repeated
blankly. “Nubian goats? Whatever for?”
Margaret opened the folder she
brought to the meeting and pulled out a magazine article she’d read. Her
Internet research had also reinforced the idea in her mind. Goats could be
tethered and allowed to feed on the weeds of the vineyard, cutting back even
more the use of pesticides and herbicides. They already had the special tractor
attachment Jack purchased before he died that gently moved between the vines,
tilling the weeds back into the soil. The goats would take care of the weeds in
between tilling.
Billie perused the article before
handing it back, her brows lifted. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I think they would completely
negate our need of weed sprays, and being a greener business would put us in a
position to…”
Billie cut her off. “It was a joke.
Goats. Kids. Kidding. Get it?”
Sally, sitting across the
conference table typing notes on her laptop, snorted. “If you have to explain
it, it’s not funny, boss.”
Billie shot Sally a scathing look,
then turned to Margaret. “Sorry. I’m not laughing at your idea. I think it’s
great. Just trying to bring a little levity into our day. Some people don’t know humor when they hear it.”
“Some people don’t know humor,”
Sally muttered.
“Anyway, I’m definitely jumping on
the green bandwagon. I don’t think we’ll survive long in California if we
don’t. Regulations seem to be on everything around here. So, if goats will help
save the planet while weeding the vineyard, I’m all for it. Just make sure you
name one of them Sally .”
“Hey, I take offense at that!”
Margaret laughed at Sally’s
supposed outrage. She’d known her long enough to know that she’d probably be
proud to have a goat named after her. “Fine with me. I’ll look into buying
them. You can name them.”
Billie stood up and stretched.
“We’ve tackled enough new business for now. I love your idea of wineblending.
We have three varieties, two going back decades, and yet as far as I know Jack
always harvested and crushed them separately. If we could come up with an old
family wine recipe…wouldn’t that be awesome? People like drinking a bit of
history. It gives the wine respectability.”
Sally broke out singing,
“R-e-s-p-e-c-t…” and carried her computer from the conference room, swaying to
the beat.
Margaret picked up her folder. “You
know, my grandfather used an old wineblending recipe when he owned the winery.
I think he got it from the previous owners. I know it must go way back before
the property split. I remember my father talking about the formula when I was
little.”
“Before the property split?” Billie
pushed her chair in and leaned her arms on the back. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t know?” She wondered how
Handel could have left that little tidbit out of their conversations for the
past eighteens months and whether he did it to protect her. He knew how much
she loved the vineyard. But he couldn’t possibly think Billie would try to take
it from them. “Our three acres used to be part of the winery land. When my
grandfather sold out, he managed to keep a plot for his family. My small
vineyard contains some of the original vines from the forties.”
“And you’ve been keeping that all
to yourself?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t know it was
a secret. In fact, I’m sure the winery has records of the sale. There was some
dispute about the acres we kept, but when Jack bought the winery, he let it go.
He thought we’d been through enough I guess, without digging up ancient
boundary lines and taking us to court over them.”
Billie worried her bottom lip.
“Jack did have a soft side for the underdog.”
“I guess.” Margaret moved toward
the door. “I know I’ve just joined the team, but thanks for giving me the
chance to prove myself. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t. You’ve already
proven you know the winery business.
blankly. “Nubian goats? Whatever for?”
Margaret opened the folder she
brought to the meeting and pulled out a magazine article she’d read. Her
Internet research had also reinforced the idea in her mind. Goats could be
tethered and allowed to feed on the weeds of the vineyard, cutting back even
more the use of pesticides and herbicides. They already had the special tractor
attachment Jack purchased before he died that gently moved between the vines,
tilling the weeds back into the soil. The goats would take care of the weeds in
between tilling.
Billie perused the article before
handing it back, her brows lifted. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I think they would completely
negate our need of weed sprays, and being a greener business would put us in a
position to…”
Billie cut her off. “It was a joke.
Goats. Kids. Kidding. Get it?”
Sally, sitting across the
conference table typing notes on her laptop, snorted. “If you have to explain
it, it’s not funny, boss.”
Billie shot Sally a scathing look,
then turned to Margaret. “Sorry. I’m not laughing at your idea. I think it’s
great. Just trying to bring a little levity into our day. Some people don’t know humor when they hear it.”
“Some people don’t know humor,”
Sally muttered.
“Anyway, I’m definitely jumping on
the green bandwagon. I don’t think we’ll survive long in California if we
don’t. Regulations seem to be on everything around here. So, if goats will help
save the planet while weeding the vineyard, I’m all for it. Just make sure you
name one of them Sally .”
“Hey, I take offense at that!”
Margaret laughed at Sally’s
supposed outrage. She’d known her long enough to know that she’d probably be
proud to have a goat named after her. “Fine with me. I’ll look into buying
them. You can name them.”
Billie stood up and stretched.
“We’ve tackled enough new business for now. I love your idea of wineblending.
We have three varieties, two going back decades, and yet as far as I know Jack
always harvested and crushed them separately. If we could come up with an old
family wine recipe…wouldn’t that be awesome? People like drinking a bit of
history. It gives the wine respectability.”
Sally broke out singing,
“R-e-s-p-e-c-t…” and carried her computer from the conference room, swaying to
the beat.
Margaret picked up her folder. “You
know, my grandfather used an old wineblending recipe when he owned the winery.
I think he got it from the previous owners. I know it must go way back before
the property split. I remember my father talking about the formula when I was
little.”
“Before the property split?” Billie
pushed her chair in and leaned her arms on the back. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t know?” She wondered how
Handel could have left that little tidbit out of their conversations for the
past eighteens months and whether he did it to protect her. He knew how much
she loved the vineyard. But he couldn’t possibly think Billie would try to take
it from them. “Our three acres used to be part of the winery land. When my
grandfather sold out, he managed to keep a plot for his family. My small
vineyard contains some of the original vines from the forties.”
“And you’ve been keeping that all
to yourself?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t know it was
a secret. In fact, I’m sure the winery has records of the sale. There was some
dispute about the acres we kept, but when Jack bought the winery, he let it go.
He thought we’d been through enough I guess, without digging up ancient
boundary lines and taking us to court over them.”
Billie worried her bottom lip.
“Jack did have a soft side for the underdog.”
“I guess.” Margaret moved toward
the door. “I know I’ve just joined the team, but thanks for giving me the
chance to prove myself. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t. You’ve already
proven you know the winery business.
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