On a lazy Saturday in September, we loaded up our little red wagon - just me and the girls (and the cats). A picnic in a wicker basket, a proper blanket, a few stuffed friends and a couple of costumed girls. Marguerite and I took turns tugging on the black handle and then insisting little legs walk to our picnic destination: in the vineyards behind our house, beneath the big oak trees. We spread it all out and sat for lunch in the perfect shade, the sun still piping when the sun is high. We went gleaning ('grappiller') - sweeping the vines for remaining grapes, turning to sweet raisins in the sun. A local friend confessed that every year this is her favorite treat, after les vendanges (harvest) and before Christmas - the remaining clusters hanging there like candy.
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