Friday Night Vinters

A couple of months ago my neighbor Scott and I were chatting on the lawn between our driveways. He’s an IT guy but his passion is brewing so we were talking about the hops he was training to climb his garage. During the conversation, I mentioned that Renée and I were thinking of growing some grapes.

“Me too. We could make wine.” Scott responded.

Renée and I had been having the grape conversation that morning. I knew where the seed catalog was and retrieved it. Within half an hour we had decided which grapes we would get, not based on anything we knew about the wine they would produce, but simply because they were the most hardy. Living where we do it was an important consideration.

During the time we waited for the arrival of the grapes there were planning sessions.
Most of these have occurred on Friday nights in our garage which – and this is a generous appraisal on many counts – has a view overlooking the vineyard. In spite of being neighbors for many years, we haven’t spoken much beyond the “Hi how you doin’?” level so we have enjoyed getting acquainted.

During these we have carefully measured the section of lawn we had chosen to make sure we had enough room for the few plants we had ordered. We talked about the equipment we would need. We talked about the actual process of turning grapes into wine. Grandiosely, we talked about what to name the wines and label design. Often the conversation strays from wine. Joyce, Scott’s wife, is a talented vegan chef (http://www.beautifullivingfood.blogspot.com/) and she has shared some of her incredible desserts.

Because none of us is particularly knowledgeable about wines, we have sampled several – OK many – in the course of these planning sessions. We are also saving the bottles in anticipation of future need so you could say we’re multi-tasking.

Scott and I took a series of lectures at a local vineyard so we’ve been playing with the language: “Should we use high cordons or the fan system?” kind of stuff. We think it’s probably quite impressive. (More on the seminars in a future submission.) Perhaps because of the extensive wine sampling we find critical to our vineyard operation, the conversation can get –let’s say- edgy. Joyce, who is delightfully open, will reveal some foible she imagines herself to have and Scott will say, “Joyce, he has a blog!”

Truthfully, Joyce has become one of our heroes. Since we have known her Joyce has gone through some changes. Changes reminiscent of something I read about Celtic druidism being a search for inner peace and happiness for those with the courage to “see, hear, and feel differently.” (http://www.druidschool.com/ ) It has been a privilege to witness.
As Scott would say, “I’m just sayin’”

You may ask yourself...

My buddy John and I got tickets to see David Byrne. Actually, John got one for his birthday. When his daughter Annie found out I also liked Byrne she got me one too. Byrne was touring in support of a new CD, “Everything that happens will happen today.”

The venue was a large field adjacent to the Shelburne Museum. (The museum is a village of 18th and 19th century buildings moved to the site for their historical or architectural significance.) A pamphlet that came with the tickets said to bring beach chairs rather than standard models so that views of the stage, set up at the bottom of a gentle slope, would be unobstructed. We found a likely spot not too far from the stage and set up the required chairs. Mine was a borrowed wooden version that, folded differently, doubled as a backpack frame.

The concert started on time as the crowd continued to trickle in. Folks either sat, mostly in compliance with the “chair rule,” or stood at the edges as a Higher Ground (promoter,) announcer had suggested. As the concert continued and got livelier folks started to rise up out of their seats to dance, applaud, or (and this may be just me,) restore circulation to their lower extremities.

David Byrne is a veteran performer who honed his chops in the 70’s as front man for Talking Heads. His fan base includes a healthy dose of baby boomers including early ones like myself who are – let’s just admit it – not as spry as we once were. (Byrne himself is in his late fifties but still seems pretty spry.)

It had been raining the previous week and the ground was soft. The wooden chair I was in sank to its seat leaving me on the ground, albeit with a backrest. This made getting up a challenge involving rolling over onto my knees and bolting upright from there. Looking around, I saw that I wasn’t alone in that. Think: adults in sort of a septuagenarian parody of Woodstock. You know - rolling around on the ground.

Nor was the soft ground/low chair problem the only source of Woodstock reference. There was the pretty twenty-something skipping through the crowd arms extended as though attempting to take flight. There were also blankets, beer coolers, snow fence barriers, porta-potties and the sweet smell of marijuana; all enough to put one in nostalgic overload.

In short, the evening was a blast. The music was great, enhanced by a bit of effective theater provided by a small cast of dancers, and the mood of the crowd was upbeat and celebratory. Of course, there is the problem of “Burnin’ down the house” still running through my brain a week later. As Annie told me in an e-mail though, “It could be so much worse.”

This blog is about what someone does in retirement. While I may choose to reminisce about things that occurred before, I will try to constrain myself to topics of interest to folks “of a certain age,” or at least folks with some leisure time and the resources to enjoy it. The blog is not a “how to.” I have no special wisdom about financial planning, RV repair, fly-fishing or using malls as exercise venues, even though I’ve done all those things and may choose to write about them.

One of the things I do in retirement is write. You may choose music, or art, or genealogy. Because I write though, these essays may sometimes try to look into the meaning of whatever I’ve decided to explore. Sometimes I’ll try to be funny or informative or simply vent about whatever irritates me on the day I decide to make a submission.

The underlying message about all these pieces is that retirement is not about sitting around waiting to be entertained or, worse yet, waiting for the grim reaper. We all pretty much design and build our own world so, to some extent, this is about a construction job. Me, constructing the rest of my life.