For nearly fifty years now, the harvest at Cos d’Estournel has taken place a la hora española. Guided by a highly uncommon tradition, the estate entrusts the task of grape-picking to residents of a single village in Spain, rather than to a disparate group of individuals. Every September, a close-knit group of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, aunts, uncles, cousins and childhood friends head north to Saint-Estèphe from the Andalusian village of Alcalá la Real, to create special memories that they will cherish from one year to the next. It is indeed a singular tradition and the advantages are numerous: interactions are simple and easy and time is used efficiently, as a genuine attachment and dedication to tending to the vineyard is passed down from one generation of grape-pickers to the next.
Today, the group is led by Jaime. A discreet man, he orchestrates the operation and safeguards the bond of loyalty between the estate and its grape-pickers. His eyes smile as he evokes how proud he feels to be coming to harvest at Cos d’Estournel year after year and see so many families do the same. This year the feeling of pride runs even deeper, as the group was entrusted with the task of leaf thinning in June.
Vineyard Manager Michel Sementery also recognizes “the extraordinary fortune of the estate to be able to count on people with such loyalty and devotion to Cos d’Estournel, who understand the vineyard and how to tend to it.” Fostered over the years, this feeling of mutual respect cannot but benefit the quality of the harvest.
Grape-picking is an arduous task requiring the involvement of each member of the team throughout the day. Pilar, Maria, José, Mercedes, Isabel, Conchi, Fernando, Yolanda, Juan, Antonio, Carmen and Carlos share a staunch dedication and unfailing enthusiasm that can be heard resonating in their animated conversations over lunch. When the day draws to a close, the estate takes on a different aspect altogether, with everyone coming together around the dinner table or joining in a game of pétanque, as if Alcalá la Real had come to life in Saint-Estèphe. And then it is time for bed, for tomorrow is another day . . .
