No matter what the reason, the death of a vineyard is a sad occasion, one which calls for black attire, gleaming shoes and a slow march to the rhythmic tapping of drums in unison. If there is an old gun-carriage lying around, bring that along too. But do try to look manly as the warm wet tears roll down your clean-shaven cheeks while the trucks drive off with the lifeless gnarled shapes of uprooted vines.
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