Sunday, April 10, 2011
Coming back from the beach last week, I had some time to kill, so I pulled over in a cemetery and next to this vine-covered chapel. Again, herein lies that struggle of beauty verses ugliness. The beauty of the vine in all its splendor during the summer months needs to be matched up against the structural damage that can be done by 'this beauty', as it claws its way into the stonework and mortar. My grandmother's grape arbor never faced this dilemma. Constructed by Grampa, it was sturdy and strong and seem to hold up fine through Maine winters. In the spring, a slight repair here a dab of white paint there, and it was ready for business. All summer long, it seemed, I would steal a grape here or there, but they were always mouth-curdling sour to my taste. But in the fall, her canned grape jelly always tasted so delicious on that warm toast. Another mystery of life, I guess... or a grandmother's touch.