The women leap from the back of a little red van. Flying between uniform lines of leafy vines they snip off bunches of blowsy, blue-black grapes, filling bucket after bucket with lightning speed.
Down here in the Negroamaro vineyards of Feudi di Guagnano in the heel of Italy’s boot, timing is crucial. When grapes burst with juice and the voluptuous bunches hang almost by a thread, the hardy, nut brown women from the nearby village...
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