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The door creaked open, the pitch black dark greeted me, and I flashed a picture on my camera just to be able to see what lay in front of me. I had been led to the back barn of the family home where the wine-crafting area lay covered in dust. I felt as though I was stepping back in time.
In front of me, through the utter darkness, was the big juice-holding, wine-creating tank. Where years of grapes had created the vintage used on the table for family gatherings.

He started digging around and pulling out all of the tools of the trade. The pruning sheers used to snip the bunches of grapes from the vine. The big grape crushing screw that would have the barrel assembled around it, grapes piled in, and the crush that would make the juice flow down into the collecting vat. The bottle carrier that his dad would use to scuttle the bottles back and forth in the process.  And a surprise wine cellar...hidden away down in one of the tanks.

He grabbed a skinny ladder, put it down into the tank, disappeared down below and came back with a bottle from their last vintage in 2003.

I looked at the bottle of wine covered in dust and dirt and thought of the romance that went into creating that one, single piece. His dad tending to the vines during the year, the family gathered together to pick grapes, the boys working together in the room throwing the grapes into the barrel, his mom watching over them and all of them gathered around the table at the end of the day swapping stories.
From above it looked like a piece of history waiting....waiting for his family to gather and continue the tradition.

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