Grandpa Ott and September Grapes:  Go, Grandpa!
I planted Grandpa Ott morning glories in my raised bed so long ago that I don't remember when I originally did it.  I've long since turned my raised bed into a silver garden (only plants with silvery foliage or silvery flowers), with no place for Grandpa Ott.  But he still comes back to greet me in the late summer, every year!  With no encouragement from me.  The flowers are so richly purple, I can't bear to pull Grandpa and his vines out of my raised bed, even though he's clambering on the Russian sage and the santolina.

Elsewhere in the garden, the grapes are growing on and around the garage, and the fruit-eating catbirds who live in the Norway spruces behind it are happy.  This grape vine came with the house, and though we cherish it, we don't prune it as we would if we were serious about our grape crop.  We also don't harvest them:  they have seeds.  (I think they're Concord grapes).  But we do eat them, and they're so sweet, with a tiny edge of sour.  And when the afternoon sun hits that vine, the smell that fills the air in front of the garage is Heavenly Essence of Grape.

For my next trick:  Yom Kippur:  WWJD?  As the Christian/Unitarian mother of a student cantor-to-be, I'm on the cusp of Judaism and Christianity. This Friday, family and friends will travel to Sag Harbor, Long Island to see our daughter Julia in action as the student cantor for Temple Adas Israel, in observance of Yom Kippur.  What would Jesus do on Yom Kippur?  Well, he lived and died a Jew, right?  So he'd probly put on his yarmulke and get down there and daven with the best of them.

Here's Julia wearing the tallis I made for her.  Check out the tsit tsit (fringes)--making them, and making them right, was the hardest part.

Here's Julia leading Tot Shabbat on the beach in Sag Harbor.