In its steep slopes they subjected, anchored firmly, with its deep roots, old woman stocks of grenache. Hundreds or even thousands. They were so old that they knew some them like prefiloxricas. In human terms, they would have more of a century. In the stop, their French premiums grew arrogant.

They had come for one season, and there they followed. To make matters worse, they received all the attentions of the owner and Mr., the weeder. However, ours forgotten and worked against grenaches, they only absorbed the affection and the energy of the sun. The nature, as godmother foretells protected, them of winds and the frosts, due to its strategic location. To the other, the one was the man that mimaba and gave all type to them of cares. During the pruning, without option to another type of tool, by the inclined thing of the land, they cut the vine shoots to them with roosas scissors and little sharpened. They produced wounds to them, that took in healing almost until the spring.

For its premiums they used special podadoras that caressed practically them. All cried, but they were of pain and sadness, and others, of happiness, to feel tried and recognized so well. The man did not plow the Earth sustained that them, did not realise work to them some. They were not profitable. Arrival the spring did not worry about their buds, of their flowering. They did not watch its incipient clusters. It did not matter if they seeded with normality or if envero fulfilled the cycle without frights. For that reason, perhaps, they observed with certain envy, as to the francesitas they granted all the privileges to them, even treatments for possible attacks of fungi or another type of bichitos. Thus anyone, used to comment resigned.