THE GRAPES

I am walking through the flat south Jersey fields of my childhood, into the land that once was the Renzulli farm.  To the south I can see the Goffredi homestead and the fields where we played so many baseball games.  To the north, beyond Siciliano’s farm is the silhouette of the cannery; I close my eyes and see the trucks overflowing with ripe tomatoes lined up during the glorious late summer days, the air heavy with the sweet smell of tomatoes being processed.

I am explaining all of these images to whoever might be with me on this dreamy journey as we enter the overgrown field where a lifetime ago grapes so proudly thrived.  It was a small vineyard, perhaps 15-20 rows of grapes about 500 ft long.  But to me it was a magical playground, where the large leafy plants shielded the sun and offered so many intimate hiding places, encouraging the fantasies and dreams of a young boy playing his games.  And the best part?  At any time you could pick a handful of large grapes, white, blue, or red, and squeeze the skin, popping the pulpy, juicy fruit directly into your mouth.  Once I am in the field, I am alone, and my only thought is to look for signs of the long ago grapes, hoping there might be one or more small shoots that have survived after all these years.  I begin to dig and scrape away some of the surface soil, and to my amazement and delight, find several old, thick, gnarled roots, one of which has a small green shoot trying to extend upward.  I continue digging and I’m rewarded with several more roots with signs of tender life. There are no words to describe the joy and elation at this discovery; it was overwhelming.

Before attempting to remove them I know I must do two things, first, get permission from the current owners, and do some research on how to safely remove and transplant the roots. I want to resurrect the grapes of my grandfather and father, and see the Renzulli vineyard, producers of Father & Son Claret, thrive, one more time.

I do not want to wake up.