A lovely bunch of grapes was handed in the other day. It was not just that they were perfect of their kind - black, without blemish, sweet-tasting - but they had a long history behind them, these particular grapes from this particular vine. Fist came a slip or cutting given by the head gardener of a big estate in central Europe to an Irish neighbour. The Irishman enjoyed growing - on the cutting. He was a very experienced gardener. The vine flourished.
Years later he returned home, bringing with him a cutting of the vine. Maybe more than one, for safety. He established a home for his family in the East Coast and lived happily with garden and greenhouse for five years or more. But the West, where he had spent many happy times, called. Especially the then flourishing salmon and sea-trout fishing. So he sacrificed the crop of grapes for the year and moved the whole vine to Connemara. Next year it was in fine form again. He was a man with green fingers.
It was an idyllic place - peace, his family and friends and the fishing. And the garden and greenhouse. A full-time retirement. The children in the city got consignments of fish and garden produce regularly - including grapes. After his death, his widow decided to get a house in Dublin where two of her children lived. When packing the moving van, care was taken by one of the younger generation to see that the vine in its entirety was carefully placed with the rest of the things. Again one year's crop - it was summer - was sacrificed. But indeed it was worth it. Replanted in a similar greenhouse in Dublin, it moved into it its regular splendid production.
For 20 years it flourished, tended, not with the same skilful hands as before, but by the care and caution of eager learners of the lore of the vine. It wasn't hard. Vines are tough. There are books. Time moved on and the family left the house. Again, the careful taking of a cutting, again the training of a young vine. Years later, and another change of house, and the vine stayed, but cuttings were taken once more. So in the year 2000 this vine, from a cutting taken in the 1940s, delivers a lovely bunch - the first cut - on September 6th, just a few days before this is in print. And to the daughter of the man who took in hand the first cutting.
How many moves in all? How many restarts with cuttings? All part of the course of the gardeners' way of doing things. And they do taste better than any you buy. Eaten an hour or so after picking.