A perfect day...

They don't come around often, these days that hint at perfection. So when one arrives, on a Monday no less, you savor each minute. Even if there are chores on the docket.

It's been well-documented (on this blog) that this vineyard has forced us to meet many challenges without losing tempers, enthusiasm or heart. That's what's hard. You can call it viticulture, a ten-dollar word if ever there was one, but at the end of the day it's just farming. Farming, a ten-cent word if ever there was one.

And in farming, or viticulture, there always are set backs. Always. With equipment. With weather. With buildings or fencing or weeds or stray dogs or uppity sheep... . If you want to call yourself a farmer, you must work through them.

And then the sun rises on a perfect day.

You wake, not because there was an alarm set or because the dog barked, but because your body has rested enough. You remember there are people you love in the house. They greet you with coffee and you share eggs and toast from homemade bread.

Outside, the sun is doing its job. It is August and there is heat. But you don't mind because you've expected heat.

In the vineyard, there is a spool holding 4,000 feet of wire. It's heavy. But someone, somewhere, devised a tool called a spinning Jenny by which two men can string wire the length of a football field without injuring themselves or making a mess of things. If you are one of these men, you appreciate the spinning Jenny.

If you plan things right, the wire installation is effortless, even in the heat. But you break often. At 11:00 a.m., there is pie. It is also homemade. Pie and cold water and shade are part of your perfect day.
There are nails that hold the wire and they are hammered into each wooden post. There are 13 line posts and 2 end posts for each row. The end posts get two nails each. That's 272 nails. And two hammers.

When you work in the sun, it's good to have a straw hat. It's even better if you bought the hat in Greece because then you can think of Greece and the person you traveled with every time you wear it. Of course if you're thinking about Greece, but you're standing in Minnesota, you'll probably want to be working in a vineyard. Otherwise, it wouldn't be a perfect day.

To be sure, even perfect days have their weeds. But you can always take a break from bending and pulling to take a call and talk to a friend who is far afield. An office in the sun fits nicely into your perfect day.
A perfect day, especially a hot perfect day, requires an early quitting time and a cool shower. On a perfect day, work ends by 3:30. By 4:00, there is renewed energy applied in the kitchen, where caprise salad, locally-grown watermelon, locally-raised beef (grilled to perfection), and crisp, light wine, are soon to be enjoyed in the shade. All the produce, from the onions to the salad cukes, restore you on this, your perfect day. You give your body time to absorb the food, the breeze, the wine, the jazz standards that drift toward you from the radio. You watch the sun set on your perfect day and still you relax outdoors until, not thirty minutes later, the moon rises on the opposite horizon as large and red as the sun appeared as it bid farewell.

Then your neighbor stops by and puncuates your perfect day with this: "You have to have done before, someplace else." She is talking about your vineyard. Your challenging child. Your farm. Your chase for perfection.