Roots by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-9709-4
Publisher: BlogHer
Published: 2013-04-26T19:02:00+00:00

DISCOVERY

The Last Jar of Grape Jam

By Ann Courcy

Barking Frog Farm

THIS WEEK, I FINISHED the last jar of grape jam. Let me explain why that is significant. Before moving to Connecticut, I lived in East Greenwich, Rhode Island. When I bought my house there, it came with a broken-down, overgrown grape arbor.

During my first year in the house, my free time was spent “taking back” the grape arbor. I tore out the wild roses that had overtaken the grapevines and pulled down the rotten wooden arbor. I trimmed the healthy vines and removed the dead ones. When that was done, I asked my father if he would help me reconstruct the arbor. We measured the original structure (fifty-six feet long by twelve feet wide), calculated how many posts and how much lumber we would need, and got to work.

While we were working, a man came up and asked, “Are those vines still producing fruit? I remember my uncle planting them sixty-five years ago.” I was happy the man stopped to share this story. For me, it created a connection between me and the man who planted the vines long ago. I thought, We are cut from the same cloth. We both believe in growing food and want to be outside in our yards.

During the years I lived at 63 Spring Street, I heard many stories about Mr. Franzone, the man who lived in the house years before me. He kept a huge vegetable garden and made wine from the grapes he grew. His wife made stuffed grape leaves with leaves from the grape vines. When his big Italian family visited—and they visited often—they all ate at a table under the grape arbor during the warm months. These stories were conveyed to me by neighbors and his relatives. Everyone had a story about the gardener who carefully tended this piece of earth before I came along.

When I bought the house, I felt at home with its sunny exposure—the fruit trees, the grape arbor, and the open spaces begging for gardens. I joked about “living off the land,” and in some ways I did, just as Mr. Franzone did when 63 Spring Street was his home. I ate vegetables from my garden, canned pears from the trees in the yard, and made cases and cases of grape jam.

One day, Mr. Franzone’s grandson stopped by to talk. He mentioned that his grandfather was in the hospital, and he was going to visit him. I thought, Send Mr. Franzone jam. I loved the idea that I could give something to this man who had indirectly given me so much. I was happy to share with him the product of both our labors. One jar of jam, two industrious gardeners, and many years of shared visions and values. I felt that some cosmic circle had been closed.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.