The grape arbor at Gram and Grandpa’s house was a welcome retreat at the end of the day. The rich royal-purple Concord grapes were plump and succulent. Grandpa’s grapes became his wine, which he enjoyed every afternoon at 4 o’clock. While neighbors complained about the August heat, Grandma reminded us to think about what we loved most about the month. That was easy — sitting under the grape arbor watching them taste wine from the first jug of the season and thinking about Grandma’s jams, Italian wine-dunking biscotti, and her espresso- and wine-laced tomato sauce.
While neighbors would sit on the porches looking at the still ocean, which seemed like a sea stuck in time, Gram would take us to the grape arbor. She would remind us of all the work that went into building the grape-leave canopy. Each day she would find a different way to retell the story, from planting to putting in the posts that the vines hugged.
We would spend hours under a giant weeping willow tree, where we played house, and parted the branches that became our door, to watch Grandpa tending the grape arbor. He explained to us that we had the most special of all grapes growing right in our yard. And Gram’s Concord grape jam was a treasured gift.
She and Grandpa would sit under the arbor, taste the wine, and say always to each other, “Yes, this is by far the best.” Then they would dip Italian biscuits shaped like small doughnuts into the wine. After a bite or two followed by another sip, Grandpa uttered a loud, “Ah bravo. Nancy, this is like wine and food from the old country.”
One day we asked Gram, “Does it really get better each year?”
Gram answered, “If Papa thinks this is the best year, and it makes him happy to believe it, then ‘yes’ this is best wine ever. When you get married remember that sometimes it is easier to say ‘yes’ and then just believe. Papa works so hard to tend to those grapes and it takes so many steps to make the wine that the flavor brings joy to him. Who knows? Maybe this wine is the best ever.”
That afternoon she asked with a twinkle in her sapphire shining eyes, “Is this the best ever jam that I have made for you?”
Someone brought me wine dipping biscuits last week and I vowed to go through my sister’s attic of photographs to find one of Gram and Pa sitting at the large picnic table shaded by grape leaves and smiling. And if I don’t find such a picture, this memory — as vivid as a painting — will remain the best ever.
Rita Esposito Watson, an All About You relationships columnist, is writing “Italian Kisses: Gram’s Wisdom.” Copyright 2014 Rita Watson
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