Romance

Although an ancient and widely celebrated holiday, the origins of St. Valentine’s Day as a celebration of romance remain strangely murky.

And yet, going back to some of Europe’s oldest folklore, this has always been a day associated with, perhaps surprisingly, birds.

In Geoffrey Chaucer’s ‘The Parliament of Fowls’ (circa 1381), birds gather at the bower of “the noble goddess Nature” to settle love rivalries:

For this was on saint Valentinës day
When every fowl cometh there to chose his mate.

And so it went, through the centuries, February 14^th was deemed the day the birds select their mates. (Which may work well in more temperate Europe, but particularly in a winter such as this, mid February is rarely the finest day to go a-courtin’ in our climate.)

Perhaps because vineyard work is largely solitary work (and grapevines are not particularly chatty) those of us who tend the vines often feel an affinity with the critters who share the landscape with us, and Gervasi Vineyard's diverse fifty-five acres of vineyard, woodland, fallow pasture, and wetlands support a particularly lively community of birds.

Knotty locust vineyard poles.

• Barn swallows and bluebirds nest in the holes in our natural locust trellis poles, helping to control the insect population and keeping our grapevines healthy.
• Chirpy killdeer build pebble nests on the open soil below the vines, depositing speckled eggs perfectly camouflaged amongst smooth glacial stones.
• Eagles and hawks swoop majestically above our old crop fields, while sharp-kneed Great Blue Heron fish patiently in deep pools along the meandering creek that transects this, the last working farm in Canton, Ohio.

Among all of these creatures, however, it is clear that one pair rules the roost: Gina and Giuseppe, our regal pair of white mute swans.

During winter months you might find them bedded down on snow nests they build on ice patches on the lake.

If we ever get some warm days this winter, you will find Giuseppe diving down to the deepest muck of the lake, to begin daubing a leaf, mud, and willow branch throne for his lovely bride, Gina.

It is during the summer months, however, that Gina and Giuseppe are in their element. On certain crystalline Tuscan afternoons, when the afternoon light is perfect, Gina and Giuseppe glide in to view. They pirouette, dive and splash extravagantly, and, on occasion, touch bills, elegant necks joined together as a heart, perfectly reflected in still blue water.

Being mute swans, of course they cannot speak, but we like to think this is their way of saying Benvenuto!

Because mute swans mate for life, Giuseppe does not need to enact the ancient folkloric ritual of choosing a new mate each February 14th.

But if you are strolling our grounds this snowy Valentine’s Day, or any day of the year, and you happen to encounter our regal pair touching bills to form a heart with their elegant necks, consider it your personal welcome to Gervasi Vineyard, and the romanza of this place.

Shadows

February 2nd has come and gone, which means the sun has just passed the halfway mark on in its journey from the winter solstice to the spring equinox.

The days grow perceptibly longer.

Which also means North America's largest rodent has just had his day in the sun (or shadows, as the case may be).

Marmota monax, the common North American woodchuck.

The famous Pennsylvania rodent has been roused by a gentleman in a top hat from his rather well-appointed den.

Here at the vineyard, Bucky, our resident Marmota monax has yet to stir.

His rocky den, on a sunny vineyard slope under a Petite Pearl grape vine, is still blanketed under an undisturbed snow:

Of course, this may or may not be the den where he is sleeping, as groundhogs are known to construct multiple chambers, the winter quarters often more secluded than the summer lodgings.

But this is where he was last seen, on one of those golden autumn afternoons, when the sweet gum trees blazed orange along the creek bed, and the enormous cottonwood by the bridge glowed amber.

Given that we are coming off one of the coldest Januaries in memory, and the East Coast is forecast to be blasted again this week, our resident rodent's extended slumber is not unexpected, nor does his Pennsylvania cousin's notoriously inaccurate prediction of an extended winter seem far off this time around.

As we trudge through the frozen vineyard rows doing winter pruning, we perhaps feel a kinship with those agrarian immigrants from long ago, who brought from Europe their ancient seasonal folklore, substituting our portly North American woodchuck for the black and white striped badger who was the European prognosticator of Spring.

This midpoint of winter, we are desperate for any sign of reassurance, so it is natural to look toward our familiar vineyard denizens for impending change.

Our sharp-kneed Blue Heron, who lives in the reeds, has been a bit more visible of late, swooping majestically over the lake, on warm days when the sun opens up some water.

Footprints reveal Mr. Muskrat has made a few furtive forays from his willow tree den, not making it far before circling back home.

I will continue to be on the lookout for Bucky, our somewhat reticent vineyard woodchuck, who in the summer perches on his stubby hind legs as a silent sentinel in the South Vineyard, until he sees me and lumbers back to his rocky warren at a surprisingly fast clip, for a gentleman of such ample proportion.

Until Bucky rouses himself, it is to our swans I will look as true harbingers of spring.

These days at sunrise I arrive to find Gina and Giuseppe hunkered down on snow nests atop an icy lake.

But some day soon, around the time newly amorous skunks perfume the sunrise, I will arrive to find Gina and Giuseppe swimming along the shore, with a new found interest in twigs and branches.

A flurry of activity will ensue, and once Gina is enshrined atop her floating twiggy throne, we will know it won't be long until the vineyard buds break.

Until then, Bucky continues to slumber.

Sleeping off, I imagine, a late autumn indulgence of overripe grapes.