St. Helena, CA
A new phase is upon us here in Napa, "verasion," when the grapes ripen enough to blush (or turn yellow in the case of "white" grapes). If you look closely above, you'll see the tiniest hint of pink. We went searching for it, because according to the scuttlebutt in Napa, verasion is early this year, as opposed to late July like last year. This bunch is on a super-old vine, but maybe the others aren't far behind. That same scuttlebutt says all signs point to a stellar vintage so far. 2014. Our vintage.
The nearby grapes, so wee just a few weeks ago, are now hanging low under their own burgeoning weight.
There's something oddly hopeful about walking amongst the vines on these long, bright evenings. I don't know if it's my own bias, knowing the fall will bring juicy, ripe grapes that will render that red liquid love in my glass. Or maybe it's the birds shouting out, or the wine train calling just down the track, or the temperature gently falling as evening comes on. Or maybe it's the subtle reminder that there will be a day soon when the grapes will turn, and there will be a day after that and another. Maybe it's the reminder that even though we just celebrated the summer solstice, just down the road a piece, we will be celebrating a harvest. The grapes remind me that there is a tomorrow and, after that, a tomorrow.
The hope calls me out, and then it follows me home, lightening my step and brightening my heart.
Today, I'm grateful for grapes and hope.
A new phase is upon us here in Napa, "verasion," when the grapes ripen enough to blush (or turn yellow in the case of "white" grapes). If you look closely above, you'll see the tiniest hint of pink. We went searching for it, because according to the scuttlebutt in Napa, verasion is early this year, as opposed to late July like last year. This bunch is on a super-old vine, but maybe the others aren't far behind. That same scuttlebutt says all signs point to a stellar vintage so far. 2014. Our vintage.
The nearby grapes, so wee just a few weeks ago, are now hanging low under their own burgeoning weight.
There's something oddly hopeful about walking amongst the vines on these long, bright evenings. I don't know if it's my own bias, knowing the fall will bring juicy, ripe grapes that will render that red liquid love in my glass. Or maybe it's the birds shouting out, or the wine train calling just down the track, or the temperature gently falling as evening comes on. Or maybe it's the subtle reminder that there will be a day soon when the grapes will turn, and there will be a day after that and another. Maybe it's the reminder that even though we just celebrated the summer solstice, just down the road a piece, we will be celebrating a harvest. The grapes remind me that there is a tomorrow and, after that, a tomorrow.
The hope calls me out, and then it follows me home, lightening my step and brightening my heart.
Today, I'm grateful for grapes and hope.
Funny you should post a "grateful" post: "Today, I'm grateful for grapes and hope." I've been trying to post everyday on FB things I'm grateful about. I am woefully behind. Thank you, Tammy,
ReplyDeletefor grapes and hope.