I am a Slacker of Sky

Harvest is here. Well, way past here, actually. We're two weekends in, have 11 tons in the winery, a weekend off and then full on again. Its been a good harvest so far. Weather's been cool, picking crews have been big, and everyone has something to say. For a change.

The crews has been fantastic. Big. I know size isn't everything, but, you know, sometimes it is. Tons of people make the tons go quicker. You can even get away with looking cute on a bike instead of laboring away beneath the vines (but only briefly). And the crews have been so fab that they barely complain after 18 yellow jacket stings or blistering burns from picking molten glass out of the fireplace (what a sec, that last part was me). Which brings us to part ii of the joy of this harvest.


Lots of raging.
What the hell is he doing anyway? Besides rightfully flipping me off as he slurps up the last of the Trumer that matt and I brought up. What the hell is with these Trumer sluts? It's like sky is infested with them, along with the R.O.U.S.es that live in the closet I grew up in. Anyway, what I was on about? Lots of awesome Gee-tar playing around the fire and blah blah blah-ing loudly into the wee hours, only to get up for another long day. Nothin' better than sweating the last of the alcohol (or *whatever*) somewhere shortly before the mid-morning break. I still have the haunting refrain from my favorite of Cameron's from the weekend knocking about in the basement of my brain. (If only I could hear the actual words so someone would tell me what the hell the song is & I could find it somewhere).

So what's my point? What is ever my point? I've got new stories and I'm too tired to remember the funny ones that are appropriate for outing in such a place as this. So I just thought I'd put up a few pictures and express my gratitude for everyone who is a Slacker of Sky. Or a Dog of Sky. Or a Punk-Ass of Sky. Or a What-the-Hell-Did-I-Get-Myself-Into of Sky. Or an XIX.VII of Sky. or just someone willing to forgo whatever other plans dominate our busy lives in order to help us out for a day or two.
Life is flying by. It's nice to appreciate it. Even if you have to put up with all kinds of shit for saying so.

ps. All the victims of the vicious yellow jacket attack have been vindicated. Against the advise of his lawyer, Matt joined a number of hooligans in pouring diesel fuel into their home and burning the shit out of those fuckers. Lets just say: mistakes were made. drinks were had. boys were scolded. and people died (ok, no people, just the sociopathic yellow jackets).