Harvesting the Grapes of Wrath

Steinbeck's dustbowl family worried that a cotton-picking machine could drive them to starvation, but at least there were grapes to pick, and that had to be done by hand. But even that is changing.

In this photo, the village of Galargues is at the far left, with the double-towered church and the tall water tower.

In France, grape harvesting is the vendange, an annual event both economic and social. Vendanges the we've worked at were local village affairs: everybody would pick for one farmer one day (or 2 or 3, as required), then move to the next farmer's vines and everybody would bring in that crop.

The farmer would lay out a huge meal at midday to feed the hungry pickers after the morning's work. And everybody would head out to the vines again in the afternoon with full bellies, and work off the calories in the fields.

Bunches of grapes come off one at a time, clipped with the secateur, dropped into the bucket, and the buckets poured into the triangular hotte to be carried to the barrels.

In the vineyards of Languedoc-Roussillon (and there are a lot of them), we're seeing big blue grape-picking machines, often trundling up and down the narrow country roads heading for the next vineyard to be picked.

We caught this one off the road, doing its job. Not very social, but at least the driver isn't alone.

Wandering the countryside this week, we've seen only one field with a group of human grape harvesters. All the rest are being worked by the big blue machines.

Probably an economic necessity. Certainly a sign of the times.