Grapes Of Fear

Low pay, long hours, grueling work: Life was hard enough for California’s vineyard workers— then Trump threatened to deport them.

- Maddie Oatman

IT’S SUNDAY NIGHT of Labor Day weekend, but any barbecues died down hours ago, and the rural back roads of this southern Napa County neighborhood are a dark and silent maze. Around midnight, the lights of the Robert Sinskey Vineyards’ shop blink on. In the center of its gravel driveway, workers coax tractors to life and assemble large plastic bins that will soon brim with clusters of pale green pinot blanc grapes. Picked in the cool hours of the early morning, before their sugars can develop in the sunlight, the grapes will then be whisked off to the winery and prepared for fermentation.

As 1 a.m. nears, a white van pulls up and a crew of about nine pickers, contracted by Rios Farming Co., clamber out to don neon-colored vests and headlamps. They’ve traveled two hours from Stockton, California, to be here, and for the next 10 hours or so they will together pick 25 tons of fruit.

Vineyard manager Debby Zygielbaum leads the group in a stretching circle despite her stiff work pants and then gives the call to start. In one swift motion, the workers lift small plastic bins onto their heads and begin running into the rows. They use clippers to quickly snip the grapes, 45 clusters per minute by my count, taking care not to crush the bulbous fruit or snag the leaves.

Clipboard in hand, Sergio Agustin Sanchez, the crew’s stubble-faced supervisor, paces after them. Pickers emptying their bins yell out to be recorded, and the deluge of calls punctuates the din of the tractor. Sanchez must concentrate to hear every shout, but he’s grateful there are enough voices. A few weeks earlier, the labor contracting company he works for had to scramble to replace crews. Ten years ago, he reviewed 700 job applications for each season. Last year, he tells me, he saw maybe 15. “There aren’t any people now,” he says.