If I ever get a full time job, I wonder what I’d do come harvest? 
This morning, picking the last ripe grapes, I hear a familiar hum, the hummingbird behind me, wondering what I am doing there. I realize that she is one of those who’ve sucked the sweet juice from a random grape. I leave some for her and her friends’ enjoyment.
There are two types of grapes that live here, so a varietal wine is what I suppose I make. What types? Honda is the one on the left, started from clippings of vines growing behind the Torrington Honda dealership.
The other is Hatchery. Plants started off from those that grew on the gate to the driveway of the fish hatchery just up the road.
Later, the kitchen smelling like a winery, I hand wash the grapes, knowing that no winery will be near as meticulous as I with sorting out the good grapes from the flawed by bugs or hummingbirds. I hear her, drawn by the perfume of the fruit, she hovers just outside the window above my sink, looking in at me, squeaking her dismay at what I’ve done.
Peaches next. The poor trees bending underneath the weight. Rather silly looking, too, the line of trees down below that for the first time in their lives are producing a reasonable number. But so tiny and cute! And I did not have the heart to fully pinch some off.
This is a blessed year for harvest and I’ve no time to do much else between the picking, sorting, washing, squishing, boiling, sweetening, canning of the fruit.
How could I ever work full time at harvest time?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology