give us the best chance at success. For example, should you then add water to the vine, feed the vine, or once again rely on Mother Nature to wave her magic wand? This didn’t necessarily guarantee success. If for instance the sugar levels had not reached their guided balanced figure, it could affect the Class of grape your crop produced and the class of crop determined the payment structure.

Technically this is not something you learn overnight…and yet Vince tackled this highly skilled wine farming with aplomb! As if he had been a wine farmer all his life. During the early stages we hired one or two experienced farm hands to check the vineyards once a week, and advise accordingly. That also helped to whip our Afrikaans into shape and bonded us with the local farming community.

Deon would come every afternoon on a Tues at 2pm. He would assist Vince to make crucial decisions. Most of the men had been farmers who had now had taken up a ‘town’ job. They were happy to pass on their years of experience, as well as the product range they were representing.

Dayle and Jason stayed with us for a few days, Dayle had just fallen pregnant with her first baby …our second grandchild. Although she was of no use in the carrying of boxes, or furniture, she was great at providing liquid refreshments, and much needed meals…Jason was a great help, his muscles certainly were called upon many a time….

Before I knew it I was inundated with all the problems peculiar to farming and the community. This was an eye opener. Staff issues were overwhelming. Sadly alcohol was a major role player, and created a dysfunctional mess. Weekends were horrific. I had never experienced behaviour like this ever. I gritted my teeth, dug in my heels persuaded myself that I could handle any situation and decided that I would not allow anything to put a dampener on our new adventure.

February 4th, 2005. The first day of our very first harvest. At 5.30 we hurriedly swallowed cups of tea and took several deep breaths. Already hot as hell, anxious perspiration formed on my brow as I made my way to the vineyard. The heavy rumbling of tractors and their empty wagons over the gravel roads announced start time as they drew up ready to be filled. Our neighbour Jurie was waiting. He had offered to help us harvest which meant we had extra man power (and women too!). They had brought along their own tractors and wagons…..as well as their seasonal workers. The vineyard was soon buzzing with action.

Sauvignon Blanc is difficult to harvest. The leaves cover the grapes and reaching them takes time. I was as keen as mustard, with my peak cap, shorts, and light t-shirt. Heading to the first line of vines there was a lot of mumbling around me as works grudgingly made way for me. After about an hour of me bumping into the pickers, getting in their way, and getting sticky from head to toe…I thought it best to hang back a bit and listen to the comments were and why.

It became obvious almost immediately that there was a system in place and I was more harm than help, causing confusion and plenty of irritation. The pickers knew what they were doing, and I was causing mayhem. Once I stepped out of the conveyer belt of action, I was not given much invitation to rejoin the industrious line of reapers. Embarrassed, I took note, and slunk to the end of a row where I could look and learn. We were back to full steam ahead, with me having learnt a lesson. This was a back breaking task. As well as having gnarled hands from the clippers, and gluey grape sap coated fingers, I was buggered after 3 hours of harvesting!

At 9.30 a.m. we stopped cutting and made our way to the cellar, taking an hour for breakfast. I was dying of thirst, but was attached to my cutters with the juice of the grape liquid. As I made my way home, wiping my brow, with a well earned sweat, I pried the scissor out of my hand with force. Oops…a tiny blister was forming on my skin on my inner hand. Soft hands are obviously not meant for such physical punishment. I learnt that you can only harvest the sauvignon blanc from early morning up until 9.30 a.m. as the sugar levels then become too high.

These were be long days, with a guaranteed rest or sleep from 12.15 until 1.30 with everybody taking their phones off the hook, and settling in to a complete time-out, necessary to recharge our batteries.

After two days in the vineyards, I had to accept defeat. Yes, my hands just could not cut, or even bend any further then a half attempted clenched fist. I have to admit that secretly I was pleased. I had battled the intense heat, I had a rash from the long grass, was terrified of an unwelcome visit from snakes. On average a person picks a ton of grapes a day! I had definitely done my bit for the team.

Now the laborious task of removing the grapes from their stems began in earnest. Our sampling was within range and so the picking could continue. And it did…for almost two months. I swapped my harvesting for collecting the seasonal pickers in town, which is about 16 km’s one-way. So at 5.30 a.m. I left the farm with an empty bakkie and returned with the sides bulging with keen workers. Once their day was complete, I would return the exhausted bunch to the confines of their homes and families, only to repeat the process the following morning.

Then the poo hit the fan…..

Vince had taken up golf at the local golf course, in Bonnievale as well as in Robertson, so every Saturday, he left early and enjoyed his day off, with his mates. I was grateful for the serenity of no activity on the farm. Just the twittering birds, the lowing of the cows, and the quiet demeanor of farm life. But that all changed abruptly.

On Friday, February 26 at about 8.30 p.m. Janetta arrived with her baby Pietertjie. He had horrendous gastro. I gave him some anti gastro moetie, and of course re hydration moetie in a bottle that he gulped down with gusto. But as it hit his belly, it literally shot out the other end….it was ghastly. Poor little boy, he cried, he was uncomfortable, and he needed to get to hospital immediately. His mother decided to wait ‘til morning to see how he was doing. I could smell alcohol on both parents, and decided not to intervene, as this would just upset them all the more. Did I mention they both arrived in tears…yes alcohol does strange things! I was extremely uncomfortable at their distress and ...I was truly concerned for this little boy but they insisted that they would address his health issue in the morning.

Saturday morning I was woken early as the family arrived on the doorstep. Pieter had taken a turn for the worse. I called our local doctor who suggested that he be taken to hospital. We called for an ambulance that arrived after about three hours and removed both mother and son, for professional treatment. I breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully the problem was now out of my hands. They remained in hospital, with Pieter on a drip for 24 hours, and then I got a call on the Monday morning, to collect them from Robertson Hospital ! Between collecting staff for harvesting, I made a detour to collect the family and bring them home.

To get back to Saturday, the afternoon, was about to outdo Saturday morning. I was finally chilling in the family room, our dog Kai, warned me that there was another uninvited guest. Piet, an elderly farm worker was totally incoherent, his jaw was hanging to the far left of his face and there was blood all over his shirt. That he had a broken jaw, was obvious, and secondly he was as drunk as a skunk! Tagging alongside him was a very young girl perhaps 5 years old, sheepishly hiding behind him as he spoke. His son Davy had hit him with a blunt section of iron…..and then he’d fallen into a large hole, somewhere!

I was so angry at his being there in his state of intoxication with this little person bearing witness to his beating. I called the ambulance for the second time in one day, retreating to the comfort of peace and serenity…my home…thanking God for all that I had.

But Saturday was still not done! Vince returned to find the police in our driveway and me, seriously pissed off by the day’s happenings. Then Steven arrived at about 6pm to inform us that there was mayhem at the housing area for the staff. Windows were being broken and doors smashed, apparently a common occurrence over weekends. He had been stabbed in his leg by his Mother….yes his own mother….everybody was now totally inebriated and in short, there was a free for all! Best for the police to handle it. And as far as Steven was concerned…well the ambulance was summoned for the third time in one day.