 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.] The wine crop is just about ready. Now I don't know if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...?" 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. 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. Course, I'm only twenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. "It's Bacchus wine, that's all. "The custom back home is to alternate red wine and black." Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you can turn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintage season is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Come nightfall, the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on: roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns are born after a vintage.
 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.