I planted grapevines some 20 years ago
Many were killed by frosty weather or drought,
But others survived, including Uncle Henry
A great big Black Spanish Grape who laughs in the face of Texas drought.
He isn’t in any shaded or sheltered place.
So many of the shaded and sheltered vines have died.
The little vines I have planted since
Are dwarfed by the gnarly old rascal
Who appears to consider them all ridiculous and soft.
We made decent wine from our Cabernet Sauvignon grapes
But they died. Uncle Henry considered them soft and fussy.
We’ve had some wonderful table grapes
But they died.
Uncle Henry considered them wimpy New York transplants.
Uncle Henry is descended from the vines of Spanish priests
That hybridized with the locals. Vines, that is.
We don’t even prune him anymore. It’s a waste of his time.
Since he has survived the freak South Texas snowstorm,
Endless weeks of three-digit Fahrenheit
Droughts that would kill a lesser vine.
I want to drink more wine from his grapes
Because with all that survival
He knows something I don’t.