The Hope of a Grapevine

Summary

The author reflects on the resilience and rebirth of a grapevine as a metaphor for personal hope and renewal after a challenging year.

Abstract

The narrative centers on the author's observations of a grapevine's transformation from dormant to vibrant life, drawing parallels to their own journey through hardship, particularly the struggle with their child's mental illness. The grapevine, once appearing lifeless and unpromising, begins to show signs of growth, unfurling new leaves and promising future fruit. This natural process serves as a poignant reminder that, like the grapevine, the author has the capacity to overcome winter-like periods of despair and emerge renewed, strong, and capable of bearing fruit once again. The author finds solace and inspiration in the grapevine's resilience, suggesting that despite feeling depleted and doubtful of their own worthiness, they too can experience a revival of spirit and hope.

Opinions

The author initially doubted the grapevine's vitality, likening it to an old rope, but is now convinced of its resilience.
The grapevine's cycle of dormancy and rebirth is used as a metaphor for the author's personal experiences, suggesting a belief in the cyclical nature of life and the potential for recovery and growth after difficult times.
The author expresses a sense of unworthiness, questioning whether they deserve the beauty and bounty of their new home and its grapevine.
There is a yearning for a fresh start and peace, as indicated by the author's careful selection of paint colors for their new home and the hope that it will be a place of healing for their family.
The author acknowledges the struggle with their child's mental illness, which has significantly impacted their life and ability to recall happier times.
Despite the challenges, the author is encouraged by the grapevine's revival, seeing it as a sign that they too can find renewed strength and hope, and that better days are ahead.

It will bear fruit again, and so will you.

photo by the author

I sit on our back patio at midday and notice how the leaves on the grapevine are a little bigger than they were yesterday. I have sat here and watched every day this week — a few stolen minutes of rest.

Just a week ago those leaves were buds. They swelled more and more until about three days ago they could not be contained any more. They began to unfurl, turning their chartreuse and mauve faces to the sun. Now they are two inches wide and growing fast, like a baby in the womb.

I have had my doubts that this ramshackle brown vine was alive. Through the long winter it looked like an old rope thrown haphazardly over a hook.

It took a great mental effort to remember that I had tasted its fruits with my own tongue last October — gelatinous sweetness encapsulated in thick, tart skin. I had pulled the juicy flesh through my teeth and spit out the seeds. I had gathered handfuls of the fruits and set them on a paper towel on the front seat of the van. I had driven the twenty-five minutes back to the old house and eagerly shared the treasure. “Look, kids, what I found at our new house!”

Earlier that day, the day I tasted the fruit, I had been at the new house holding up paint chips in every room, deciding in two hours time the colors we would live in for years to come. I compared Inkwell with Cyberspace, Alpaca with Perfect Greige, Pure White with Heron Plume, hoping against hope that this home would be a house of peace and fresh start for our souls.

Then I wandered the little yard, though my family was no doubt eager for my return. I feasted my eyes upon the trees and shrubs that were lovingly planted over the years by someone else. Was this really ours? Could we thrive here?

Over the last six months, I’ve glanced at that grapevine and wondered if those grapes were real. I’ve wondered if it could possibly bear fruit again. I’ve wondered if I deserve my very own grapevine and holly bush and hydrangea and lilac and oak tree.

Now I sit here in the shade of a gazebo that I probably shouldn’t have bought, after the hardest year of my life, staring at a grapevine that is very much alive. I sit here in this little piece of heaven on earth — birds chirping, sky blue, comfortable in the shade on this warm May day — wondering if I can be alive, too. I sometimes feel like that winter-sleeping vine, a body tossed over a hook of a spine, colorless and stiff. I’ve given all my grapes away and there’s nothing left to give. The joy of summer feels like long ago. The days when my life wasn’t ruled by my child’s mental illness are hard to recall and I’m in danger of losing hope that things will ever get better.

Look at the grapevine, I hear a voice say. See it coming back to life. See it turning its leaves to the sun to be nourished by the light. The brown vine is not dead. It is not ugly. It is not weak. It is weathered and strong and well supported. It has seen many winters and it knows that spring always comes again. It will bear fruit again, and so will you. So will you.

If you enjoyed this story and would like unlimited access to all my stories, consider joining Medium for a measly $5 a month via my referral link. Half of your membership fee — for as long as you are a member — will support me and help me keep writing!