Thursday, October 31, 2013

A Difference of Five Months



Memorial Day weekend vineyard temperatures dipped into the mid-twenties.

It is not unusual for temperatures in May to flirt around the freezing point.

But a deep freeze this late, when the trees are fully leafed out, and spring flowers in full bloom, is not something we expect.

(Or maybe we should coming off of our third season of "unprecidented" weather.)

That May weekend, hoarfrost on the newly-emerged grape leaves was not a beautiful sight, no matter how lovely the ice crystals sparkled in the early morning sun.

As the sun rose and the ice melted, the eternal hope of the gardener: maybe everything will survive. The leaves are still green.

But as morning progressed to afternoon, droop progressed to wilt.

Another cycle of the sun, and it was clear that most of the leaves, and nearly all the flower clusters, were toast. By the next day, brittle scorched leaves fell to a grave of soft spring turf.

Fast forward five months:

This October morning ice crusted leaves are a lovely sight.

Summer is ending as it should.

Buttery yellow leaves will crisp to brown, then drift to the ground, then disperse in the wind.

The vineyard sleeps, and all is as it should be on this October morning, when frost kissed the vineyard goodnight.


Monday, October 28, 2013

Frosty Vineyard Roses

Every vineyard morning at sunrise, something catches my eye.

This morning it is the roses.


There are reasons to plant roses in a vineyard:

Tradition

Roses do well in sunny well drained soil, as do grapes. Someone figured that out a long time ago, and somehow, the two just complement one another. On certain sunny summer days, when the roses are a radiant red, and the sky a beckoning blue, this corner of Canton, Ohio really does feel a little bit like Tuscany.

Canary in a Coal Mine

Suited to dry and sunny climates, the two plants can succumb to blights and mildews and pests that thrive in our borderline tropical summer climate.

Blights on the roses indicate that our vines may be at risk. A romantic notion, perhaps, in an age of scientific viticulture, but there is something to be said for interspersing a second species, among acres of thousands of the same plant.

A Rose Is A Rose Is A Rose

I have yet to use a rose bush to diagnose a serious ailment in the vineyard. (And regardless, the rose varieties we grow are modern disease resistant hybrids.)

A vineyard rose has a far more important function: It is a rose.

A thing of beauty, resplendent red amongst acres of green. Rampant vines with inconspicuous blossoms but laden with abundant showy fruit, contrasted by thorny shrubs with luxuriant blossom but subtle fruit.

Terroir

Another romantic notion, with some base in science, is that of terroir, that the grapes of a vineyard reflect the local micro conditions of climate, soil, air flow, quality of light, and minerals that are endemic to a particular spot on the earth.

It stands to reason, therefore, that somehow, someway, the visual beauty of the vineyard landscape finds its way in to the wine it produces: the soul of the vineyard in the taste of its wine.

And this being an Ohio vineyard, it stands to reason that the roses we grow should not just look resplendent  under a Tuscan summer sun, but should array themselves beautifully in our full range of Midwestern seasons.

On this October vineyard morning, I think our frosty vineyard roses pass that test.