There was a rabbit under the arbor, so Zella stayed up on the deck. She doesn’t chase them. When I went down to the second level that rabbit sprinted, but there were two more remaining - some of the grapes had fallen, and they seem to have been worth whatever risk I might present.

I know now why. The grapes that were still on the vine are sweet and tart. They would be the perfect grape juice grapes if the burst of the skin weren’t a pleasure.

Are they ten years’ worth of work good? Seasons of growing, pruning, squashing spotted lantern flies? My immediate answer is of course not. But then … if I hadn’t grown them, would I be sitting here thankful for all the effort I’d saved not growing a bowl of grapes? No.

I regret my failed hops efforts. But I won’t regret the ten year grapes.