“Are we getting a line once more?” Lucie Zufferey ends the brief break taken at the edge of the field. The young winegrower prefers not to hang around: the morning freshness that reigns in the Rhone Valley is gradually fading, giving way to a particularly blazing sun for a month of May. At the end of the longe, Elvis, a workhorse with a blond mane, starts moving obediently, towing a small plow. He is followed like his shadow by Luca, Lucie’s brother, who makes sure that the machine traces a straight furrow between the vines.
