Jul 08, 2021
It’s October 13, 2008. I am on the elevator to the top floor of my Wall Street office building quite downtrodden after the life changing experience I had just returned from the night before. I had spent 2 weeks of my paid vacation (from my software job) at a winery in California working crush. When I initially expressed interest to the owner, a close friend of my parents, he laughed and said “you’re more than welcome but know what you’re getting yourself into”. My first question was what shoes I needed to bring. Another laugh. We agreed on a starting day, and what ensued were the most momentous 2 weeks of my life. I loved everything about harvest, the smell of fermentation, the physical work involved, even getting dirty and soaked. I had never slept this well in my life.
Having worked with my hands, mostly outdoors with some of the most patient, helpful and experienced winemakers and cellar workers, returning to my beige, windowless cubicle was rather disappointing. My assistant greets me with a concerned look on her face and says “our boss wants to see me”. Wait, why does my boss want to meet with my assistant – should I not be part of this conversation? I soon learned why – I was going to have that very same conversation with my boss in short order. I have a clear memory about employees leaving the Lehman Brothers building across the street carrying their office belongings in file boxes. Fall of 2008 downtown Manhattan was mayhem. And somehow it all passed me by as I was busy dragging hoses, washing presses, digging out tanks and filling barrels. What a rude awakening when my manager delivered the news that my position was to be eliminated due to drastic cuts in the marketing and sales departments. My mildly bruised ego didn’t last very long when I realized what this meant: I no longer had to remain in a position or an industry I had never felt inspired by. A decision had been made for me, one I would have never even dared to consider in the market at the time.
The second call I made, was to California asking whether I could return to help finish out harvest. By the time I got there, it was the end of October and grape receiving had, for the most part, concluded and most fermentations were done. This time around, I was able to see other parts of the process, including lab work, digging out tanks and filling barrels. The days weren’t as full-on and long as they had been which meant I could spend time with the crew outside of work and pick their brains on my next steps. “How about working harvest in the Southern Hemisphere?”, they suggested. “Their season is opposite to ours, harvest can start as early as February”.
Where should I go? Chile or Argentina? Australia or New Zealand? South Africa? My head was spinning a little – where do I even find these job postings to apply to? Turns out, at my age, options were limited. Working holiday visas were generally for people under 30 – so that was out. Instead, I had to work with an agency that arranged placements and visas for geriatric interns like me. In hindsight, I had to tell myself that it was worth the exorbitant fee to have someone help me get sorted during those first few days on the South Island of New Zealand. Besides a ride from the airport and a place to crash, I needed a tax ID, bank account and, of course, a phone. After we got all that done in the day after I had arrived, I was on my own.
That first week felt like a vacation. My new landlady picked me up at the bus station in Blenheim and showed me what would be my home for the next 3 months. Her house was adorable, a blue craftsman in a pretty neighborhood called Springlands. A park with running trails and the grocery store were in walking distance. My room was a separate guest suite, maybe her artist studio, in the back yard. I had everything I needed, but to use the kitchen and bathroom, I had to walk across the lawn into the house. A small price to pay for a little privacy.
After riding the bus north from Christchurch, I felt I needed my own wheels for a bit. In my rental car, I explored as much as I could before work started the following Monday. A fellow harvest intern from Austria had reached out to me via Facebook looking to connect and join me on my explorations. We drove all around the northern end of the South Island, explored Havelock, Picton and the Marlborough Sounds, ate green-lipped mussels and, of course, went wine tasting. I immediately knew that New Zealand was going to have a special place in my heart. It was magical.
On Monday morning, one of the winery employees picked me up to take me to my first day of work. I was nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect. To my surprise, I was not the only intern over 30 – what a relief! We were given a tour of the production facility and a briefing on preparations for the so-called “Savalanche”. At the BBQ lunch, we had a chance to meet and chat with the other interns. There were 23 of us, a few locals but mostly internationals. Then came the moment of truth, one we had all been eagerly, nervously awaiting: the announcement of our shifts. Since this was a 24-hour operation, the choices were 7am to 7pm or 7pm to 7am. I was thankful to learn that I was put on day shift.
Intern life became routine pretty quickly. Every morning, I was given a ride by one of the locals, we dropped our stuff at the Smoko (Kiwi for break room) and quickly assumed our positions, handed over to us by night shift. I got to work the crush pad which, to me, was the most exciting part of the winery. Unlike US grape trucks with bins that require a hoist system for unloading, New Zealand drivers simply back up their trucks to the receiving bin, pull the pin to open the hatch and WOOSH, 10-12 tons of grapes drop into the hopper. Whites, mostly Sauvignon Blanc (obviously!) are put through the de-stemmer before the must makes its way through a 4-inch hose into whichever of the 10 presses are available. That hose is a beast to move from one press to another when it was full of must!
It was my mission to experience as many parts of the operation as possible. When the Savalanche slowed down, I helped the inoculation team with racking and preparing yeast for fermentation, pump overs and punch downs on the reds, and eventually draining and digging out the tanks for pressing. Towards the end of the season, I was asked to stay on for barrel downs and break down/cleanup of the crush pad. I agreed under the condition that I could leave 3 weeks before my return flight so I could travel. As it was a fairly large winery, I want to say we crushed close to 8,000 tons that harvest so it was always busy, there was always something to do. I thrived.
After New Zealand, I went on to work harvest at a comparatively tiny winery on the North Fork of Long Island and, eventually, a very high end winery in Napa – all of which I ended up being the only intern in my thirties. But it didn’t matter. We were all there to learn and contribute – for the most part, anyway :). Did I get to wear the hat of shame for making a mistake or two… absolutely. Did I win the golden steering wheel for speeding on the forklift… maybe? Not only did I forge some incredible bonds and friendships from these internships, they also provided me insight to a broad cross section of production size, processing protocols and wine quality levels. Above all, though, getting my hands dirty and having the opportunity to be entrenched in the wine production process from the very beginning, has been an invaluable experience. Not only for me, to make a decision on my career, but also for my overall appreciation of the work that goes into a bottle of wine. To this day, harvest is my favorite time of year and one I immerse myself in completely with unconditional fervor every year.