What's Laird Drinking Now?

Late August, high summer. So humid last night that the windows of the pub fogged, the kitchen was like a boiler room. The beautiful, locally farmed tomatoes we use sag under their own ripeness and burst with the first puncture of a knife. The late evening air on the back porch is heavy and the aromas of burning wood from the grill and oven mingle with the sweet mint growing beyond the wood pile.

The students are back and town swells with their arrival. The rite of their return promises the coming of autumn and blessed relief from the sweltering air. At work we grouse about the lack of parking and the back up of cars at the four way stop but the air is filled with the energy of it all. The farmer?s market is overflowing with the gifts of the field and in the kitchen we sometimes can?t cook the produce fast enough. On the river, we watch swarms of cyclists pass by and the canoes and kayaks seem to outnumber the fish. My favorite pastime has become watching the hummingbirds dogfight for rights to our feeder. At times there are six or seven of them dive bombing each other.

Soon, all over the northern hemisphere, vintners will begin to nervously watch the skies and weather reports. A vintage is the story of a whole year expressed in the fermented juice of grapes but the finale is written in the next six to eight critical weeks. Veraison (*) and harvest culminate with crush, a frenzied time of day and night activity. Just as the shadows grow longer and the days quicken, the chapter of a year ends and the seeds of the next are sown. Fall is my favorite season but I have to remember to savor the last of summer; it'll be here soon enough.

* Veraison - when the grapes turn from green to gold or red in color