It rained late this year. Not the kind of rain that worries you, the kind that arrives after you have stopped waiting for it and makes the whole slope smell of wet earth for a week. The cherries took their time. We picked the top rows first, the ones at 1.900 metres, and left the lower terraces another ten days.
The lot that is drying now on the patios is the one you will be pouring in Copenhagen around November. We turn it every hour while the sun is up. Grandmother still comes out at four to check it with her hands, and she says it is a plum year. She is usually right about these things.
The horses are fine. The new foal has decided that the drying patio is her territory, which is a problem we are solving with a fence and a lot of patience.
We will send the first bags with the December shipment. Save us a cortado.
