Ellie's discovery in the field brought me nothing but pain (scroll to the end, down past the gratuitious grasshopper porn).
I've long been smug about having an easily accessible bounty of fresh grape leaves right in the backyard at work! See?
The kids call that structure the grape house, for obvious reasons. It's been a seasonally productive part of the family for many, many years. It's been harvested annually for a seemingly eternal freezer stock of grape leaves.
The glory of which was described and illustrated by both Ellie and me at various times. Last year, I somehow missed the window to pick those beautiful babies, and I was bound and determined not to make the same mistake this year.
I patiently waited through the dormant winter, and was pleased when it got watered by rain that one time.
Then spring came, and I was overjoyed to witness the birth of these wittle baby gwape weave buds
Sparse greenish yellow.
That's it, I think. I've always picked the leaves well before my summer trip back east, which almost always falls during the last two weeks of July. In fact, this year's adventure begins in almost exactly a month. I've come to accept that there will be no grape leaves.
The family never really needed me to bring grape leaves, they've got plenty of spots around the towns from which to poach and pilfer. Now, of course, they can add the bountiful field to the playlist. I'm just so bummed that just when I finally perfect my wada filling and even have a bag in the freezer ready to roll, I can't pick my own leaves to stuff. First world problems, I know. But don't be surprised if while frolicking in Ellie's field this summer, I am found sporting some pinking shears and a zip lock bag.