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The Winery Christmas Story

2016 December 27
by Gene Fiorot

‘Twas the night after Christmas, when all thro’ the winery ,
Not a creature was stirring, maybe an errant mouse,
The tanks were filled in the winery with care,
In hopes that  Bacchus soon would be there;
The Winemakers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of 95 points danc’d in their heads,
And Anthony in his wet sneakers, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our pumps and filters for a long winter’s nap-
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the winery to see what was the matter.
Away to the corker I flew like a flash,
Tore open the Chrusher and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Another Winemaker’s sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old Salvatore  Contradore  so lively and quick,
Not sure I thought in a moment it could be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name:
“Now! Mike,  Dave. Frank, Andy, Nick now! Kevin, and Vixen ,

“On! Joey , Anthony and Dave and Blixem;
“Sal Please don’t fall off the wall !
“Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
Al prays the wine completes MLF before the wild hurricane fly,
Hoping they meet the spring bottling , mount to the sky;
So up to the winery top the corks they flew,
With the sleigh full of bottles – and Salvatore too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney came Joey Edwards came with a bound:
He was dress’d all in pink fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnish’d with sale tags and soot;
A bundle of olive oil was flung on his back,
And he look’d like a Ron Lanza just opening his pack:
His eyes – how they twinkled! his dimples how merry,
His cheeks were like Frank Musto , his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin could have been Carmine in the future as white as the snow;
The stump of a cigar, Bobby he held tight in his teeth,
And  the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He really was Gene , and a not quite so trim  round belly
That shook when he laugh’d, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, and not quite jolly the old self,
And Virginia laughed when she saw him in spite of herself.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight-
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.



6 Responses leave one →
  1. Larry Rosen permalink
    December 27, 2016

    One of only a few things I miss about NY is experiencing wine with your club.
    Keep up the great work and may 2017 produce ambrosia.

  2. dave obrien permalink
    December 27, 2016

    Very nice!!! Joey Edwards inpink fur…too much to picture after a 4 day holiday hangover!

  3. Andy permalink
    December 27, 2016


  4. carmine Frattaroli permalink
    December 27, 2016

    That was great Gene by the way I was Bottling my Lanza when I read this email.
    Merry Christmas and a very Joyful New Year to all.

  5. Al Battista permalink
    December 27, 2016

    Ha-Ha-Ha, Great…. I still can’t get the Joey in Pink Fur image outta my mind. Yikes.
    Good Stuff. Happy New Year to all.

  6. Nick permalink
    December 28, 2016

    Gene good job! Merry Christmas to all the Westchester winemakers!

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