Do what you love and you'll never work...

A friend and I recently shared our experiences as new entrepreneurs. Like me, she felt pulled to transform a lifelong passion into a venture she hoped would grow into a profitable enterprise. And like me, she's learning that in order to work "on her business," she needs to work fewer hours "in her business." This means that in order to be successful, chances are she'll be spending much less time on the passion that drew her into business in the first place. That's a tough irony that catches up to all entrepreneurs eventually. Even writers.

This afternoon, I toured a local vineyard that boasts 13 acres of grapevines, a nursery, and opening in 2010, an impressive winery/event center/restaurant. The vineyard, which was established in 2000, was perfect. Every row had vines teeming with ripening clusters, the grass strips between the rows had sharp edges and there wasn't a weed to be seen anywhere. Trust me; I looked hard. I can't imagine there being a better maintained operation in the state.

As I moved through the tour, I listened to the owner talk about his processes and his plans. I also pondered the varied skill sets that will be required to be successful in the venture. It's one thing to be a good grower; being a good host is another thing altogether. I wondered if he'll find planning menus or hiring waitstaff or scheduling events to be as rewarding as growing grapes. Undoubtedly, something will have to give in order to manage it all. And then I learned what his first "something" was going to be: harvest. This fall, at this vineyard, harvest will be done via machine.

We haven't yet experienced harvest here at Four Cedars. But that doesn't mean I haven't planned it all out in my head. It will be a glorious September day. All my friends will drive in. I'll nourish them with food and wine and music and up and down the aisles, my friends will laugh and sing while tossing plump clusters into plastic bins. The day will be less about efficiency than it will be about sociability, yet the work will get done because we're doing what we love so it isn't really work, right?

I could never give this dream up to gain the efficiency of a machine. (Not even if it rains every day in September.) And I'd never want to grow so big that I'd even consider machine harvesting an option. Yet, if I were in the grape growing business in a serious way, the way I witnessed a local grape grower today, I'd have to consider all options in the name of efficiency.

Thankfully, I survive on other skill sets. My grape growing can remain a passion that I can "work in" instead of "work on" for as long as I continue to love the leaves and shoots and tendrils and even (hiss), yes even the weeds.

This past weekend we finished hedging and skirting (pruning those flopped over and dragging shoots). It looks much better after pruning is done. Now it's time for bonfire.

War, declared today...

Allow me to catch you up on events here at Four Cedars; it's been awhile since my last post.

The weather is confusing my vines. The days are sunny and dry, barely breaking 80 degrees. The nights are cool and dry and dewpoints, for the most part, hover in the 50s. My vines think they are growing in the Williamette Valley, not in the American Midwest. They'll get their wake-up call in about two months.

The Marquettes are amazing me with their vigor. I've had to hedge them at the top because they are flopping into the center of the rows. The Edelweiss, meanwhile, have recovered from their springtime frost burn and are looking very much like you might expect a second-year vine to look. Their growth is adequate, which to say manageable. And the weeds, well, they are doing what weeds do best. Annoying me.

Today, I found evidence of an enemy. Yes, there is an enemy afoot...or, perhaps, afeather.

The picture above was taken two weeks ago. One week ago, those clusters went from green to glorious gold. Hubby and I each took a nibble of the not-quite-ripe fruit. It was tart with a hint of green apple flavor. Yummy.

As the gold color got richer, I knew ripeness was on the horizon. I pulled another one. Yummy. This time it was not quite as tart but still there was a hint of green apple. The clusters were wearing gold like an Egyptian queen.

These three clusters were destined to be my bellweather grapes. I was counting on them to tell me much about how sugar levels change daily as grapes ripen. I started browsing for a refractometer. And then...

...tonight on my stroll through the rows, I checked my golden lovelies. They were gone. Every single ball of citrine, gone. This is heartbreak.

There is an enemy out there. It must be stopped.

The colors of summer

I am in awe of the reds, and the corals and magentas make me smile, but it is the green that is my favorite. The juicy, tart, not-quite-ripe yet magnificent flavor of green. This is how I color my summer.

A gritty twist on personal history

It rained today. It was a lovely rain. A million dollar rain if you're engaged in the business of farming.

I try to spend rainy days tidying up the farmhouse, and today was no different. I sorted through stacks of laundry, mail and old magazines trying to reduce, reuse or recycle as much as possible. In the midst of my cleaning, I picked up the 2009 Farmers Almanac, and while trying to determine its fate, I found something I had to share:

"Historians tell us that among the useful items the first European colonists brought with them to the New World was one that we might not have suspected: the earthworm. Earthworms didn't occur originally in much of the north, it seems; rather European species were carried here in the colonists' ships, hidden in the soil those vessels loaded as ballast and in the root balls of plants they carried.

Properly reflected on, the idea that a creature as familiar and ubiquitous as the garden worm should be an exotic can do us good. It can enlarge our perceptions of history, including personal history. For consider: If earthworms came to our continent with the colonists, then they necessarily have their places on the same historical timeline as their human importers. Just as the millions of today's descendants of the first European colonists can trace their ancestry to specific people and places, so the descendents of the earthworms who accompanied those pioneers must arrange themselves in a like heirarchy of arrival. Therefore, should you repine that your colonial pedigree isn't all that you might wish, five minutes' work with a garden spade can turn up an aristocrat, a Mayflower worm whose very presence in your vegetable patch must gentle your condition."

This seemed the perfect sentiment for a day when all the birds are smiling; their rainy-day quest for earthworm meals seems assured.