My one-way conversations ...

A few months ago, I entertained the thought of pulling the plug on this blog. But I didn't and today, especially today, I'm glad I didn't.

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.

A week away, and...

I returned to the ranch this evening to find the lawn has sprouted a pretty healthy crop of clover. No biggie, though. The Cub Cadet has new blades and a full tank of gas.

More importantly as I reviewed the property, is that the dawn application of Roundup I made early last week gave me the best coming home present a girl can ask for: rows clear of weeds. A quick walk up and down the rows revealed several plants in need of some light pruning, which isn't so much of a chore as it is a lifestyle nowadays. But the chore that is weeding, a true chore indeed, has been taken care of by the good folks at Monsanto. A respite!

Maybe my fingernails will stay clean through to the weekend.

A quick escape from the prairie...

We celebrated Independence Day by breaking away from the ties that bind...i.e., the green tape and T-bands that we use to tie our vigorous vines to their trellises. For three days, we set aside all thoughts of green to drink in the varied hues of blue. 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.

There was room for all of us, plus fishing gear, scuba gear, and refreshments.

Jason rigged 6 lines for trolling. The guys pulled in three salmon, which amounted to about 25 pounds.

This is the only evidence of traffic.

Waiting for a line to trip. Then all hell breaks loose.

With only a few trips in the afternoon, there's plenty of time to take in the serenity of the lake.

Blue. It stretches to the horizon where it melts into precious silver and gold. Sometimes, it only takes a few days away to rejuvenate the spirit. I can now return to the rows of overgrown green with fortitude knowing there are three months remaining to manage the tangle of green we call a vineyard.

And when I tire of green, which I will, I can come back to the memory of a blue that stretches forever.

Four Cedars Folly: Three Years In

We celebrated our third anniversary here at the farm this past weekend. Not suprisingly, the weekend went a lot like that first weekend went back in 2006: We worked like oxen from sun-up to sun down then downed a few Aleve along with a few beers.

What were we thinking?
Three years ago, we asked ourselves this question often. Then, most of our energy went toward rectifying decades of neglect. It was easier to get past our aches and pains when we could just blame the previous owner(s) for not knowing -- or caring -- how to maintain a property so its value appreciates. We'll turn the place around, we told ourselves. Once the dirt and debris gets cleared, we'll be in the clear too. Ha!

Then we got an idea to plant grapes; whether it was a good idea remains to be seen.

About a month into farm ownership, we met a nice fellow from town who struck us as the kind of guy who can get things done. We shared our idea with him and asked him if he knew a guy who might have a plow for hire. He did. The pasture needs to be turned, we told him. (We were thinking ahead). He nodded and promised to take care of it, which he did.
We ran into this fellow this weekend. He complimented us on our vineyard. "I always wondered if you knew what you were getting into," he admitted to us. Clearly, we didn't I told him, laughing on the outside but aching on the inside.

The experienced grape growers have told us that we will grow and learn as our grapes grow. This June, I learned that year two requires as much effort as year one. It is a painful lesson.

Last week brought us almost 3.5 inches of rain and temps in the 90s. Good growing weather for anything green. Three days before the above picture was taken, weeds outnumbered vines by roughly 20 to 1. But this post isn't so much about weeds; I spray herbicide to kill weeds. First, though, I had to go up and down the rows getting the robust vines, which were twisted and sprawling in any number of ways, pruned and tied to the trellis.

You can see what I mean, eh? I have to stick my head into this tangled mess and select two straight, upward growing lateral shoots that look as if they have the potential to give me a healthy crop in 2010. Everything else gets cut. It takes about 10 minutes and requires much patience and critical thinking. In spite of the mess of potential in front of me, there is a right path; deciding takes faith. It sort of reminds me of parenting teenagers, except this also requires bug spray.

Hubby told me he'd rather pull weeds than prune. Tony and Shannon spent the day helping with this task and both told me they saw twisted mangled vines in their dreams. They stopped short of calling them nightmares. I'm grateful.

Once the vines are up off the dirt like this one, I just have to wait for the breeze to abate before heading into the rows with the herbicide sprayer. I've discovered the calmest hour of the day is at 5 o'clock in the morning.

Last Thursday as I pruned in the hottest part of the day, I again asked myself: What was I thinking? I know only a few women who, in blistering heat, would ignore biting flies and dirty fingernails in order to create something lasting -- something beautiful. Wouldn't I be happier, I asked myself, if I were in an air-conditioned coffee shop sharing thoughts on the latest best-seller, all manicured and comfy? I push the thought away and convince myself instead that I'm putting my energy toward something special.

What was I thinking? I was thinking grand. I was thinking beautiful. I was thinking legacy.

Fortunately, I have been blessed to know some women who, like me, are willing to work hard and get dirty in order to achieve big things. They inspire me to push ahead down the rows.