Baby Grapes in the Great Plains

A day I very much wish I could forget was my first day of summer, 
staring down rows and rows of grape plants.

By Jenna Long


A row of grape plants that is similar to the Iowa vineyard I worked on.  Photo taken from personal blog of Linda Engstrom, a vineyard owner from Hillsboro, Ore.  http://gardenaesthetics.blogspot.com/2010/06/stormy-weatherand-wine-tasting.html



The idea that I should have worn less clothing popped immediately into my head when I opened the door of my silver Grand Am and stepped onto the grey-graveled drive of my new job. The weatherman had reported a supposed record high for northern Iowa, and I could already feel my shirt becoming moist with sweat.  The date was June 6, 2011, exactly one day after my high school graduation, and I was about to learn a lot about my work preferences through one of the most terrible days of my eighteen years.

Standing awkwardly on the grounds of the farm I had just driven onto and under the glare of the sun, I waited for somebody to notice me; no one had given me clear direction as to what I should actually do once I reached the farm.  Nobody had really given me any directions at all except to show up at 8 a.m.  Eventually, an ATV pulled up, driven by my new boss, my sole coworker sitting next to him.

Robby Barnes, my boss

My boss, Robby, could have been type-cast as the die-hard hippie in any respectable B-rated movie.  He had a long grey beard and hair to his shoulders.  He wore cut-off jeans and tie-died shirts.  He didn’t own a car but instead walked everywhere, including the five miles from his own country home to the closest town.  He played guitar and loved to joke around.  He smoked pot and he loved to drink.  In general, he was a lot of fun.  He was also disorganized and oftentimes forgot that he held the responsibility of managing a vineyard of more than 7,000 grape plants.

When we first discussed my coming out to help him in the field, I asked him what I would be doing and he replied very matter-of-fact, “Well, taking care of the grapes, of course!”  I had no idea how much hard work that simple job description kept hidden.

Now, I am not an outside person and I don’t like to sweat or do manual labor or get dirty, so obtaining a summer job in a vineyard can definitely not be chalked up as my brightest idea.  Yet, I somehow ended up there, and it would only be a matter of minutes before I learned exactly why my new job was worth the $11 an hour I was being promised. 

After a few “how-do-you-do’s” and comments about the heat, Robby asked me to start in the far east corner of the field and pull all the weeds and ingrown branches off the plants. I walked behind the ATV to vineyard on the opposite side of the farm.  The vineyard consumed an entire two acres, and each row comprised about 200 plants.  The three year old vines had just begun to grow large leaves and exceed the allotted space each was given. The branches intertwined with wires that were strung between wooden poles, causing them to form a type of horizontal fence. Whenever I looked down the short, grassy medians between rows I felt as if I were in the stretching, never-ending hallway depicted in the 1971 film “Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” It was as if I would never reach the other end.



For each plant, I had to take off the plastic tubing at the base of it, pull the weeds, pull the ingrown branches, replace the tubing, and move to the next one.  The work transpired to be tedious, very hot, and very buggy.  Each row took approximately 45 minutes to complete, and I began to measure time in relation to rows.  I would think to myself, “Oh good, I only have two more rows before I can sit down and take my lunch break.” 

The rhythm of that first day went something like this: “crouch, move, pull, pluck, move, stand, walk, crouch, move, pull, pluck, move, stand, walk. . .”  In between each movement mosquitos, flies and nearly invisible black bugs swarmed me, getting into my nose, mouth, and eyes.  I had to attempt to swat them away with each movement and I’m sure that if someone were to walk past me out in vineyard he would have thought I was attempting to create some sort of psychedelic dance move.  It was a terrible, hot, nasty six hours of work, one that I will never be able to forget.

My first day at the vineyard was also my only day.  After those first six hours, I realized that I would dread getting out of bed every day if I knew that I had to repeat that awful process over and over, so I quit and spent the rest of my summer life-guarding full-time, just as I had the previous two summers.  What I learned from my one day at the vineyard was that I am definitely not meant for hard-labor but instead am better suited for work that lets me interact with others and still be slightly lazy.