One of my uncles had a vineyard and made his own wine. Who knew?
I don’t know the size of his vineyard or whether the wine was for sale to the public or strictly for private consumption. I do know that nieces and nephews weren’t allowed to tromp through the vineyard or to sample the grapes. My aunt told me this and other interesting factoids one afternoon this week. Curious, I asked her why he wouldn’t let them taste the grapes.
“I never asked. We just did as we were told and left them alone,” she said, and while I sat pondering the unquestioning obedience of children during that era, my aunt mentioned that he didn’t have any children. After about five seconds, she continued, “he lived down the road from Grandmother and Granddaddy, and his wife lived in town in a big two-story house.”
“What? Wait. He was married?” I asked.
“Uh-huh, and after he retired from the shipyard, he came back to Lancaster and just wanted to live out in the country away from noise and people. Hammers and horns and whistles got to him, I guess.”
My aunt is a virtual font of information about my mother’s side of the family. I wish I had asked her more questions when my siblings and I were putting together the family history. It’s not too late, of course. Well, it is and it isn’t. I’ve revised the book so many times that whatever people share with me now is going in a second edition—not only because it’s impossible to include every detail about one’s ancestors, but also because the current situation is constantly changing.
Not all family history includes the current generation, but ours does. Babies are born; children graduate from high school or college (these days they even graduate from kindergarten); people marry, move, divorce, remarry, change jobs, retire. Our focus is on our parents, but we included information about two generations of our parents’ forbears and two generations of their posterity. Recently, I went back in to include the addition of a baby and realized that at least two of the younger set (my parents’ grandchildren) had changed jobs since the history was first published two years ago.
Now I’m wondering if I should add the vineyard tidbit. But if I do that, then I’ll need to insert something a cousin told me about our grandmother. Sue and I were talking about riding with our grandparents to Forest City, NC when we were children. All I remember is sitting in the back seat feeling excited about going to see Aunt Doc and my grandmother’s other sister, Elmanae. Sue recollects our grandmother singing a hymn (can’t recall the name of it right now). Apparently, she really belted it out. I couldn’t imagine such a thing. My grandmother singing? Sue is probably thirteen years younger than I and had different experiences and perceptions.
“Did Granddaddy sing, too?” I asked.
“Heavens no,” Sue replied with a grin.
Writing is a process. Whether it’s a sentence, a line of poetry, a short story, an article, or a book, writers are forever (that’s the word I feel right now) adding, revising, tweaking, and editing in order to make the work better, richer, or more interesting and informative.
But I’ve put the Our Lighted Seasons: John and Margie to rest. I’m taking Elsa’s advice to “let it go, let it go, let it go” and am simply collecting a file of new information and updates for the relative who’s willing to put together a second edition. Takers, anyone?