We don't talk much while working in the vineyard. Dennis, caught up in his vision and dreams for this vineyard that have been six years in the making. Six years of studying soil, sun and drainage patterns, and researching types of grapes. But me, my mind tends to wander. Usually I find myself thinking about the vineyards in the Tuscan region of Italy; hundred of years, handed down generation to generation, each family member doing exactly what we are doing today, back-break, painstaking labor, hoping for a crop of unique one-of-a-kind grapes, the likes of which have never been tasted before. It would have been easier had we not chosen to grow organically. But we wanted to insure the soil was pure and the grapes untainted by chemicals or pollutants.
Even our large, clumsy, usually rowdy dogs seem to sense this is a reverent place. They are calm, respectful, almost reflective here, and often caught up in peaceful thoughts of their own.
The edge of the woods is near, and sometimes, while working in the vineyard, I get the distinct feeling I am being watched. I scan the wood line, and never see anything. But I know somewhere in those woods, the native inhabitants are watching, camouflaged by their habitat, wondering what these strange two-legged creatures are doing.
My dad had a stroke before the first vines began to bud. But he knew everything about the plan. He saw the drawings, he walked the land as it was plotted out for planting and he was excited at the prospect of his wild overgrown hillside producing something of value.
I can only hope (dream) that 50, 100 years from now, someone who I have not met yet will be picking grapes from this vineyard and wondering about the people who planted them.
