It was some time between way back when until the present somebody near to me owning a small one and a half acre grape arbor (vineyard). In it he had planted a wide variety of grape species most of them destined for an acquired taste for making different tasting flavored wines. Oh sure he had a goodly representation of the all American concords for his lady’s grape juice and jelly making supplies.
Well it happened other activities coming to press upon his time he more or less lost some interest in his vineyard sort-a letting it go some. It then come to pass a friend of his took up taking care of the vineyard on shares. Most the shares going to the friend as vineyard owner’s time still pressed him further, his keeping more and more the fruits of his labors he then brought back a share of home-made wines for the owner’s share his vineyard’s spoils. As time passed his friend ageing putting in less and less time, taking him less and less the heaven given fruit the vineyard came to just holding its own.
One day one of the neighbors come along asking if she may have some drapes for making jelly. As was the vineyard’s owner was a generous man he suggested some particular grapes be taken for some more colorful jelly tastes. “What kind were they?” she had asked. “They are wine grapes.” the owner explained, The woman would have nothing to do with those. I suppose in her mind wine grapes make only wine? Oh Lord, this lady about went into a tizzy.
Let me explain something of the woman’s makeup. I’d have sworn she was the type of an individual who’d go to church on Sunday to be pre-forgiven all she was about to do to any one else the following week. A churchy one she professed herself to be. Now I wonder when was the last time she’d seen the inside of a church. Oh my God, she’d been guilty all manor of sins if she were to make jelly out of wine grapes. I for one never quite understood the woman, so she refused those tastier grapes for her own small minded reasonings. It followed that it also come to pass that as she was delighted with her grape harvest she made her grape jelly: butt ahem, she’d made a mistake somewhere over the cooking’s flame and by the time Winter and Spring had rolled along she’d found her efforts had turned to a wine jelly. She was mortified, disgusted, horrified, humiliated, embarrassed, feeling quilts unreasonable, rather than letting a coinsure liking myself enjoy them she destroyed the entire batch jelly glasses, waxes, lids and all. She wasn’t about to bask in any knowledgeable way her having made a sinful wine. And so this was another loss to mankind from an unbeliever. I don’t believe she’d any idea the value of those sweet nectars she had created. Nor any understanding the fermenting process that preserved a good many goods for man’s continued existence use hundreds of years already gone by.
Whatever you (or any reader) do, don’t let any narrow minded behavior destroy any zest of life what may come your way intentionally or by accident. Life’s such a large bowl of sweet and sour cherries, a body shouldn’t waste tasting a single one of them.
This concludes my grape jelly stories.
What ticks me off, if I should really like a dinner wine to go with my meal I must either make it myself or buy foreign. European wines are made of a much lower alcohol content than our domestic varieties. What’s wrong with this picture?
Something extra: When I make wine I make it with the whole fruit juice. I’ve made no watered down false wines in my cellar. This reminds me, I need to draw off a handy bottle or two red pop.