October (III)

These last are not low hanging

But harvest them we must

Ripened on the upper boughs

The topmost, sun-blushed fruit

Balanced between earth and sky

We climb and stretch

To where they sit

Well nigh, just out of reach

If there’s a slip, they ricochet from branch to trunk to orchard floor

Gashed and bruised in descent

These will be the first we eat

The rest, the best, the sweetest

We carry carefully to the winter store


CLP 16/10/2019

On the Land

Stained hands lift and cut

Bunches settle in buckets

Pressing work ahead


n.b. This is harvest time and the urgent work cannot be rushed. The atmosphere is filled with the scent of the ripe crop. At the caveaux in Villette lunch is served to the teams of workers. One caveaux is noticeably more sociable, louder, heartier than the others. The equipe spilling into the street as a cheery group, shares “bon jour” happily, invitingly with we passing walkers.

The wine from a previous vintage we tasted in Villette was delicious. It tasted as the scent that filled the air as we had walked down through the vines of Lavaux.

n.n.b. There are three workers in the picture, carefully cutting the grape bunches from the vines.


CLP 06/10/2019

On August XXI

Now gone with all else

Held in cloudy memories

Bottled and pickled


n.b. The serious work has begun to collect the fruit, vegetables and crops from the summer. What must be gathered from the orchard floor and stored for winter; what can be collected from the vine and pressed; what can be cut from the plant and eaten fresh, or kept dry; what can be picked from the over-burdened trees and turned to juice, or pickled, or made to jams and chutneys; what can be best preserved frozen?

The stoves burn, jars are sterilised, temperatures carefully monitored; steam and sweetness fill the home. Hair tied back, aprons on while the heat in the kitchen turns us pink and sticky too during these long satisfying hours before labelling bottles and still warm pots and cleaning up in the company of curious wasps and to the buzz of frustrated flies.


CLP 01/09/2019