Wild grapes, millpond

One of the bigger drags of my life right now is the fact that, with my wrists in such bad shape—I can barely hold my dSLR in my left hand, although the right one is much improved—I can't ride my bike. Maybe, if I can secure wrist braces it'll be possible, but there's still the problem of how to deal with potential sunburn. For my natural history chronicling purposes, this means I'm missing some of the signatures of late August, particularly the first scents of the wild grapes as they turn purple and announce their readiness for harvest. On my long bike route, I ride by enough grape vines that I'm practically assured of picking up the heady aroma of ripening Vitis species, but so far, my walking route hasn't yielded any signs of that unmistakable perfume. So I was taken by surprise when I trekked down to the millpond and happened to look up at one of the grape vines that was clearly bearing harvest-ready fruit that had little discernible odor. (There's nothing subtle about the smell of wild Vitis fruit.) Even more surprising was spotting clusters of grapes that had already fallen off the vine. They were ready for the jam pot or the wine barrel, but if I hadn't look down and practically stepped on them. my unusually sensitive nose offered  no clue that ripe grapes were signalling their annual presence in nature's past-midsummer cycle.

Wild grapes, millpond floor