It's the scale of it that hits them first...

I've noticed a pattern with visitors to Four Cedars.

It first shows itself in the way the car slows just after turning into the driveway. It's hard for them to focus on the gravel drive when their necks are craned to take in the long rows of hybrids shooting skyward from ribbons of black soil.

Then, about 75 minutes into whatever "chore" they enthusiastically volunteered for, it becomes clear to them that commercial viticulture is neither gardening nor yard work. I usually offer them a snack or a nap then, feeling bad that they haven't yet acclimated to my reality: yes, there are 40 plants per row and 16 rows.

It's a lot, I know. Have a cookie.

Finally, after a hearty meal, or two, and a good night's sleep, there's the glow of accomplishment that washes over guests when they realize that perseverence does reap visible rewards. They are then free to assume ownership over their portion of the three year process of turning roots into wine.

Every step along the way is a vital one, after all. And all volunteers are held up as heros around here.

This is Steph, who volunteered to help remove grow tubes. Tony likened the process to taking training wheels off of a child's bicycle. The tubes acted like individual greenhouses for the root stock, giving each plant warmth and protection to get off to a good start. But now the vigorous plants need to start the hardening process before winter hits. So, it was off with the tubes.
Some of the vines surprised us with how much vigor they actually delivered inside the tubes. Here, a Marquette had developed a cluster of grapes. Steph pinched these off whenever she found them.
And, try as we might to get every weed away from every vine, every now and then, Steph found one worthy of noting.
At the end of a weekend, there was only one word to describe it: Beautiful!

With great thanks to Steph (and Amos) and Tony for donating a weekend to the cause.

Visits by family...

When I visited Lebanon in 2004, my traveling companions and I spent a day visiting relatives in the mountain village of Bane. I use the term “relatives” cautiously because the people I met in Bane I’d never seen before and realistically will never see again. Yet we shared a bloodline however diluted, and so, strangely, we seemed to belong to each other.

I recall stepping out of the car and having an old woman embrace me, kiss me, then walk me to her home, all the while clutching my arm and rattling in a language that was at once foreign and familiar. As we walked, her non-verbal communication opened an understanding of my role in her life. She held me tightly; I belonged to her.

This open hospitality, this welcoming embrace, is of course deserved by all visitors to all places.

Tomorrow, I’m fortunate to welcome back to Four Cedars my Hungarian travelers. I’m so excited I can hardly contain myself. There will be food and libation, and no doubt chores for them too. But mostly, there will be hugs and kisses and rattling of words as we walk arm and arm into the “family” home. At Four Cedars, all visitors are family.

Just another site along the (super)highway...

I've only been to Ohio once and it wasn't for long enough to really get a sense for its culture. Nevertheless, I suspect there's something not quite right in the water there.

I give you exhibit A, a run-of-the-mill office building in Newark, Ohio...

I stumbled upon this shot of the home office for the Longaberger Basket company while doing a Google Image search for "baskets." Who'd have figured I'd find one that included an elevator.

My question is, do you think there's a giant fried chicken, potato salad, and an extra large bottle of wine inside? And how long does it take to fold the napkins? And of course, wherever there's a picnic, there are ants... . Yikes!

A day off...

Sunday brought us weather that is as close to perfection as I'm likely to find in Blue Earth County. The sky was powder blue, tufts of cloud drifted lazily across the open expanse, and the line of trees at lake-side filtered the wind into a aural shimmer. So I decided to take the day off...from weeding, from blogging, from editing, from thinking. So serious was I to not taint a full day's respite from mental activity, I didn't just steer clear of my computer; I turned it off.

Instead, coffee was sipped outdoors. I read an article about making cheese. I baked cookies. I pulled onions and herbs from the garden and prepped them for future meal-making. I cut carrots. I took a nap in the hammock. I gazed at the vineyard for long stretches, taking in the sight of more than 600 vibrant vines climbing toward heaven. I took stock of the weeds underfoot, knowing that this was a chore left for another day.