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A Small and Sweet Memory by Deb Sackett
It had been a long year for me and the drive, past the maturing vineyard, brought back memories of the many previous seasons that we had worked, to harvest the ripe Concord grapes. Knowing that soon I would be able to indulge in the picking, and yet more tantalizing task of tasting, a small portion of my favorite type of fruit. The memory of the taste itself brought back thoughts of my childhood, on a cool, fall afternoon, when I had first picked grapes. As my grandma and I stepped out of the old, rusty, green pick-up, we reached for the stiff, bushel baskets that showed the age of many harvests. Soft, woven wood, stained in black-purple, from the many bunches of Concord grapes they had held in previous years. Sections of rough splintered wood hung loosely from the wire handles. Grandma would not hesitate to reach into the old baskets to remove any spiders, or webs that might have been a temporary home in the dark interior: perhaps under some dried grape leaves left over from last years crop. Now that the baskets were ready, we headed towards the seemingly endless rows of grapes. With every visit to the vineyard, I was always over-awed by the way the grapevines grew and trailed off into the horizon. In every direction around me, there were rows upon rows of grapes, twinkling, as the morning sun glimmered its glow off the moist dew, still balancing on each tiny, round grape. It was as if the bunches of grapes were diamonds sparkling in the light. As we continued to walk, further into the vineyard, I could hear the birds chirping their soft sounds, as they warned each other that we were approaching, "chi chi cee coo". I paused for a moment as my grandma continued ahead of me by a few feet. I watched her as she reached out to touch the ripening grapes, as if the coolness from the shimmering dew would let her know that this is was where we were to begin. We knelt on the ground and laid our bushel baskets down at our sides as the birds began a different message, "coo coo chee" in a much louder pitch, quite different from their first sounds: it was as if they were now accepting us and allowing us into their area. You could hear the rustling of the leaves, as the cool morning breeze swept past our faces. As it slowly whisked around us, it brought the fresh smell of the ripening Concord grapes. You would want to inhale forever, as the sweetly delicious smell would penetrate your senses. It allowed me to be lost in thought, as I enjoyed my surroundings. Almost by instinct I reached out to delicately and removed one single grape from its bunch of many. Looking at this grape as if it were a perfect piece of art, I turned it around in my fingers, from side to side. The skin was cool and soft, more blue in color than black. I could smell and feel the juice dripping from the opened top, from where it had been attached to the bunch. Slowly I brought the single grape closer to my mouth, ready to enjoy the pleasure that I was about to experience. In anticipation, I could feel my mouth filling with moisture. I brought the grape to the edge of my mouth and quickly squeezed the grape, so that the juicy, middle portion popped out of the smooth skin and into my mouth. The grape was even sweeter than I had hoped for and I enjoyed the texture of the smooth, meaty wetness inside my mouth. As my mouth enjoyed the motion of chewing this fruit, slowly swallowing it down my throat, I took the remaining skin of the grape, still positioned in my fingers, and started to nibble on the tough, outer skin that had held the fruit, for so many months. I thought about how the skin had held this wonderfully small piece of God's creation, allowing it to mature into the pleasure that I had just experienced. The skin contained a subtle after taste of the main fruit itself, yet I enjoyed it as I continued to chew and swallow the last remains of the single grape. After what seemed like an eternity of pleasure, I began to fill my basket with the wonders of nature. The bunches of grapes were plump and heavy to the touch, yet as delicate as small vulnerable creatures in your trusting care. I carefully piled them one on top of another, taking a moment, here and there, to taste another of these perfect fruits. I knew that the taste would soon be another memory and I hoped that I would be available for the next harvest season. The End
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