Grape leaf
By Jean Thomas
I drove past Cedar Cliffs Vineyards and Nursery yesterday and admired the neat rows of grape vines tethered to posts and wires. Then the rest of the way home I observed the chaotic growth of the wild grapes alongside the road. It's funny to think that many of the finest wines in the world have ancestors linking them to these wildlings. As the climate changes, the wine industry has begun to look toward new combinations of grape root stocks, and the vigor of “our” grapes is once again in demand. I even pulled up the podcast interview with the vineyard's owner, Steven Casscles, for the history of winemaking in the Hudson Valley. It's at: https://ccecolumbiagreene.org/gardening/nature-calls-conversations-from-the-hudson-valley/episode-117-grapes-of-the-hudson-valley.
Aside from the historical journeys of the native grapes, though, most of us have an intimate relationship to these ubiquitous plant neighbors. Gardeners hate them because the birds seed them everywhere, and they can spring up very quickly. And they are aggressive and opportunistic, traits that are admirable in plants we are fond of. Unfortunately, wild grape vines have very poor manners. One sneaky little grapevine sprouting in the middle of a hedge can twine itself around its unwilling host to a remarkable size within a matter of weeks. Give it a month or two and you will have a grape hedge supported by the expensive hedge you originally planted. True gardeners secretly admire these intruders, but battle them fiercely, knowing there will be more seedlings popping up as long as there are wild fields and meadows nearby. Birds and other small creatures love grapes, and in bountiful years will redistribute thousands of seeds. There is no real prevention, only constant vigilance.
They are a sure harbinger of Fall, though. The leaves usually turn a blond kind of gold and they drape over just about any kind of surface available, from collapsing barns to telephone wires to trees of all sizes. They add a casual chaos to the season, some years laden with the tart “fox” grapes and others barren from a stressful summer... never predictable. Maybe the chaos is a part of their charm.
Even those who love all things “native” can be hostile to these robust vines. They aren't technically invasive plants since they originate right here in our own region, but they act as if they were. Those of us who played in the woods and fields as children remember “Tarzan Swings,” and there are photos of enormous vines all over the internet. Up to a certain weight, children can swing on some of these monsters, and I'd be willing to bet I'm not the only one to overestimate the strength of a vine and take a hard fall on my butt to the raucous laughter of my peers.
The actual grapes are a secondary crop, at least to humans. In the weeks leading up to the Autumnal holidays, an army of (usually) women marches into the wild to forage for vines, armed with garden pruners. Grapevines are an easily found and harvested asset for the decorators among us. Grapevine wreaths are easy to make, and pretty nearly free. You can twine lengths of vine around the base of a wastebasket or old stump, weave the lengths together, and voila! A wreath. Other foraged grasses and berries (PLEASE don't use Oriental Bittersweet) like winterberries and rosehips tuck in with maybe a piece of ribbon or a length of gingham wrapped around.
They're everywhere, and whether you love 'em or hate 'em, we'll always have them in our lives. No risk of extinction here. They can be beautiful and useful and are certainly a worthy foe, and their descendants provide us with a great deal of pleasure via the vineyards and wineries that have wrestled some of this boisterous tribe into submission.
If you have comments or suggestions for future columns, contact me at jeanthepipper@duck.com.
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