Emma’s Bottling Day Retrospective

Bottling days were something of a seminal experience for us as kids. Sure, family was always coming and going from the ranch on a daily basis throughout the year, but bottling days were different. Aside from holidays, they were one of the few times the whole family—cousins, grandparents, aunts, and uncles—even the ones no one could actually place on the family tree—assembled on the bottling line. They might as well have been holidays, considering they usually meant skipping school.

You might be thinking, A bottling line doesn’t seem like the best place for a child. And to that I say, yeah, you’re absolutely right. What the hell were they thinking? But when you’re running a family farm, child labor laws are more of a laughable suggestion than a hard-and-fast rule.

No one questioned it— we had a job to do! A Pavlovian rhythm took over: catch the case, fold the flaps, send it through the tape machine, apply the label—always upside-down and straight! Or you redo it. You see the name on that sticker? That’s your name. So you’d better make sure it’s straight. I’m pretty sure we learned the definition of quality control before we learned how to carry the one.

Of course, we weren’t exactly the most reliable workforce. For every hour spent doing something useful, another was lost shrink-wrapping Tessa onto a case-filled pallet or building cardboard cities out of discarded boxes and materials. Tiny hedonists clandestinely slipping in and out of the lab to stuff our pockets with donut holes meant for the actual crew, we’d tear the tops off blueberry muffins before running off ponderously through the cellar, up the catwalk, to stuff our faces with the stolen spread in secret.

No matter what work—or antics—were underway, we always paused at noon when the lunch bell sounded and my grandma, Susanne, emerged from the house with a 30-inch round platter of sandwiches, sides, and baked goods—usually Texas brownies or cupcakes—to feed the crew. A woman whose love language was cooking for others, she proudly held the grapevine woven platter above her shoulder as she called our attention. Crew, family, dogs, cats, all eyes on Susanne’s feast, she lead the march onto the patio where some of us stuffed our faces for the second time that day. 

2005 to 2025, not much has changed. I’m still giggling in the lab with my sisters, still sneaking a SKU sticker onto my dad’s back to see how long it takes him to notice. When you open your next bottle of Salvestrin, I dare you not to crack a smile thinking about the motley crew of kids who had their hands in the process.

Cheers,

Emma Salvestrin, 4th generation

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