The alarm goes off at 5 AM, but you're already awake. The cool morning air of Champagne carries something electric—harvest energy that's been building for months.
By the time the sun crests the hills, the pickers are already moving through the rows. These aren't industrial harvesters or seasonal temps rushed through training. These are families who've been doing this for generations, hands that know exactly when a cluster is ready to become something extraordinary.
I spent a week during vendange visiting three grower-producers I've come to know over years of visits. Each one has a philosophy, a signature, a way of coaxing magic from these chalky soils.
At Pierre Péters, Rodolphe walked me through the same parcels his grandfather tended. The Chétillons vineyard, source of one of the most profound Champagnes I've ever tasted. Standing there, watching the careful selection of each cluster, you understand why these bottles are worth seeking out.
The days blur together: morning pickings, afternoon pressings, evening tastings of base wines that won't become drinkable Champagne for years. Lunches are long and wine-soaked, conversations spanning generations of technique and terroir.
What strikes me most is the patience. Everyone here is working on a timeline measured in years, sometimes decades. The grapes picked this morning won't be ready to drink until long after the picker's grandchildren are born.
There's a lesson in that patience. The best things—wines, meals, relationships—can't be rushed. They require care, attention, and the wisdom to know that some things are worth waiting for.
I brought back three cases of grower Champagne, each bottle a piece of that week. When I open them at dinners, I share these stories. The wine always tastes better when you know the hands that made it.