The vineyard of my grandparents.
Always rich at that time of the year.
Fall, beginning of school year.
We used to help them with bringing them from vine to baskets.
Almost half of them we ate.
Just dirty as they were.
It was part of our growth. Sweet and full of flavor.
Then we would watch how grandpa would step on them bare feet to make wine.
I never tried the wine.
But I will always remember the grapes.
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