Back at the Winery“Signor Filippo, I'm so glad you're here, but you really must stay out of the way.”
It was Vito, and he was scurrying about in his usual way, directing traffic in and out of the winery with flailing arms. His short stature failed to disguise his barrel-chested strength, and his energy — even in his early-seventies — would surpass that of most of the winery employees. His long sleeves were rolled up above his elbows so his arms wouldn't be restrained as he moved this bucket, then that hose. He was balding, it was true, but he had a tuft of sweaty gray hair that swung back and forth on his pate as he moved about the trucks and gondolas, the tanker-sized troughs that brought the grapes from the field to the winery.
I stood to the side and watched in amazement and appreciat
