|Agliancio (nick named "Ugly|
Hanako" just before harvest
Sept 22 2012
A shoot cut from the vine quickly withers and dies.
With the changing of the seasons from Summer to Autumn and another harvest upon us, we've been running around like crazy and are exhausted. For a moment, the grapes have been picked. There are no fermentations to punch down. No batches of wine to press. No barrels to bottle. For a moment, there is peace, the eye of a hurricane, before the frenzy will start again. A moment for reflection, to remember the day of changing seasons, the memorial of our planting, to give thanks for our blessings and for all those who helped us reach this point, for the friends and neighbors who helped pick, for the workers who carried heavy loads we couldn't possibly move ourselves, for the parents who nurtured us, and a never ending list of people, giving them prayers and thanksgiving. Yes, we built this vineyard, and we know we didn't do it alone.
If a shoot cut from the vine quickly withers, should we not live our lives fully rooted in the vineyard?
|Rising sun, raising the nets.|
I retrieved the printed liturgy from its drawer and read:
"Holy God, let me always be rooted in you so that I may live in you and you in me.
Bless me so that your grace may flow through me, allowing me to bear your fruit to a hungry and helpless world.
As I wonder, prune me of all that inhibits your growth in me.
Let me do nothing apart from you so that your joy may be complete in me. Amen."
|Bluey, ready to begin|
his hunt for grapes.
Vineyard is art. Vineyard is life.
|Brigit (over 80 years old), Madonna and Maggie.|
|Reese tackles Aglianico.|
|Jim clips a grape and not his|
|Madonna shows a prize. Next|
to her his Luce.
|Stephanie brings home the Zin.|