How hard could it be …?
You plant the vines. You stand back and let them grow. You pick the grapes, You drink the wine, which, having been borne of your own labor, is the finest you’ve ever tasted.
Well, not quite. You battle the bugs, the birds, too little rain, too much rain ... and then gale-force winds blow your grapes off their vines, onto the ground, giving the birds the last laugh.
You can read my column in The Lansing Herald by clicking on the photo.





















