Our poor vines have had a rough few years — first the goats, then the sheep, and finally the fire. Surely next year will be their year… right?
About three and a half years ago, full of enthusiasm (and perhaps a little too much optimism), we planted our small vineyard. Mostly white grapes for drinking, a few red for eating, six neat rows in a new patch near the house. We dug deep, gave them rich compost, watered them faithfully, and stood back to admire our future in wine.
Then the goats happened.
That first year, they somehow slipped through the fencing, as goats inevitably do, and treated themselves to an all-you-can-eat buffet of tender young vines. Not a leaf left in sight. We regrouped, patched the fence, and told ourselves next year would be different.
It was. The sheep got in.
By the second year, the vines were just starting to recover when the sheep decided to help with “pruning”. They did an excellent job of it, leaving behind only a few sad stumps and a field full of guilty faces.
This year, things were finally looking up. The fences held, the animals were occupied elsewhere, and the vines were green and thriving. Then came the fire.
Thankfully, they weren’t destroyed, just singed underneath, enough to ruin any hope of a harvest. Still, they survived, which is more than can be said for some of our other plants. There’s a certain stubbornness in those roots that I can respect.
At this point, I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. We might never make our own wine, but that’s the wonderful thing about living in Portugal, good wine is cheap, plentiful, and far easier to get than growing your own.
Still, there’s something satisfying about the dream of one day pouring a glass from our very own vines. Maybe next year will be the year. And if not… well, I’ll drink to that anyway. 🍷
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More from the diary that shares the same themes.
We’ve fenced off the middle section of our land — the most fertile area where the horta and the well sit. With the ground freshly turned and blue skies overhead, it feels like the farm is breathing again.
The fire left our fields bare and our animals without grazing. With fences destroyed and hay stores gone, we’ve had to move the sheep and goats into a smaller pen while we slowly rebuild.
The fire came fast. But somehow — through courage, luck, and stone walls — our house survived. So did every single animal. This is the story of those terrifying two days, and of what comes after the flames.
