I savored roaming the vineyard alone, picking grapes for my private reserve of red wine. Papa planted the vines when he was quite young. By the time he was my age, he walked these rows with a grandchild in tow. Over time he taught me everything needed to run his premium winery.
Papa was round, with a full body. His skin, dry and leathery, smelled of oak and cigars. These grapes will be perfect for my reserve, fermented in animal skins, or rather Papa's skin. He used this technique with goatskins but insisted his would elevate a Malbec to perfection.
"You're on earth. There's no cure for that." ~Samuel Beckett