Grapes, Dammit!

These are grapes. And this is a post about grapes. This has been a post about grapes, and continues to be a post about grapes despite the best efforts of Picasa (which I love, by the way) and Blogger (which I'm also fond of). Y'see, Picasa has a new! feature wherein you can select an image from your collection and hit the Blog This! button and post the image to your blog. And maybe even write about it, although there really are no rules about that.

It'd be nice if it worked, and it even seems to work. Which is nice. But it doesn't really work, which this post proves. Not to you, that is, since you have no idea that I've already written two posts about grapes. Or, more properly, you had no idea that I had written two posts about grapes until the preceding sentence, wherein I discussed the fact that I had written two posts about grapes. But both of those posts went into the ether, that great cloud that normally precedes the suffix "net" which is something that is full of holes and cannot, therefore, contain the ether.

So what probably happened is that I wrote my post and sent it into the ethernet, a giant net that by its very nature cannot hope to contain the ether. My post, therefore, went straight through one of those holes and may be hiding, even as I type, somewhere in the house.

And none of this helps you in your quest to determine exactly what the hell it is that I'm talking about, what's up with the grapes, and how any of this has anything to do with anything else. But, yo see, if you could have read one of those first two posts -- either of which was dazzling in its brilliance, yet breathtakingly simple while possessing wisdom beyond its words -- you would have known immediately what I was talking about.

Grapes. That's what I was talking about. And the picture of grapes, grapes from my backyard, grapes that I have been tending for three years. Those grapes were the first fruit of the vine, a modest yet tasty bounty from a vine that's been sprawling along my back fence ever since I planted it. I'd almost given up hope when some dim memory in the deep recesses of my mind reached out a tendril to remind me that it takes three years for a grape vine to begin bearing fruit. I think. At least that's what happened here.

So now we've gotten our crop of grapes and the vine has begun its fall decline, soon to be nothing more than a few gnarled branches waiting for me to prune them back into some reasonable shape. And next year, when the sun starts to warm the soil back up, it will spring to life again, extending its viney arms across everything in its path. And sometime late next summer there will be another harvest of grapes, and perhaps another picture.

But I'll be damned if I'm going to blog about those stupid grapes ever again!