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The act of squeezing my harvest (which was increased by another large pot-full the next day) was itself squeezed into one of the busiest weeks I've had in ages. How can a simple thing like washing and squeezing grapes become an all-day project? Ah - I should know better than even ask the question. It did become an all-day project, relaxing and tedious by turns.
In the end, other than a third-degree burn on one fingertip, I suffered little for the enormous value from my homemade grape... soup. The pectin was insufficient, even if the grapes were as stinging tart as the semi-sweet wild-picked apple I cooked into the tasty concoction, along with a dusting of cinnamon. So my grape "sauce" (which is vibrant beyond belief) will function more as a syrup than a jelly, and I'll spread it under my butter instead of on top. How's that for a creative solution?
I went out and profusely thanked the vine wrapping itself around my front porch. What a gift! And how 'bout that compost, eh?
