There's a grape vine on the side of my shop. It's grapes taste a lot like concords, but they're a lighter purple. It's a blessing to have it there because the grapes are abundant and tasty, and it's a curse because we wind up with smashed grapes everywhere. We store all of our equipment outdoors because the shop is so tiny, and we find grapes on the stoves, signs, tables and propane tanks. We track them inside on our shoes.
This has been a wierd year for grapes, just as it's been difficult for most other local produce. A lot of them went from unripe to overripe much too fast, and there aren't nearly as many as there were last year and the year before.
One day in October a few years ago, I heard a bunch of birds right outside the store singing their heads off. I realized they'd been helping themselves to the fermenting grapes, and that they were drunk. Another time I was leaving the store and I heard something rather large poking around in the grape vine. I looked up and saw a raccoon. I got out of there fast. I'm not messing with a drunk raccoon.
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