September 2, 2024

Here on the front deck in Hiram overlooking the Burnt Meadow Mountains, there is a bottle of sparkling white wine on the table.   Its label tells that it originated in the small town of Sangalhos in the Bairrada wine growing region of Portugal.  I can imagine the farmers there nurturing the delicate fruit on the vines.  At the peak of fragrant ripeness, they gather the grapes and transport them to the cellars where the vintners set to fermenting those smooth globes of sweetness into sparkling wine.  After some time, the wine is transported to New Bedford and eventually to a small market in Westport where this bottle of Casal Mendes vinho verde was purchased for $5.99.  It was carried to Maine where it sits on its small throne.  

The laborers plying at their trade in the warm autumn Mediterranean sun couldn’t imagine just where their grapes would end up.  It didn’t matter if it was to a nearby village feast or to a small town a continent away.  What did matter is that their love’s labor would not be lost, and that wherever their harvest ended up, there would be an appreciation of what it took to make that bottle sparkle. 

Cheers to the farmers who feed us and sustain us and cheers to all the laborers in the fields, towns and cities who make life possible on this crazy spinning globe we call home.