Finding pride in caretaking...

I am the caretaker of what is believed (by me) to be the most beautiful vineyard in Blue Earth County. I know what you are thinking and it’s true. There are others.

As caretaker (or vineyard manager if I’m feeling uppity), I spend a good deal of time toiling along the rows taking care of putsy chores like weeding, watering, tying, and now, pruning. Pruning is a new chore, brought on by lots of summer heat, lots of sunshine, rain sufficient enough for me to shelve my tank sprayer, and fertile soil that also has pushed the corn across the road to towering heights.

My vines have gotten unwieldy, dangerously, snapping off in the wind unwieldy, so I must prune, especially now that I know which leaves contribute to the strength and vigor of their developing trunks, and which leaves detract from the process. With these hybrids that trace their roots to vitis riparia, all leaves are not created equal!

Pruning is not physically taxing but it requires a gentle touch, patience, flexibility, and the ability to forward think the trellising pattern to protect the most likely candidate for the cordon. When I prune, I also allow for the possibility of winter kill and wind damage; the latter having shown itself too frequently this past week. Pruning suits a contemplative nature, which I’ve developed as I’ve walked the rows, grateful for my iPod and whatever breeze God sends my way.

By now, you can detect that my vines and I have developed a relationship. They are like children to me; I am attending to them (even when the dew point is 73) so that they will grow strong and bear fruit for decades. This is my vineyard.

And then, I find a horn worm. Dear readers, the horn worm is without doubt the ugliest creature on God’s green earth. I found two of them in the vineyard yesterday and, with lower dew points, found them to be a curiosity. (One ended up in the compost heap and the other was recycled back into the food chain thanks to the chickens.) But tonight, with sweat rolling off my nose, I was less than pleased to find this interloper clinging to my Edelweiss plant.

My scouting guide for Grape IPM tells me the horn worm likes new vineyards. Well, not in my vineyard, I say as I pull him from the leaf. It’s about then that the pest spews green slime on my gloved finger. That’s when his removal from my vineyard ceases to be a business transaction. Now it’s personal. And it’s a long walk to the chicken coop.

I threw the interloper onto the dirt near where, conveniently, a rock the size of a softball sat. I’ll end the story here because you get the picture. (If not, refer to the Kabul soccer game scene in “The Kite Runner.”)

And thus the sun sets on another day in the vineyard. Tomorrow, there will be more ties, more cuts, more weeds to pull, and God willing, a wind out of the northwest.

[Postscript: I used to read the New Yorker and Harpers magazines for pleasure. Now I read the Pocket Guide for Grape IPM Scouting.]

An allegory to go with your Monday coffee...

Here's a story that's too good to keep to myself. It was shared by a wise friend and I offer it to you as my gift to your Monday...

A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. Conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life.

Offering his guests coffee, the professor went into the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups -- porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain looking, some expensive, some exquisite. The professor told his guests to help themselves to coffee.

When all the former students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice-looking, expensive cups were taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress.

"Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In most cases, it is just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink.

"What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups, and then you began eyeing each other's cups.

"Now consider this: Life is the coffee; the jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not define, nor change, the quality of the Life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee God has provided us."

I was attracted to this little allegory because it sums up an attitude I strive for every day: The happiest people don't have the best of everything. They just make the best of everything.

Democracy kicks up dust near the beets...

I've never been overtly political. The only explanation I can offer is my profound belief that the larger an organization gets, the less effective it is delivering a product or service. And I ask you, what organization is larger than the government? (Perhaps Wal-Mart.)

But my lack of interest in political posturing has not precluded me from believing strongly in the process of affecting change through constitutional activism. I love the fact that a group of like-minded people can petition its neighbors in an effort to put forth a candidate for public office -- however unlikely it is they'll succeed. Idealism never examines the odds.

It was in this spirit of supporting the constitution that I welcomed three mild-tempered, respectful, (and most undoubtedly) former '60s hippies to the Farmers' Market to seek the signatures necessary to get their candidate's name on the ballot for the Green Party. Their pitch to passersby was docile: You don't have to vote for her, they said; we just need 2,000 names to get her on the ballot.

All was well with the world until the crabbiest farmer at the market demanded they leave. No politics, he barked. This is a vegetable market.

The Green Party volunteers respected his stance and left quietly. But I was disappointed by the farmer's take on things. His view seemed short-sighted and restrictive. They were not campaigning nor were they promoting an agenda. And none of them had detracted from his sales of onions or beets. Besides, if anyone will take up the positions of the Green Party, it's likely to be people who frequent farmers markets.

For my part, I was just thrilled to watch the process by which they collected names; it felt good to participate in an effort meant to keep the heart of democracy beating. And frankly, the best part about hanging around a community market (or square) is listening to people exchange ideas and debate issues that mean something to them, even if some of them don't mean anything to me.

Sadly, farmer B doesn't share this sentiment. Never mind the free and open exchange of ideas. It's a vegetable market. We should all act like vegetables.

With heavy eyelids I write...

I’ve discovered a piece of routine for my new self — my new fully-settled-on-the-farm, just-me-and-them-animals, surviving-just-fine-without-air-conditioning, don’t-need-to-be-out-the-door-before-eight, self. And this routine involves music — spacey, sultry, sometimes scintillating music. Seriously.

I stumbled onto a music program that plays Monday through Thursday nights from 9 p.m. to 11, on KMSU called Echoes. You can learn more about the program at the Echoes web site, where its sound is described as cross-cultural and trans-millennial, merging cultures and forms, technology and tradition, the ancient past and the possible future. You can see why I’m attracted, now, can’t you?

Even the host has a voice that sounds like it originates from deep within the planet.

I’m finding these Echoes compositions so mesmerizing that I can no longer climb the stairs toward bed before 11 p.m. lest I miss the journey through just one more amazing soundscape.

It’s worth noting that six months ago I couldn’t stay awake past 9:30 if my life depended upon it. Now, I schedule online research or video or graphics work for after sunset. And so my new routine is to sit, illuminated only by the glow of an LCD computer monitor, and find places in cyberspace to visit while this music sweeps my new, nocturnal self, through the solar system.

Then a brief window opens for me when John Diliberto signs off. I must run to bed quickly then. For if I remain in my chair until 11:01, well, I’m doomed. That’s when the jazz starts.