Lightside

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Ever had a moment when reason, sanity, any thought other than murder, has overcome you? Thought so! It is natural and human to loose the string when another person blind sides you with a nasty comment.

In my case the discussion was light, friendly and focused slightly on the weather. Who can deny this past season has provided anything but ideal temperatures and sunshine. We have had enough rain to rot running shoes and decay socks.

It was this above average precipitation, our summer of clouds and rain that had me on edge. You see too much moisture is not a good thing for farmers. It is even worse for grape growers, whatever the size of the vineyard.

Three Beer had decided to visit me and had arrived at our little chunk of Prince Edward Country full of cheer, gusto and idle chatter. His arrival was unexpected but was welcome. Being there alone for days on end makes one a touch lonely and he always cheers the day.

His decision to spend the day with me was a spur-of-the-moment decision. He was in the doghouse at home and felt distance between he and his spouse was an ideal solution. I am certain she was just as content with the separation, if only for a few hours.

"So," he says, "indicating our small hobby vineyard, "how about a tour."

With that he immediately stepped onto the field and sunk in mud. We had rain earlier and the ground had not dried in the interval. Being clay-loam it stuck to his cowboy boots like sugar icing to a child's face.

"Why didn't you tell me it was like gumbo," he grumbled, wiping the dirty footwear on a rag he had pulled from off the tractor. Now any fool could have surmised the condition of the land. But he seemed oblivious and spurned my answer.

It was then he got onto the topic of weather, in particular rain. He warmed to the topic like Jerry Springer to a new show guest. Taking note of my sensitivity he needled and pushed for answers. He was told our crop had yet to ripen, may not fully mature due to the rain and lack of hot sunshine.

With a casual "well, there is always next year" he dismissed our plight.

Grapes need approximately 120 sun hours, depending on variety, to ripen and we have not had nearly enough so far. Further the forecast for the fall is hardly promising. So I was not in the mood to have him giving me the needle.

My mood darkened, so much was at stake. I gave him a playful shove back into the muddy field. This time his fancy boots really became muddy and, for a moment, it seemed a though he might fall. Recovering his balance, he stomped onto the dry ground and questioned my parents' marital status.

We stood eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, belly-to-belly and stared. Neither moved or would talk. Then he snickered and I followed. Soon we were howling with laughter. You see we have reached an age when common sense prevails and friendship is worth more than getting even.

We cleaned his boots and turned our backs on the soggy ground and equally damp vineyard. If mildew, botrytis prevail until I can get a spray on, well that is the luck of the draw.

Later we had a full meal of barbecued beef with all the trimmings and, yes, we had some wine as well. Another grape grower joined us and we three told each other tales of our youth well into the night.

Seems Three Beer's visit was just what the doctor ordered.