Interlaken

Day 330: I'm ashamed to admit that I have never gotten the hang of pruning grapes, unable to tell a bull cane from a bearer which is simply leggy, never able to remember if I leave two-year old wood or the vines which grew last year. I've read the book. I've even been tutored by an expert, and yet my attempts invariably result in a grapeless grapevine, jays notwithstanding.

My Interlaken vine was transplanted as old stock twenty-five years ago. A former neighbour raised wine grapes with a few table varieties on the side, and brought it to me in the back of his truck, a rootstock the size of a washtub and arms thirty feet long. I cut it back radically after he drove away, and the following year, I harvested about ten pounds of grapes, unaware of what I'd done to encourage them. In subsequent years, I got a bunch or two, but staying ahead of the Steller's Jays proved difficult. They seemed to prefer their fruit just slightly tarter than my idea of "ripe," and thus I often went out with bowl under arm only to find that the vine had been denuded just before dawn. One year I got lucky. The stars aligned (aided by my fishing buddy's brother-in-law's pruning skills), and upon harvest, I brought in a whopping twenty pounds. He was the one who tried to teach me the pruner's art, but when left to my own designs, I butchered the job and went without a single fruit.

I began to wonder about the grapevines I'd observed rambling over abandoned garages and rural fences. They never seemed to be short of fruit, and it was plain to see that no one was tending them. I decided to test the Ignore Method. "Go, grape! You can have the whole damn garage if you want it!" Although not quite loyal to my promise to let it go wild (I brutally cut back some forty-foot extensions with the lawn mower and pulled others down out of the Philadelphus), Interlaken seems to like its freedom, held in check only by the bird-netting I threw over it when I saw it setting fruit. Today, I picked about five pounds of deliciously sweet green grapes. Yummy! And there are more to come!