The last spring I lived through was 2007 in San Francisco. I missed spring in ’08. I won’t have spring this year either. I have been jumping hemispheres in pursuit of the autumn grape harvest and wine. I have been living in a perpetual fall. I’ve had winters, if I am lucky I get a few weeks of summer, but it always seems to be fall, spring never comes.
I like spring; or at least what it represents, and I don’t mean rebirth and blossoming. Seeing spring means staying in one place for a full year. Watching the trees across the street’s leaves in all its stages. Not constantly trying to figure out when winter solstice is. (While I have lived in the Southern hemisphere for about a year, I refuse to accept their seasons. July will never really be winter.) Yet, this is the life I have chosen, with or without budding flowers.
In the past two years I have lived in three countries and two U.S. states, have applied for jobs five times, and I am currently updating my resume. I have gotten used to the upheavals: The constant first day of work. The never-ending meeting of coworkers. The figuring out of different equipment. The learning of the winemakers idiosyncrasies. The local supermarket search for the closest equivalent to American cured bacon.
While the faces and my location keeps changing my work remains the same: crush the grapes, press the grapes, filter the juice, ferment, wait…fine the wine. I find comfort in the process; the same process that has been going on for thousands of years of winemaking. But I still miss spring.
So I have decided to stop moving; at least until I see spring again. At least until I see a California spring again. After that I might have the want to keep rambling towards fall.