The Battle Hymn of the Grapes

 

Ten years ago, on returning to southern Minnesota for the summer, we discovered a local vineyard. Since this isn't the south of France, or California, we questioned the possibility that grapes would even grow in our area, let alone produce fine wine. Apparently the University of MN had created a hybrid that would withstand the weather and soil conditions in the midwest, and wineries were popping up all over. A year later we bought out first grape vines and planted them in the sunniest spot of our yard, my flower garden. Since then we have bought several more varieties and planted about the property, reading up on pruning techniques and building trellises.  

Now I cannot say that our vines are a complete success. Some die or get nibbled by rabbits and deer. We are not around to see the grapes ripen, and often the bunches are small and whither away. They don't respond well to dry weather, which means lots of watering. But we live in hope that a new year will bring a bumper crop that will make drinkable wine. I am also starting to question the point.

Today we talk of ecologically responsible gardens, that conserve water, minimize the use of pesticides, provide habitat for wildlife and pollinators. Our grapes really don't fit into this kind of garden. I am starting to look at my flowers in another way. They certainly attract pollinators.  I watch the butterflies and bees flutter and land on their favorites: bee balm, coneflower and milkweed.  I allow milkweed and Joe Pye weed to flourish, despite their size. And during the dry weather I notice that many of the native plants require no watering.  Black-eyed Susan and phlox grow, flower and seed themselves without any interference from me. But then, this should be obvious, because they are native and suited to this environment. 

I identify with the grapes, a non-native trying to put down roots in a foreign land. Wherever I go, I know I am welcome, but I do not really belong. I have to try harder to flourish, and I require more help and support than those who call that place their home.  In many places I have lived, I am fortunate to find local support in the form of locals who help me learn their ways and understand that I very much need their help.

These friends are similar to the native plants which are also non-invasive. They allow other plants to grow up around them, sharing the land. 

I do have to beware of the creeping bell flower which produces lovely purple bells, but left unattended will spread throughout the flower garden in a way that only weedkiller will control. There are some places that do not welcome visitors, strangers or foreigners, as they feel threatened. Those places choke the life out of you, force you to move on. 

 I have also noticed that tomato seeds from last year's crop will sprout and grow taller that the hot house plants a buy from the nursery. The seeds have earned their space, inheriting their suitability from their parents.  Though I may never feel like a native here, thriving in whichever place I choose to call home, I can wish this for my children.  Although none were born in the US, they are American and have a home here. They can call themselves natives, and that is something I have given them.

When Travel Doesn't Suit

 

We stayed in a charming vacation rental last week and really enjoyed the comfort of plush furnishings, pretty outdoor spaces and high end decor.  However, when we read the comments in the visitor book, we found various comments complaining of the quality of the pillows, number of towels, or lack of specific items of furniture. I was irked by the nit picking. The way I see it, if you require certain comfort items when you travel, you should bring your own, or stay home. And staying home was starting to look pretty good to me yesterday as I sat alone in a Walgreens parking lot at midnight. 

I was on my way to our family's annual 4th of July stay at the lake.  On the I was dropping off one passenger and picking up another in the Cities. On the whole, road travel in Minnesota is a breeze.  I was not at all worried about traveling at night, because I have a phone and a credit card. And as I had a bit of time to kill before picking up my son at the airport, I stopped for gas in west St Paul. This is a residential area I am unfamiliar with, but my phone directed me to the nearest Holiday station which turned out to be small with old pumps. The screen prompted: 'Card or Pay Inside'.  I inserted my card and got 'Sale cancelled'. I tried again and the screen went blank. I tried to start fueling and got 'Sale cancelled'. Once again I inserted my card, and this time it approved the sale but only gave me the options: 'Club card or Other ID'. I chose other ID and it asked for my phone number in order to send me text messages. It started to feel like I was in an alien country... why couldn't I just pump gas? I dubiously put in my phone number just to get 'Sale cancelled'.  I was about to give up and go elsewhere when I noticed the keypad had a CANCEL button. I kept pressing it until I got a 'Begin fueling'. I filled the tank and expected payment instructions but instead the screen just flashed: 'Thank you'.  So I left with a tank full of gas that I might or might not have paid for. 

I realized that I was lost and needed directions and a place to wait until the plane's arrival. So I pulled down the darkest side street in the city with no street lights or signs of life. I started to feel my aloneness. I pulled up the directions to a nearby Walgreens that advertised being open 24 hours. Driving in the dark is already a challenge, but having to hold my phone in one hand to follow directions made it worse. I think I probably ran a couple of red lights because I was concentrating so hard on Google maps. To make things worse, I started to received text messages which popped up and covered the directions. Any one-handed attempt to swipe them away made me lose everything and I had to reopen the app. I tried to prop the phone on the dash, but it kept falling to the floor.  My progress was erratic, but I eventually found the Walgreens where I rolled up the windows and locked the doors. 

By reading the texts I found that the flight had been delayed and I began to wonder about how safe my choice of waiting spot was. There were plenty of people around, but not people like me. They were skateboarders and several smokers. When one party came out with a pizza I decided to explore the store for a snack or drink while I waited. I was surprised to find all the shelves covered with plexiglass displaying the shampoo and deodorant in locked display cases. They must have a problem with shoplifting... maybe another reason not to hang around here too long. So when I received a text about another lot by the airport provided for cars waiting for passengers, I took off. 

The Cell Phone Waiting Lot  is bleak and hastily constructed with concrete barriers in the no-man's land between the terminals. However, this time I was surrounded by people like me. The heat forced people outside, pacing and talking on their phones. Although I felt safer, I also began to realize that I could just turn my car around and drive home to the comfort of my home. The flight had been delayed until the next morning, so I had 6 hours... I was very tempted to call it a day (or a night). But we don't travel just to find the comforts of home in another place.  Travel should be an adventure, exploring the unknown that might take us out of our comfort zone. It should provide us with a story to tell, of the new things we discovered.   So I checked into a cheap hotel, slept a few hours before picking up my son and continuing up to the lake where I am writing this account.