The stampede to proclaim Spring, like
its reprise to lament Fall, year after
year, has commenced in earnest and can
not now, I suppose, be redirected to
the drowning of chrysalises. Very well,
so long as this puerile hedonism takes
no interest in worldwide viticulture,
knocked in many regions at once into a
cocked hat of premature budbreak, hor-
rific exposure to frost, and devastat-
ingly brief maturation on the vine, at
best - not a cost to the palate, so
much as to hundreds of millions of pray-
erful man hours of pruning, diligent
winter vine maintenance, and summer-
time canopy control, in entire regions
dependent upon a stable crop; so that,
the sultry dawn you may wish for the
Rhine is all it may take to wring hail
upon the ripening reds of Otago. And in
the grape one speaks of no more than
one fruit; we hear, Georgia has fruit-
set now of her peaches. Peaches in May?
Not that the exaltation of semi-nudity
has to endure the dormancy Nature pre-
fers for growing things. Look now, Nar-
cissus. The pond may vanish.
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