 What is a vintage?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-feathered beret from the clothes tree. "The Bogans have launched no less than four military campaigns in the last two decades. "Breaking and entering," Retief said. But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrial world of the poor but honest variety." "Our function is merely to bring them together. A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair, wearing tight trousers of heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket, stepped into the room. The wine crop is just about ready. Now I don't know if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...?" "Bacchus vines are an unusual crop," he said, puffing the cigar alight. "Only mature every twelve years. In between, the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own. Apples the size of a melon—and sweet—" "Sounds very pleasant," Retief said. We've turned all the land area we've got into parks and farms. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating; and it's the season for woodworkers. Our furniture—" "I've seen some of your furniture," Retief said. "All local timbers too. Autumn's our harvest season. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing; getting it in doesn't take long. This is Wine Year." "Our wine crop is our big money crop," he said. But this year...." Course, I'm only twenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. Arapoulous pulled the wire retainer loose, thumbed the cork. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deep rust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crusted port." "It's Bacchus wine, that's all. "The custom back home is to alternate red wine and black." Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork, caught it as it popped up. "We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy," Arapoulous said, swallowing wine.
 The time of year that wine grapes are harvested.
 The anniversary of Lovenbroy’s independence.  The time of year that Lovenbroy switches to making music as their primary occupation.  The time of year that wine grapes are harvested.  The time of year that children are born.