It may sound odd, but I miss working in the fields as a field hand. There is something about spending your days outside, walking in the dirt, and feeling the air swirl around you that is very enjoyable. Not that I dislike my job. In fact, one of the great things about working at a magazine company is that feeling of creating something once the magazine is finished, that is very rewarding. It is even more so when you are lucky enough to have written a few of the articles in the magazine. The pieces that you get published feel as if they are an extension of yourself. And when you get praised for them, it is a great experience and thrill. Still, I'd love to spend the summer days hiking through the country, or riding a horse along the edge of some vineyard as I made my way up to the sagebrush covered hills.This following is a piece I wrote for the magazine I work at.
Vineyards
Row upon row of lush, green leaves spread out
over the undulating hills. In vast array they stand
still, entwined around the support of their trellises,
only the clapping of wavering foliage speaks out
towards heaven. These vines are silent and inviting,
not tall and constraining like corn, nor blocked from
view of the moon’s tears or the winking of the stars
like canopies of cherries and apples. Vineyards are
different. Vineyards play.
Grapevines spread out and embrace one another
until they are indiscernible from each other. Walking
around a vineyard in the day, or gazing over its
wondrous expanse at night, there is a stillness and
depth not found in orchards or wheat fields. These
vines are not tame. They adventurously seek out the
new, exploring undiscovered directions as fast as they
can. A vineyard is wilderness temporarily contained to
a hillside. Constrained by years of pruning and care,
the vines always seek to break free. But they can only
leap forth when they bear their fruit.
A clutch of grapes sallies out from the emerald
green stocks and are gathered and tethered before
they fall and die on the ground. Harvested, they
are then torn, crushed, and drained. But from this
vicious-sounding routine, the resulting drink is where
a vineyard breaks free and shows its wild nature once
more — vibrant and more vivacious than before.
The new crushed and cultured wine smells of the
hills where it was born. It tastes of its neighboring
flowers and trees. It captures the smell and taste of
a lost garden that even the oldest gnarled vines can
only vaguely remember. With the ability to create and
capture a mood, wine brings the rugged landscape of
its youth into your home.
During the summer, a vineyard is quiet as you walk
through the braided green and brown vines. Gravel
scrapes and grinds together under your shoes as
cicadas chirp out in long fearful notes. Wind rushes
over you with a howl through the spring and fall.
In winter, falling snow wraps itself on the vineyard
paths in hushed, biting tones that ring out with every
step. But all you will hear from the vines, as we dance
around the sun, is the small pattering of the clapping
leaves. The vineyard patiently waits its time.
