FARM LIVING IS THE LIFE FOR ME (OCCASIONALLY)

October: Before the Change in the Weather

It was down to the farm for harvest party weekend at a secret central location in Antrim County.Chestnuts popping, Chardonnay grapes ripening, Fall busting out all over. Mild, warm, sunny, dry and beautiful.The sun set in golden splendor, the moon rose in cold white light, then set in splendor also.The sun returned each day to set the woods afire and make the fields gleam in green swells beneath us.



Antrim Ridge Grape Harvest

Beautiful night stars competing with bright white moonlight illuminated camping, dining, bonfires, night walks, stargazing and conversation.     In the heat of day, after harvesting nuts and grapes, Lake Michigan called and hot sweaty migrant siblings, relatives and friends, splashed  in a refreshing October Lake Michigan swim.

Sunday night the sun set on the 2011 harvest party and before it rose again I headed north to Newberry to work.  Weak light peeked beside me as I crossed the Mighty Mac and crept up behind as I headed west on US 2.  With daylight, fall colors erupted to dazzle a sleep-deprived brain.  My mission on this trip (in addition to work) was to snap a picture of the huge Paul Bunyan billboard that graces US 2.  He is missing or had his back to me because I never spied him.  Was he the victim of a vicious zoning attack or did he disintegrate in old age?  His picture was to adorn a tall tale of a previous trip on the US 2 freeway—oops—highway. No luck, he’s gone, I may have to launch an investigation.

Sadly, no time to savor the sights of Newberry this trip.  I made a lunchtime visit to a wonderful woman who is cared for at Joy’s Autumn Annex.  After sitting with her for 20 minutes, holding hands, singing quietly, and me babbling on about family news with no indication that she heard a thing, I was rewarded with a fleeting smile.    Happy—haunting—bittersweet.

No picture of Paul, a fleeting Mary smile, and a full day of work concluded, I hit the trails again for a shadowed drive past the falls, Whitefish Bay, and the always spectacular Tahquamenon Rivermouth.  The time on the road must be taking its toll because I hardly remember passing back over the Mackinac Bridge which is normally a landmark pleasure even after thousands of crossings. 

My head hit the pillow…  Sleep, and another interlude known as the workday interjected itself then it was back to the farm.  After Newberry, where everything is up to date, the farm seemed rustic.  The grapes, which I'd come to harvest, were not ready to vacate the vines yet.  Chestnuts were popping out all over though.  Armed with substandard gloves that only poorly protected my hands from the bristles I managed to collect half of a five gallon pail.  As darkness overtook the orchard, I scrambled to collect just a few more.  Reading glasses helped locate them in the fading light.  Finally, too dark to go on, I gave up.

Pop-plop-thump! 

One more ripe chestnut exploded, noisily dropping its fruit onto the ground to taunt me. I looked back but could barely see the trees in the darkness.  NUTS! They’ll have to wait for another day if the deer don’t get ‘em first.

The green white grapes previously collected by crews of migrant siblings need to be squished, pressed and have the juice wrung out of them.  The harvest and wine making process is on a long learning curve at Antrim Ridge Farm.  The new experimental method uses a tomato press to entice juice from the grapes.  This seemed promising as the golden green liquid flowed out in a small steady stream.  Soon, the crank refused to budge—something was jammed.  GRAPE NUTS! Poking; digging; peeking into the apparatus through different orifices didn’t free it up.  


On to Plan B; Farmer Smith resurrected and quickly modified a previously tried grape press. After valiant pulverizing with an enormous improvised mortar and pestle, (2X2 in a bucket) and tag team cranking on the screw of the wooden press, the juice flowed again.  Another half pail of yellow-green juice was the precious harvest. 

Clean-up, weariness, good-bye hugs, then the moon beaming dancing shadows over the hills as I drove off North again. 

The satisfaction of a harvest and hard work with hands is strong enough to draw this former suburb slicker back to the farm again and again even after seeing the urban delights of Newberry!