I guess there are worse ways to make money, than by picking grapes, but my dad had it in his head that we had to earn our money. We lived on the grape vineyard, and dad would take out his grape picker ever fall and we would walk behind him to gather the grapes that the picker missed. We were constantly fighting the exhaust from the picker and the fact that it is so cold that time of year. The grapes aren’t sweet until the frost hits them. We hated being out there and feeling our fingers get so cold you couldn’t feel them. We would be shivering and ready to go inside and feel the heating, but he wouldn’t let us until he was ready to go in. That wasn’t fair, because he had heating in his grape picker, but we didn’t have any heat. We took turns running into the house to go to the bathroom, just so we could get warm by the heater. Mom would chase us back us and tell us that we were being wimpy and dad needed our help. I think she should have been out there with us, and then let her say how wimpy we were for wanting to come inside and get warm by the heater. She would change her mind quickly. She was in the house with the heating, and dad was in the picker with the heating. Yeah, yeah, let the kids freeze, they could always make more.All we want was a little heating once in a while and a good job pat on the head, but I guess we were getting paid pretty good, so why complain.