Drinking and gambling: just your regular workday activities

Drinking

Do you know how many times in my former job I would've loved to knock back a cold beer or a glass of wine at lunch? I don't either, but I can tell you it was more than five and fewer than 7,542. Not that my former job drove me to drink (alot), it's just that sometimes a little indulgence during the midday meal is just what the doctor ordered to lift one's spirits before heading back to the grindstone/keyboard/grapevine/whatever.

Well, one of the distinct pleasures of working the harvest at Ripppon Vineyards is the lunchtime libations. Lunch, in and of itself, is worth writing home, or in this case, blogging, about. Lois, the owner of the vineyard and the mother of the Head Winemaker (Nick) and the Vineyard Manager (Charlie), cooks lunch for the entire crew every day. And a good cook she is too. She always makes it so there's plenty available for seconds, and seconds are had by all. But the true treat of the noon-hour break is that accompanying our feasts are always several bottles of wine. Nick likes for the crew to have an idea of the final product that will result from the day's labor. So, if we're picking Pinot Noir one day, we'll have a previous vintage Pinot with our lunch that day. If we're picking Osteiner; we'll drink Osteiner. Picking Gewurztraminer; drink Gewurztraminer. Riesling; Riesling. You get the idea. In addition, Bret, the Assistant Winemaker, happens to be a master brewer; and from time to time, he'll bring out a couple jugs of his famous Harvest Ale for us to partake. You know, I think it really adds something to the (pardon this wee bit of corporate-speak here) "Teambuilding" when you can pour a glass of wine (or beer) for your coworkers, clink your glasses together, and toast each others' health with a hearty cheers/salud/slancha/prost!

Of course, given that my actual job during harvest involves driving the truck, one small glass is my lunchtime limit.

Gambling

Let me tell you a little about Ned. Ned is year-round, full-time staff at Rippon. He's in his early sixties and enjoying the sixth year of his second career growing grapes after thirty-some-odd years as a school teacher. He's as strong as an ox and tough as nails, and as gentle and kind a man as you'll ever meet. He's been my mentor out in the vines for the past two and a half months; and it's been my distinct pleasure to work with him and learn everything he's had to teach. Ned's as straight-laced, salt-of-the-earth as they come. No outward vices. He prefers a night in reading a book or watching BBC World News to just about any other activity. And a big exciting weekend for Ned is a trip to Dunedin to see a movie in a theater. So, you can imagine my surprise when harvest started and, all of a sudden, Ned's a betting machine!

Apparently, proposition bets are a harvest tradition; and let me tell you, nobody likes a good prop bet more than Ned. When Ned thinks of something to bet on he rubs his hands together excitedly and a devilish grin appears at the corners of his mouth before he lays his proposition on us. Sometimes if I'm on the fence on whether or not to take his action, he'll goad me into it by saying "C'mon Stevie!" Ned is one of only three people ever in my life that I've allowed to call me "Stevie" with no hard feelings, by the way.

So what do we bet on? Just about anything. Who will be the first person to lose a full bin of grapes off the back of a moving vehicle: Ned or Amy with the four-wheeler/trailer combo, or me with the truck? How many days will harvest last? How many total loads will I take up to the winery during harvest? Who will be the first picker to cut his/her finger with the clippers? Can Lewis go a full minute without talking today? Will we have to jump start the Bedford this morning? How many bins will we get off of the Rieslings in H Block? Will anyone be dumb (drunk) enough to try and jump over the Harvest Party fire this year? Will it rain this afternoon? They're as good a things to bet on as any, I suppose.

And the currency for all these wagers? Pies! You heard me. Pies--specifically, ones from the Hammer and Nails Bakery (the best in town, I've been told). I'm already into Charlie for a sweet chocolate fudge pie (for dropping a full bin off my truck) and into Ned for three savory steak and kidney pies (for bets I can't even remember at this point). Alas, I don't seem to be very good at these bets and I currently don't have a single pie owed to me. No matter. When I go to the Hammer and Nails to purchase my payoffs, I imagine I'll pick up a little something to nibble for myself.

So, you think you'll be tempted to order that drink at lunch tomorrow? A pie says you will!

Cheers!