The vintner's grandfather had planted the first row along the south wall, where the stone held the day's warmth. Each generation added another row northward into the open field, until the vineyard filled the whole plot. But the April frost that year was merciless — it took the most exposed vines, the ones with no wall or older row to shield them, the northernmost strip her grandfather never would have planted. The rest held. She replanted the lost row that autumn, and by the following spring the plot was whole again.