There are days when, beyond a few brief cellphone calls, my only connection to other people is found right here. I don't say that to elicit pity. This is the life I chose for myself after months of deliberation; those of you who've followed this blog since 2007 probably remember those cryptic essays I posted while I was talking myself into leaving the familiar and resettling here. And at my age! Then, as now, the blog is my way of keeping in touch with you as much as it is (I assume) your way of checking in on me. The latter is a leap on my part, but the regularity in which some of you post comments tells me it's not a huge leap.
I like this blog because it allows me to share with you the unexpected treasures of living in this wonderful place on the prairie, this place that requires so much work yet delivers so much reward.
Last week, on the long road to Michigan, I was rereading my grape-growing text to bone up on the goals of second-year vine pruning. I'll spare you the jargon and condense things to two words: air flow. In most of this breezy vineyard, air flow is not a problem. And then there is Row 16. This is the row closest to the road, the row that tells passers-by that I am a grape-growing goddess, the row that was planted first. Row 16: It will be the death of me, I'm sure.
I was in Row 16 with my pruners this evening trying to create air flow. If you look at the picture below, you'll see this is no easy task. There's a post in there if you look closely. The actual vines are planted four feet on either side of the post. Keep in mind, these are second year plants. This is Row 16. If these grapes had been planted by the government, I'm sure there'd be some sort of investigation into why these plants are growing like this. Surely, there's be a Senate sub-committee...
I cut and pull and cut and pull and toss the clippings into the trailer that hubby has rigged up behind the golf cart. The cuttings in the photo below come from six plants. I know!
And then this... as I examine the growing pattern of Row 16, Plant 2, in order to see where I should cut...this...
A smile washes over me. The little nest is about the size of a teacup saucer and inside, three tiny blue eggs. It's this discovery that reminds me why I love it here, even when there's no one to talk to. Then I remember that I can share this surprise with you here, on this silly little blog that I almost deleted but didn't. Another smiles washes over me. Thanks for listening.
Jason and Becky have this power boat moored in Saugatuk, Michigan. It's a 30-minute steam up the channel from their slip to the open water.
