Last May I built an arbor for my grape vines. It was a project I’d intended to do for a long time. You can see what the space looked like before I put up the arbor:
And how the arbor looked when finished:
Here is what the arbor looks like this morning:
Vines have covered it completely and trail off of it in all directions. You can see that the vines are funneling all their energy into making grapes and preparing for winter. The leaves have lost their new-leaf sheen. In only a few weeks the leaves will turn yellow and fall away. One of my tasks for this week is to collect grapes:
There are lots of them hiding in and among the vines. I’ve also got pears and walnuts that are ready to harvest. I guess I’m like the vines, storing up food for the months to come. But for a moment I can stand back and admire the arbor, which is finally what I pictured when I first planted vines seven years ago. Growing things takes patience. I need to remember that when I’m frustrated by parenting or writing.
So far this year, blessed with the bounty of my dad’s garden, I’ve been able to put away pickles, zucchini shreds (for yummy zucchini bread and brownies year round!), corn, green beans, chili-spiced and plain diced tomatoes, grape juice and grape jam. It’s a monster effort upfront, but I *love* pulling garden goodness out of the pantry or freezer while the snow’s flying in February!
Yeah, I like having preserved food. I just have a hard time making space and time to do the preserving.
I should remember that and stop getting impatient with my two year old grape vine that is not very big at all. I don’t even care if it produces grapes, I just want to steal tons of leaves for dolmas next spring without killing it. Grape leaves are expensive!
If yours isn’t big enough yet, come steal some of mine. As you see, I have plenty.
I think that’s a great metaphor for both parenting and writing. Sometimes it can be so hard for me to put work into things when I know it may be years before I get the fruits I want from it.
I didn’t realize I was planting a metaphor, but I was.