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Theo continued, “I would guess you’ve read Mr. Wordsworth, perhaps in a literature class at some point in your studies. He once wrote that the best portion of a good person’s life is ‘the little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.’ Tintern Abbey,
“There is another teaching about kindness,” Theo said. “‘Do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.’ In other words, do good, but try to do it without notice or hope of reward. Ms.
she had felt the slow contraction of a soul that had given itself too completely, and with too great a sense of importance, to the marketplace.
“Once we had gathered our grapes from the vines, they were taken from
the hillside to large stone tanks called lagares, thirty feet square and four feet high. Things have changed, but, when I was a boy and a young man, we would march on the grapes with our bare feet. We would line up, fourteen men shoulder to shoulder like a chorus line, and march, up and down and back and forth, for hours at a time, all day, until the juice was out of the skin. “The feet are perfect for the work, Tony. Machines can be too rough, too heavy on the seeds. They make for bitter wine. But feet are just right. It was serious work, important work, hard work, but also much fun. Always,
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and break the monotony. We believed that a happy room...
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“The juice would ferment for three days and then be mixed with brandy and put into barrels. And then, after six months or so, the barrels would be loaded onto wooden boats called barcos rabelos and taken to the town of Vila Nova de Gaia, on the riverbank across from Porto.
vintage 1947, yes, 1947, the year you were born. Tony, I should tell you, we Portuguese save the good port only for very special occasions. Well,
remind you, the roots can only grow in stony, difficult ground. The pruner’s shears cut deep. The grapes are crushed and kept in the dark for decades. For the sake of the sweetness. For this very moment.”
“Know this: When you drink this port, you taste the hillside of my childhood. You taste the sunlight and the Douro. You taste the strength of the vine, the sweetness of the fruit, the sweat and labor of the harvesters, the oak in the barrels. You taste the music of the accordion, the laughter of the children, and the prayer of the priest. You taste a young man’s joy and an old man’s memory.
