To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
a time of war, and a time of peace. . .

- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, Old Testament

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The earth here is greening over, and the warm air is brimming with the sounds of songbirds and tiny frogs. Bright tulips are Monet splashes of color bobbing in the sunlight. Pink and white tree-blossoms shiver to the ground with each gust of wind, and wispy dandelion puffs float along looking for homes. In Jenotopia it is time to plant, and we spent last Saturday making preparations for the 2009 vegetable and herb gardens. The weather was beautiful, and like the few cirrus clouds that passed over, the day drifted by in a lovely kaleidoscope of images of my very favorite things:

Tiny chicks and spring flowers . . .

New Cayuga grape cuttings for planting . . .

Clematis buds waiting to break . . .

Lambs ear creeping along in the shade . . .

Yes Ang, that rock is from our weekend at Big Sur . . .

RT tilling the vegetable garden . . .

Hobie, sun-drunk while RT tilled the garden . . .

Beautiful Edna, iridescent black against the newly-green grass . . .

Crazy, bald Baby Mija stretching out to gather up every drop of sunlight . . .

Bantam girls pecking away in their new yard . . .

Fresh chives waiting to be added to dinner . . .

And when the work was finished, a lovely bottle of 2005 Domaine Magellan Grenache/Carignan . . .

I was looking for a Grenache blend this weekend (a GSM, specifically), and my local wine merchant suggested this absolute gem. Made in the south of France, this wine is grown without chemical fertilizers or pesticides, and uses no commercial yeast - - only what is naturally-occurring in the cellar. The result was a beautiful expression of the grapes: a vibrant mouthful of amazing red and black fruit tinged with a hint of anise; nice, balanced tannins and good acidity from the Grenache at the back end. I was so pleased to find this wine.

We finished our work (relatively) early on Saturday before relaxing into wine and dinner, and it was the perfect evening to grill out. While RT prefers his New York strip, I enjoyed tender morsels of locally-grown filet from our town butcher. What was not finished in the evening was wrapped and enjoyed Sunday afternoon as thinly-sliced filet sandwiches, cool and delicious as we enjoyed the last bits of warm weather before the impending cold front arrived.

Tender, rare filet sandwiches and cool vinaigrette potato salad

Like so many other things in my life, spring here in Tennessee is always a surprise: from one hour to the next I really never know what I’m going to get, so I really must savor the sweet moments as they appear. When I sit inside later watching the cold rain, I will remember that sweetness with clarity, and if I close my eyes I will almost taste the deep deliciousness of red wine and smell the first wisteria blossoms in the air.

“For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath . . .”

Dame Edna seeks her prize