The winds pick up. The dull grey clouds roll through. Even in the sunlight it doesn’t feel bright and the sun goes down at 4:30 in the afternoon. I had to shut the water down in the kitchen and barns and blow out the lines to prevent freezing and rupturing the pipes. I’m still tying down the vines to prepare the vineyard for its annual hibernation. It’s a different time now. It’s almost hard to imagine summer these days on the farm.

As I surveyed the people gathered in the dining room last Saturday evening, I spied Peter and Alice Mennacher. Each Saturday I convey the message that we are exploring the relationships between foods and wines grown in a specific place. It is exciting to me to discover the natural harmonies that exist and to share those harmonies with my guests.

The weeds are out of control. I remember years ago, when I first planted my vineyard how fascinated I was by the diversity and vigour of all the plant life competing with my fledgling grapevines. I naively thought that the vines would grow in and soon begin producing grapes. Au contraire. When one looked at the vineyard fro a distance, one could not distinguish the vines from the weeds. It looked like a wild meadow. The weeds in fact dominated the vineyard.

There is the same intoxicating profusion of lilacs in bloom. I watch from the kitchen in the loafing barn as our guests make their way past the garden to the top of the escarpment to enjoy an apéritif and passed hors d’oeuvres as they look over the vineyard, now 15 years old, to the village of Hillier, on the other side of the creek. Needless to say, we purchased this property and over the past 15 years have slowly gotten acquainted with the land and the possibilities it represents.

It has been a slow awakening this spring on the farm. The creek is surging. I have never seen rapids in there before. My dad would have loved to have paddled that white water in his canoe! I remember thinking how fortunate we were to have planned the cane raising work bee on April 22. I thought the buds were about to burst on the vines! In reality here we are nearly a month later and the canes are still budding out! It has been cool. It has been rainy. The pale green haze that is everywhere one looks has been slower this year to deepen to the various shades of green that emerge as the new leaves form on the trees.

Prince Edward County is a unique place in so many ways. I am reminded of its farming history every time I walk around outside and re-examine the older buildings on my property. Along the creek, near the highway and close to the village road, there is the crumbling ruins of a blacksmith shop and a mill powered at one time by the water flowing in the creek. I also see remnants of the tomato canning factory that was once active here; blanching baskets and labels that read, “Taylor Made” Taylor, the family name of the cannery owners more than 60 years ago.

The winter landscape on the farm couldn’t be more different from the summer. It is a quiet monochrome, beautiful in its wintry way. I walk out to the vineyard imagining that in just 3 short months, all will be green again.

I saw the most spectacular moonrise around midnight this past Friday. I was walking and leaving a message on my cell phone when I caught a glimpse of this glow on the horizon. I had to hang up and just watch as this immense orange orb started climbing up the eastern sky. The horses in the barnyard were confused by the moon shadow and unusual intensity of light. They were unsettled and refused to go into their stalls. This beautiful natural event also seemed to usher in a shift in the season.

It takes a while to change one's rhythm. I mean, I have owned this farm in Prince Edward County since 2001. I was drawn here through my curiosity about growing grapes and the magical transformation of grapes to wine.