Fall in New England. Our nights are cooler, mornings typically a mist or fog enshrouded quiet, and the trees are hesitantly beginning to turn color, mostly as a lighter or yellowing hue for now. The garden is also preparing to end the season of bounty as pumpkins give up on further growth and hurry towards orange, tomatoes flush almost before your eyes, while the cornstalks become dry and noisy. Last weekend Faith, Zeke, and I went for a long hike in the woods south of our house. There's a long series of blackberry patches that I stumbled across last year which, at the time, had huge berries and lots of them. This year has been spotty, but within a quarter mile area and after over an hour of searching and picking we came out with two quarts of berries. We also emerged with legs and arms sliced and punctured from too many ventures into the deep bushes, thin traces of blood striped our legs, and, at least for me, a terrible itching that would last for a couple of days. Instead of a pie or buckler like we've made in recent years I opted to try making a blackberry wine which I hear is quite good. The gallon jar sits in a basement room bubbling furiously as yeast turns sugars into CO2 and alcohol, emitting the distinct fumes of fruit fermentation. Next to it is another gallon jug undergoing the same process but its contents started off as fresh pressed apple cider from Poverty Lanes, a nearby orchard. I have't tried making hard apple cider yet, this attempt is for apple wine. Frankly I don't care for apple cider, it is to heavy and sweet for me, so we'll see what a few billion well placed yeast cells can do about that.

Also in the last week I've pruned our wild concord grapes on the front stone wall. Earlier this year I tried to control them somewhat by pruning the branches and setting up a trellis. The output has been pretty impressive and now I'm trying to reduce the extra vines and leaves so that the grapes will all finish ripening in the waning fall sun. It's been a week now and they are still pretty darn tart. A couple of years ago my Mom came out and we picked gallons of wild grapes from all over the yard. She made jellies, desserts, and other delectables. This year I'm going to try a batch of wine, maybe some desserts if there's enough extra. I do worry that I'll have all of these homemade wines cluttering up the basement for the next year (most of these need at least that long or longer to age) only to find some funky enzyme or bacteria has turned it into a less than stellar liquid mulch. Making wine is so much different than anything else I've done over the years. There's no quick gratification, no positive feedback along the way. Essentially you try to be as careful and exacting as possible and then leave it in the hands of time and chemistry.

info