Sounds and Sights

The frost alarm sounded at 1:30am. I sprang from the warmth of my cozy bedcovers, pulled on some clothes and walked out into the chilly night. The moon was beginning to rise over the eastern hills. The yowls of the coyotes pierced the night - first one, then the answering chorus. It is a lonely sound, but at the same time, a communal one.

I started the pumps and listened as the sprinklers began one by one to emit a small, shrill whistle. As I opened the valves on the lower blocks, I could hear the water as it pulsed down the lines. My task completed, I walked back home.

In the twenty minutes that it took to start up the system, the temperature had dropped another 1-1/2 degrees to just above freezing. Not so good, to drop so fast. There was nothing to do now but to wait 'til the sun warmed the vines enough for the ice to begin to fall from the wires and canes. I crawled into bed and drifted off into a deep sleep.

This morning, the icicles shone brightly as the sun's first rays illuminated them from behind. There were portions of the vineyard that did not shine: Up high on the eastern hillside where the temperatures remained warm enough to avoid the frost altogether, and in portions of one of of the lower vineyards where the absence of ice meant that cold air flow had frozen the lines before the water could reach the sprinklers. Not good.

Those areas of block two that had frozen up were not as far along in terms of budbreak, so there's a chance we still may have dodged a bullet, but time will tell. Buds that haven't pushed are not susceptible to frost. If, indeed, we did have damage to the buds, there will be a secondary bud that will push a bit later. The secondary bud is less fruitful than the primary one, but it will still bear some fruit. I'm crossing my fingers and hoping that the primaries squeak on undamaged.