Sour-Grapes-Hills

    Several days later, Stormy’s birthday party was held in the barn.  It was a quiet affair, with gifts, and reminiscing.  Grapes prepared a simple lemon ice-box pie for Stormfront’s birthday, since the Sugarcube Corner was still recovering from the parasprite infestation.  A simple recipe, with a pleasant tartness but not too tart that made Stormfront’s day.  The big gray pegasus’ smile was worth the effort, in Grapes’ mind.  Gifts were given, songs were sung, and the pie was eaten.  And that day went very well for them all.    It was a couple of days later that Sour Grapes had a rare visit from Twilight Spark

    A few days later, Grapes found the Storm Riders all doing some manner of preparation after they had done their farm duties.  Squall was creating some manner of wooden carving, a very impressive one at that.  Queenie and Earshot were decorating the barn for some sort of quiet celebration.  Firestormer seemed to go into town, after work, obviously searching for something.  Grapes was not sure what he wanted, but he was not asking her for any help.  Sirocco on the other hoof had come back from Ponyville with some records.  Some Hasslehoof, but others did not seem to the exotic pegasus’ taste.  Grapes was not sure what was going on, so

The Storm Riders seemed to acclimate to life on the Vineyard, quickly.  Grapes had allowed the Riders to start on the job, and they had gotten some on-the-job training with the various duties.  Including fertilizer duty, done often by the elegant Icestorm, much to Grapes’ chagrin.  They seemed to accept her little ‘I’m in charge’ speech with aplomb, for the most part, but during her listing of what they’re NOT there to do, a hoof was raised. “Excuse me, Miss Sour Grapes, but... ‘Fooling around in the frames’?” Queenie asked, with a raised eyebrow. “It only takes [i]one[/i] instance

Quite to Sour Grapes' surprise, one of the Storm Riders showed up the very next day.  Grapes had been picking grapes that had gone to burgundy, along one of the rows of unharvested Chablis, when a skidding sound from the road attracted her attention.  She galloped to the gate, hoping whatever had happened was not too serious.  Instead of the wreck that her imagination had conjured, she found herself staring at a fiery colored pegasus at the end of some very long skid marks. "Are you okay?" The bright orange, red and yellow Pony took off his goggles and smiled.  "That depends.  Is this Grapevine Hill?" "Grapevine Hills Vineyard and Winery," Gr

Sour Grapes was grateful for the weekend, as she trotted to Ponyville in good spirits, humming an Istalliobrothers tune to herself, actually hopping on the “jump jump jump jump” bit.  She, briefly, wondered if having an ‘official’ friend was the reason for her mood, or just that it was a fine sunny day.  Grapes made her way to the Pony Express office to mail her letter, and to check on the eventual delivery of a very special package.  That was probably when things started on their roller coaster ride between the highs and lows.   "I... I'm so sorry Miss Grapes but while in transport it... kinda got... dropped off at t

As far as Sour Grapes was concerned, things went back to fairly normal.  Grapes were harvested, weighed, and put into the cool of the processing room to await processing.  Workers were supervised, advised on when to get water, work checked, paid, and fed lunch and dinner.  Some of the farmhooves went to town, and partied, coming back in the wee hours of the morning, but they were quick to discover that their employer had a distinct lack of sympathy for their shenanigans.  One morning she came out and there, the enormous pony with the studded vest and the tattooish looking cutie mark of a bent thorny branch, with red buds on it, was standing t

*pomace: the unfermented skins, seeds and cluster stems that are produced from pressing grapes It was about a week after the Summer Sun festival, and Sour Grapes was standing at the gate of the vineyard.  It was bright and early, and she was expecting the cart from Ponyville with the temporary farmhooves to arrive at any time.  She had paid Big Macintosh to haul the workers here.  This way it was the large farmpony who had to wait for stragglers, and not Grapes herself.  Grapes hated repeating herself, especially to the temporary help.  The rule she left on the job notice was be on the wagon or go home, so it was clear that if you wanted to