It's the time of year when I begin to think about what to do with the luscious heirloom Concord Grapes that I have dangling on the side of my screen porch. One year I made preserves that were mindblowingly de-lish. Then I had to cut the vine down when I re-roofed the house. It took a few years for the vine to come back to its maturity.
I made preserves again. The recipe tanked. I used turbinado sugar and ended up with a syrup rather than a jam.
I'm sitting here this morning reading recipes for making Concord Grape wine and waxing melancholy. This is my favorite time of the year. I have these beautiful grapes that I inherited from my Polish grandparents, now gone. I have childhood memories of this vine growing on the side of their front porch, the fragrant smell overpowering the summer heat as stinging insects went about their business.
My eyes start to water when I read about preparing the grapes and then eventually letting the wine ferment for nine months to two years or more. Did my grandparents think about the future, when they'd finally be able to enjoy a sip? Time goes by at warp speed and soon enough I would be drinking the fruit, but what will be between now and then? There will be real tears, real joy and so many things I could never imagine.
Do I make the wine? Do I make the wine and take the trip through time?
(years later remember this thought)