The hills were golden; the air was fragrant with the perfume of Pinot Noir grapes; the roads were travelled by a parade of grape-loaded trucks that had slowed the journey to Uncle Henri's winery. But from an upwards road bordered with harvested vines, the photographic family chateau was visible. "A hot August, a perfect September, 1990 will be a legendary harvest year," Nico said. "Supervising the sorting table, Uncle Henri will be in a very good mood. Many of my cousins and their families will be sorting grapes."
In a massive grape stained apron -- white hair curled above his shoulders Hollywood Director style -- Uncle Henri was a formidable presence. While shiny new sorting machinery clanked merrily as it discharged grapes into the sorting area, he enveloped Nico in a warm grape-stained bear hug. Shook hands with Jack, gestured to the sorting tables where a fast arriving quantity of grapes was accumulating, and workers' hands moved so deftly and quickly that it was impossible to get up and greet a wayward cousin. "Magificent harvest," Uncle Henri roared. "I'd ask you join the work, but I remember what happened the last time you sorted grapes. Your Aunt is in the kitchen with Lucienne and Aurelle."
Exposed wooden beams visible from a high ceiling, copper pans, herbs, and strings of garlic hanging from wooden walls, rows of wooden cabinets beneath tiled working surfaces. An enormous stove, antique tables and chairs, baskets of bread, baskets of apples. The aroma of baking bread. Open bottles of wine, wine glasses. In the winery kitchen, were Nico's Aunt Yvonne-Marie, his always glamorous cousin, Lucienne, and Lucienne's daughter Aurelle.