The Aftermath

The Brushburn

Act I

Sleeping in, however uncommon in agriculture, was the plan for Friday morning. That is if you consider rolling out of bed at 7 am sleeping in. But somehow things never work out as planned. Dealing with the aftermath of Thursday's early morning pick left us scrambling to get back on our feet. While Paco headed home in the 450 flatbed thoughtfully dubbed La Raspadura, or brushburn, by the boys and I finished the last move of the day with his pickup, which handles like a luxory sports car compared to the flatbeds jerky stick shifting.

The old switcheroo left Paco with an empty tank of diesel and no company cards to refill, so I ablidgingly met him at the Royal Petroleum station at seven, hauling ass out the door as dreams of preparing a fresh egg sandwich evaporated into thin air.

All good though mate as the empty tank provided the impetus for a crucially productive day of prep and irrigation. Healdsburg was my first stop fueling with a cup of Don Mayo Costa Rica at the Flying Goat and jetting out to Westside Road to handwater a Viognier block, then shoot back into the heart of Russian River to damn up a creek and purge an air bubble and then swing by El Walmart to lay down a few hours of water for a pinot block to be picked on Monday. Needless to say this busy beaver was making it happen.

Act II

As noon approached I switched gears, literally switching vehicles. I parked my Pontiac la tortuga verde and fired up the Brushburn. Similar to chess we began to strategically move our equipment for Monday. As a vineyard management company that farms vineyards across Sonoma County a crucial part of each pick is transporting equipment to and from each ranch beofre the crew has arrived and after the fruit has been harvested and hauled away.

This is the aftermath.

"Alright, we need two tractors, two trailers and a flatbed deliverd to Vicini. Am I saying that right Vee-chee-neee?," sounded Pacostani voice as the Nextell cut in and out,

"Yep, you got it" I assured

"And six macro bins and the tractor with the forks to Catalinni."

"Copy that chief," I sighed beggining to plot the moves out in my mind, feeling out the routes and contours of the roads. 'A real walk in the park' I thought to myself.

Before I started with Bacchus I had no clue how to back up a trailer let alone haul a six ton tractor across the county and up the backside of a mountain. For six years I lived carless, almost unheard of for an American and my stick shift my shoddy at best. Six months on and I feel comfortbable in the brushburn, a dualie with a mindnumbing engine roar. The hardest part of hauling in Sonoma is keeping all eight wheels on the road in county where roads are nailbittingly narrow and shoulders are at a premium.

Bing, bam, boom with a bit of teamwork and cooperation (and a Chimichanga from Mi Burritto) we successfully aligned our mechanincal pawns, knights and queens. Monday is a go!

Another 11 hour day, I'm off to wine and dine!