At seven in the morning, in a vineyard in Felanitx, the frozen water jugs on a dry wall are already dripping. They're covered with workers' T-shirts to keep out the little bit of sun that's just beginning to rise. From between the rows of vineyards, cheerful but soft music can be heard, as well as some conversation. However, the predominant sounds are the shears used for pruning and the scraping of plastic crates on the ground. The day before pruning, they are left on the farm, placed between the subtle, linear furrows in each row of vines to save themselves some work the next day.